Chapter 19: Really Just Chapter 18b

WARNING!! Gratuitous house-elf scenes ahead. You have been warned.In hindsight, Hermione rather thought she should have anticipated it. Truthfully, it had been building for a long while, and with Harry's increasing hair-trigger temper, she should have seen it coming, especially since she'd seen the picture in the Prophet first. But she hadn't thought ahead, hadn't foreseen the consequences. Had Professor Snape been there, it most certainly would have earned her a scornful comment and severe glare for her lack of thinking.

But she didn't think about the paper when the others drifted in the study for the second part of the evening's mail ritual. She had been thinking about what the Times would report and if they would mention the Dark Mark that had hung over the outskirts of London. She had not been thinking about the connections and how others would view the Prophet's news, so instead of thinking ahead, she had simply handed her paper over to Harry and taken his copy of the Times.

She really should have expected what happened next.

The Daily Prophet was flung violently across the room, sections of the paper fluttering to the floor from the toss.

"That's it!" Harry announced.

Everyone else in the room stopped what they were doing, their own papers or magazines forgotten in the face of Harry pronouncement.

"Harry . . . ."

"No, Ron," Harry interrupted angrily. "I'm tired of this." He strode across the room and picked up one of the scattered pages, holding it up for the others in the room to see. The Dark Mark stared back at them, held aloft in Harry's clenched fist. "People are dying and we sit cooped up in this house, doing nothing. I'm tired of sitting. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of Voldemort killing people, while we sit around and read the evening papers and play games."

Harry stalked over to where Moody and Lupin were sitting at a small gaming table. "I'm done with being quiet and doing as I'm told. I'm tired of things being kept from me. I'm tired of being lied to and –"

"No one here has lied to you, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and grave in direct contrast to Harry's loud, strident tones. "In fact, no one here has done anything except try to protect you."

The sudden appearance of the headmaster in the doorway caused several people in the room to jump in surprise. The headmaster's sudden and conveniently-timed appearance made Hermione wonder about the flicker of movement she caught in one of the Black ancestral portraits. Old Phineus Nigellus might have tipped off Dumbledore to the brewing storm that was Harry.

Hermione exchanged a look with Ron. At Ron's wide-eyed expression, she knew that he felt it too. Something was about to happen. Keeping her focus on the two people in the middle of the room, Hermione carefully put the book in her lap on the floor.

The others obviously felt it as well, since both Moody and Lupin pulled away from the table and turned their chairs to face to the middle of the room. Tonks had moved to stand slightly behind Lupin's chair. Arthur didn't move from his seat on the threadbare couch, although Molly stood up, her hands clasped nervously together.

"Protect me?" Harry raged. "How has any of what you've done protected me? How has it helped? It's going to come down to either me killing Voldemort or being killed by him and we both know it?"

"Harry!" Dumbledore said, his warning plain to hear.

"No!" Harry shouted, his cheeks turning a splotchy red with anger. He swept his hand out, indicating Hermione and Ron in one sweep. "They know. I told them about the prophecy."

Across the room, Moody let a snort, while his magical eye tracked back and forth between Dumbledore and Harry. "So it isn't just some kind of fixation because you defeated him before," he said with a sort of pleased satisfaction. "I always knew there had to be some other reason he was targeting you. So what's the prophecy say, boy?"

When neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke, Moody let out another amused snort. "Cat isn't going back into this bag, Albus."

Molly chose that moment to interrupt the tableau. "Well," she said false cheer in her voice, "it sounds like Harry and Dumbledore need to have a talk. Ginny, dear, why don't you come help me in the kitchen?"

"No."

Ginny simple refusal obviously shocked her mother. Molly's mouth fell open and she gaped like a rather unattractive fish for several seconds before her face flushed almost as red as Harry's had been earlier.

"Ginevra Weasley-"

"No, I'm not leaving." Ginny's expression was hard and closed off, her eyes bright with anger. "I'm not leaving this discussion. I've a right to be here and hear what is going on just as much as Harry or the others do."

"You are just a child, Ginny," her father said, trying to soothe her.

Hermione winced as the words came out. It was definitely the wrong thing to say, especially since in her opinion, Ginny was handling her obvious anger in a much more mature fashion than Harry had.

"Child?" Ginny shot back. "I haven't been a child since Tom — she spat the name out like curse — was in my head." Ginny shook her head. "You have no idea of the hate and vileness that he . . . ."

Ginny stopped and took a trembling breath, regaining her faltering composure. "I can help. I've been telling you all along that I can help but no one seems to listen to me. You and Mum and the rest of the family act like I'm a little girl still, and Mr-I'm-The-Only-One-Who-Can-Save-The-Wizarding-World,-Woe-Is-Me can't see beyond the end of his own wand to realize that there might be other people around that know what he's going through and know what it's like to have that creature crawling around in your head. I'm not leaving."

Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who rose to Ginny's defense. "She is right, Molly. Ginevra is no longer a child. All of her family is involved in this fight, and as such, she has much to lose."

The old wizard caught Harry's gaze. "You wish to be treated as an adult in this war?"

When Harry gave a stiff nod, Dumbledore said, "Very well." He paused as he looked around the room and then continued. "Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley? Miss Weasley? You are all united in this decision?"

Hermione dropped her gaze as the headmaster's eyes lingered on her own, but she answered in the affirmative, as did Ron and Ginny.

"Then as adults you will be treated. As of this moment, you are to be considered full members of the Order of the Phoenix." Dumbledore raised one wrinkled hand. "That does not change your status though. You will remain protected within this house and behind wards, for you are all targets."

Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "Since, Harry, you have seen fit to share the knowledge of the prophecy with your friends, perhaps you would like to share it now with the others?"

There was an undercurrent of steel in the headmaster's voice that was not to be disobeyed. Once again, Hermione was reminded that this seemingly frail old man was a powerful wizard who had already defeated one self-titled Dark Lord. She also got the distinct impression that he was not pleased with the evening's turn of events.

Harry obviously heard it too. Though he flushed a bit under the headmaster's uncompromising blue gaze, he nevertheless raised his chin up high and spoke the words of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy aloud to the room. "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 ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not."

Here Harry faltered a bit before he took a breath and said the last lines. "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."Dinner that night at number twelve, Grimmauld Place after Harry's announcement of the prophecy was unlike its usual raucous affair. On most nights there was noise and occasional bursts of laughter, especially if Fred and George were there for dinner.

Tonight, there was no laughter, and a weary kind of silence had fallen over most of those sitting around the table. Hermione was listening half-heartedly to a conversion that Ginny was having with Tonks about being an Auror. She was still having trouble believing the events of the evening.

Being a full-fledged Order member wasn't exactly what she'd thought it would be. She'd been expecting more somehow — a ceremony or maybe a magical oath-taking of some kind. She'd really not been expecting, after Harry had finished speaking, for Dumbledore, to just start talking in a low quiet voice.

She glanced at Harry sitting across the table from her. She had no doubt that Dumbledore had not told them everything. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she wanted to know everything, especially if what she suspected about Professor Snape was true. But she had to wonder if Harry thought that he was now in the know about everything. Did he realize that like any good general waging a war against an enemy, soldiers only got "need-to-know" information? For she had very little doubt that they were all soldiers, each and every one of them.

Maybe that was something else she could discuss with Professor Snape when he came back. She refused to even consider the possibility that Professor Snape might not come back.

Deliberately, she turned her thoughts back to the conversation between Ginny and Tonks.

"So how are the Aurors protecting the Order members now?" Ginny asked.

"Rotating basis, mostly," Tonks replied. "It doesn't work all that well sometimes," she added with a grimace. "There are simply too many people and places that can be targets. We can't be everywhere. It's really a shame that there is no way for the folks in trouble to send out a Floo call or an owl. There just isn't a way for them to call for any kind of help that can get there in time."

In that moment, thoughts of her mother's letter still on her mind, a very Muggle-ish lightbulb went off in Hermione's mind. "Elves." The word was out of Hermione's mouth before her brain could tell her to pipe down.

Any hopes that she'd been drowned out by the low conversations going around the kitchen table, was dashed as she found seven expectant faces staring back at her with varying degrees of interest. Hermione forced a smile at her audience.

"How's freeing the house-elves going to help?" Ron asked.

Hermione closed her eyes tight as she summoned patience. She was never going to get away from her S.P.E.W. association. Opening her eyes, she fixed Ron with her best Professor Granger-Snape, "pay attention, dunderhead" stare. She was rather pleased when Ron, consciously or not, straightened up in his chair.

"I'm not talking about freeing the house-elves, Ron. But the house-elves have skills that might be able to help us."

Laughter and sounds of varying degrees of skepticism met her statement. Harry went so far as to snort in disbelief. "Because providing a feast at this time would be so helpful."

Hermione swung her glare over to Harry. Just because she knew why he was becoming such a prat, didn't mean she had to put up with his attitude.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, derailing her before she could come back with a proper retort for Harry's rudeness.

The headmaster's interest stopped the others as well, although Moody still looked like he thought she was completely daft.

Hermione sat up straight in her chair and, out of habit, tucked her fingers under her legs to keep her hands down. "I was with Professor Vector one day this past year. She wanted a cup of tea." And it definitely wasn't any of their business why Vector wanted a something to drink. "At the time, she called out a house-elf's name, and one appeared."

Everyone else at the table was still looking at Hermione in confusion, but the headmaster lit up in a way that Hermione hadn't seen in a long while, his eyes sparkling with true excitement. "Brilliant, my dear. Absolutely brilliant. Right under our noses, and we all missed it entirely."

Tonks leaned over and stage-whispered to Remus, "Are you as lost as I am?"

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded at Hermione. "I will explain, with Miss Granger's permission."

Hermione quickly gave her consent.

"The house-elves," Dumbledore began, "do not use the same type of magic that human wizards do. In fact, much of how the elves do their magic is as mysterious today as when the house-elves first joined with various wizarding families. But one of their abilities that Hogwarts professors most make the most use of is the ability of a house-elf to listen for a person to call their name. A call, I might add, that is well outside the range of what any house-elf should be able to hear."

Moody, for the first time in the conversation, looked interested. "They don't have to be physically there?" he ground out.

"No. They would have the ability to go to an individual or family being attacked, and Apparate out with them."

"Why don't they just Apparate away themselves?" Ron asked. As they'd learned Apparation just this past year, Ron had become rather fond of the trick and grumbled to everyone who'd listen that he was losing valuable practice time while being cooped up in the Black house.

"Anti-Apparation wards," Moody answered, while picking his teeth with what looked like a chicken bone from that evening's dinner.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. Famed Auror the man might be, but he was both crude and abrasive. That, coupled with his overt and often-times vocal distrust of Professor Snape, left Hermione with little respect for Alastor Moody.

It was Harry who answered this time, the import of the conversation pulling him out of his sulk. His interactions with Dobby over the last couple of years had given him the answer. "Anti-Apparation wards don't work on house-elves. Remember, the elves move all over Hogwarts, and have no problems."

Remus brought them all back down to earth with his question. "But will the Hogwarts house-elves agree to help? Albus, you have more interaction with them and know them best, but even I know they are very peculiar about houses and families and who they serve. Will they be willing to still be Hogwarts' house-elves, while listening out for our folks at risk?"

Dumbledore stood, brushing at the crumbs that still clung to his beard and robes. "Even I don't know everything about the house-elves. I have always thought that their subservience was not always what it seemed to be and they have their reasons for much of what they do that wizardkind has never understood. However, I think that it may be time to talk to the Matriarch of the Hogwarts elves and see if she will help us in this regard.

Aha!, thought Hermione, so Lonny is female.

Swimming through dark and murky dreams, Hermione resisted the insistent shaking that persisted in pulling her from her sleep.

She couldn't, however, ignore the whispered voice of Molly Weasley directly in her ear. "Hermione, dear, wake up!"

Surrendering to the inevitable, Hermione finally opened her eyes to a night-robed Mrs Weasley kneeling by her beside, a single candle bobbing at her right shoulder. The rest of the room was pitch-black, as was the view of the sky outside the bedroom's one window.

As her brain finally caught up with her surroundings, fear flooded through her, burning away the last traces of sleep. "Is everyone okay? Are we being attacked? What's wrong?"

Mrs Weasley laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Shhhh, slow down," she whispered. "Everyone is fine. Everything is fine. The headmaster has returned, and he needs to speak with you."

Lingering adrenaline made her voice sharp, as Hermione stared in a bit of disbelief at the older woman. "He wants to talk to me now?"

Again Mrs Weasley shushed her, while throwing a concerned look over her shoulder at the still-sleeping Ginny.

"Dumbledore will explain. Just get dressed and come downstairs."

More puzzled now that worried, Hermione yawned out a somewhat garbled "Okay" and threw back the covers. Molly, long accustomed to the habits of teenagers, lingered a few moments longer to make sure Hermione didn't fall back asleep. But as Hermione got up from the bed, Molly headed for the door, motioning with her wand at the candle, making it stay behind, so Hermione didn't have to dress in the dark.

Keeping her curiosity in check, Hermione made her way down the stairs. At the bottom, she hesitated, unsure of where she was supposed to go until she caught the gleam of candlelight coming from under the parlor door.

She knew she'd chosen correctly when she opened the door to find Dumbledore talking softly with a worried-looking Mrs Weasley.

"Come in, Hermione," the headmaster called, gesturing her into the room.

Still unsure of why the headmaster needed her, especially in the middle of the night, Hermione took a seat and did her best to hold her tongue, certain that Dumbledore would tell her what she needed to know soon enough.

He didn't disappoint.

"I have, Miss Granger, just come from Hogwarts, where I had a discussion with the Hogwarts House Line Matriarch, a house-elf named Lonny."

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair. If the headmaster had mentioned her to Lonny and Lonny had mentioned their deal, then she could be in trouble. Dumbledore's next words did nothing to ease her mind.

"What do you know about the house-elves, Miss Granger?"

"Not a lot, sir." Which is more or less true.

"Not surprising. For few nowadays know a lot about them. They may seem to be simple creatures, but they are more powerful than many either understand or acknowledge." He gave her a serious look over the top of his spectacles. "Something that should not be forgotten when dealing with them."

"Yes, sir," she answered, unsure of how she should answer or exactly how much she should answer.

"Before Lonny will agree to this plan to use the house-elves, she has requested to speak with you."

Hermione's earlier panic roared back full force. "Me, s-sir?" she stuttered, tongue tripping over her words.

Dumbledore chuckled. "No need to worry, my dear. Lonny isn't dangerous; she simply wished to speak with the one who came up with the plan. But, while not dangerous, I wanted you to understand the seriousness and the honor that you are about to participate in. Very few people outside of the Head and Deputy Head of Hogwarts have ever met the Hogwarts' Matriarch."

Professor Dumbledore gave her what Hermione was sure he thought was a calming and friendly smile before he continued.

"When I mentioned your name, Lonny seemed to know you." Dumbledore chuckled again. "My guess is that it is in conjunction with your efforts with S.P.E.W."

That startled a response from her. "You know about S.P.E.W.?" Two seconds later she could have kicked herself. Of course, he knew about S.P.E.W.; the listening devices would have taken care of that.

"Yes, I knew about your S.P.E.W. campaign. Since Lonny has asked to speak with you, I suspect that she will ask that in exchange for the house-elves help that you will have to lay S.P.E.W. to rest."

Dumbledore was looking at her with a mixture of seriousness and some sympathy. "Hermione, I realize your nature is to be a champion for those you feel have no one to stand for them, but the house-elves offer us the best hope of saving our people from Tom's attacks. If Lonny asks, will you give up S.P.E.W?"

"Of course, sir," she answered, swallowing the knowledge that S.P.E.W. was long-dead anyway, and whatever Lonny wanted from her wasn't related to house-elf liberation.

But the headmaster seemed oblivious to her racing thoughts as he clapped his hands together lightly. "Excellent, my dear." Standing, he held out a hand to her, which she took. "Then let us be off. I understand you passed your Apparition Exam?"

"Yes, sir."

Leading them both down the hallway and out the front door, he continued, "Good, good. Then I'll let you Apparate yourself to the gates of Hogwarts. The practice will do you good."

Ron exchanged another glance with Harry before turning back to the main source of his anxiety. He really hated this. He liked his world to be orderly and neat, like his chess games. You made a move, Life made an opposite move, and depending on which piece Life chose to move against you, you could know how that piece would affect things.

People, like the chess pieces, had their own patterns of movement. Once he realized what those patterns were, he could always expect them to act accordingly.

He didn't like when things didn't work the way they were supposed to. Harry was bad enough. Harry had always been a bishop in the chessboard that played out in Ron's head. Harry was straightforward and consistent. You could count on him to charge into the heart of any adventure — or danger — full steam ahead and be willing to risk himself right along side of you. Ron liked that about Harry.

Or, more accurately, he used to like that about Harry.

Lately, Harry hadn't been Harry. Ron wasn't sure exactly why, but he knew it had to do with Voldemort — and even thinking the wizard's name gave Ron the willies — but Harry wasn't acting like a bishop anymore. Harry flip-flopped between being the Harry that Ron knew and understood, and being something that Ron had no pattern of behavior for. If anything, Ron would say that Harry was playing a different game altogether. No, Ron didn't like it one little bit.

It was in times like these that Ron relied on the other constant in his life, because in all the craziness about Harry, Ron had Hermione.

Hermione was a knight on Ron's internal chessboard. Just when you thought she was on a straight path, she'd take a turn that completely surprised you. She made leaps in logic that he never saw until he could sit down and trace her path after it was all over. He was counting on her to figure out Harry.

But when Harry was being un-Harry-like and Hermione was being un-Hermione-like, what was a bloke suppose to do?

He really hated this.

"Her hair's giving off those weird blue sparks again."

Really, really hated this.

"Did Professor Dumbledore say anything?"

Harry's grimace showed his still simmering annoyance with the older wizard. "Not really. All he'd say is that 'Miss Granger has made a great sacrifice for the Order and the good of the wizarding world.' Then he laughed like a madman and said he had to go see a witch about some numbers. After that, he took off."

"So the fact that Hermione here is sitting and staring at nothing isn't something we should be worried over?" Ron asked, as he reached towards his shell-shocked friend. A second later he jerked his hand back as another of the electric blue sizzles arced from the tip of her hair to sting the back of his band. He rubbed it absently and added, "She's angry about something. Hey, Harry, do I spark when I'm angry?"

Harry, sitting on the other side of Hermione, peered around their still-oblivious friend. "Not that I've ever seen, although your ears turn red. Do I?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope."

"Do you think it has anything to do with those three house-elves that appeared this morning?" Harry asked. "House-elves here at Grimmauld must mean that Hermione's idea of using them for escape from Death Eater attacks is going to work."

"We better hope the plan works. Did you hear me Mum screaming when the elves took over the kitchen?" Ron gave a dramatic shudder. "Even the portrait of Mrs Black was impressed with some of things coming out of Mum's mouth."

"The house is definitely cleaner now with them here."

"And Kreacher was right pissed, he was."

"Although, I think that short elf wearing the fancy pillowcase was positively scandalized over something. What was his name again? Professor Dumbledore went through them so quickly that I don't think I caught it. Wink . . . Blink . . . something . . . ."

Ron and Harry both jumped as Hermione snapped, "His name is Rink."

"Hermione! Cor, Hermione, I was beginning to think you'd be lost in that daze forever. What happened?"

Ron was actually rather afraid of the look in Hermione's eyes and had the sudden realization that he was glad that Hermione didn't want to become the next Dark Lord.

"So," he asked again, "What happened? You were gone when we got up this morning and then when you got back you came in here, and you haven't moved since. Dumbledore was acting all odd and there are house-elves everywhere."

Ron exchanged another look with Harry as Hermione bent over and buried her face in her hands. Her voice muffled, she began to recount her night. "Dumbledore left last night after dinner to talk to the head house-elf at Hogwarts. She told Dumbledore that she wanted to talk to the person who came up with the ideas, so Professor Dumbledore came back and got me late last night. The head-elf — her name is Lonny — decided that for the 'gift of the opportunity of great service' that I was providing the house-elves that I needed an equally great reward."

Hermione raised her head back up. "Did you know that the house-elves bound themselves in the beginning to the various wizarding families because those families are the ones that offered the most opportunities for service?"

Ron was beginning to see where this was going and bit his lip to keep the grin off his face. His resolve broke though when he caught the expression on Harry's face. "So when you say that this head-elf person thought you were responsible for giving them a great opportunity . . ." Ron couldn't continue with a straight face and started to laugh. "Hermione, are you saying that this elf gave you your very own house-elf?"

"It's not funny, Ron."

Harry snickered. "She is saying that."

"No, I'm not saying that I was given a house-elf." Hermione stood and then stomped a trainer-covered foot. "What I'm telling you two great idiots, is that this evening the Great and Noble House of Granger was established and that the House of Granger owns multiple house-elves."

"The Great and Noble. . . " Ron began.

" . . .House of Granger." Harry finished.

At which point both boys completed lost it and dissolved into great gales of laughter.

It was not a laughing matter. She, Hermione Granger, founder of S.P.E.W., owned, okay, not she personally, but she as a member of the House of Granger, and really, the House of Granger, owned house-elves.

Two house-elves, although it really ought to be two-and-half house-elves, with the newly-minted Granger Line Matriarch being pregnant with what would soon be the first official born-to-the-line Granger house-elf.

The irony wasn't lost on her. The universe was laughing at her. Ron and Harry were laughing at her. Ron, Harry, irony, and laughing universes, however, could all take a flying leap into the Hogwarts' lake. She hadn't even told the two laughing twits about how Dumbledore had escorted her out of the Hogwarts' kitchens and back to her home where she'd informed her parents of the new order of things.

Thank God she had smart parents, who acted surprised upon being introduced to house-elves. But smart or not, she could have strangled the both of them when after only a few moments of adjustment and what-do-you-want-us-to-do type shrugs, her parents had happily settled into their new roles of being elf owners.

They had even, with a little help from Dumbledore and his wand, turned the guest room into the elves' room. There had been talk about letting the elves go into the dental practice office at night to do any extra cleaning they wanted, seeing as keeping the Granger house wasn't all that strenuous to beings who had easy access to their own special brand of magic.

Hermione continued to stare balefully at her friends for a moment longer before spinning on her heel and stomping out of the room.Loudbanging pulled Miranda from her sleep. She was a woman who liked to sleep in, when she didn't have to get up. She was a woman who knew the joy of a good sleep. It was summer. She had no students and no classes. Death Eaters, she was fairly certain, didn't bang enthusiastically on their victim's front doors at 8:20 in the morning.

That left Dumbledore.

Bowing to the inevitable, she climbed out of bed, threw on a robe and headed for the front door. A wave of her wand verified the identity of her caller. Another complicated wave of her wand lowered the wards and opened the door.

"Come in, Albus."

"Tsk, tsk, my dear. Have you not read the Ministry's advisement about opening your doors to someone without verifying their identity through a mutually-known secret code word?"

"You are on my doorstep at the crack of dawn. You are wearing a turquoise and canary yellow robe with a matching hat. You are carrying a box of freshly-made beignets, which I thank you for, by the way. You are Albus Bloody Dumbledore. Now get in here before the Muggle neighbors spot you."

Albus entered, passing the pastry box over to his colleague. "It's nice to know that your delightful morning personality is a constant, even away from Hogwarts. It's no wonder that I sit you at the opposite end of the table from Severus."

Miranda ignored him, instead focusing on opening the box in her hands. The smell of warm sugar waffed up from the open box and she sighed in delight. Raising her eyes, she caught Albus grinning at her. "These are obviously a bribe, so I'm not sharing. You also seem quite jovial, so you have news. Spill."

Taking the box to her sitting room, she bit into the first beignet and waited for Albus to explain why he was there.

"It is indeed good news. And I must say, you were definitely right to break out a separate equation for Miss Granger. I believe that last night she may have given us the leverage we need to get a step ahead on Tom."

Swallowing her bite and then licking the sugar from her fingers between words, Miranda asked the obvious question, knowing Albus was waiting for her to do just that. "So what idea has Miss Granger given you?"

"The house-elves."

Digging back into the box, she selected another beignet. "House-elves?" she questioned, puzzlement clear in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Granger mentioned something at dinner last night and said she'd actually seen you call your personal elf. She suggested we align elves with those at risk in the Order. Elves have the ability to listen for calls for help and to Apparate multiple people past both regular and anti-Apparation wards. It is a perfect solution. Miss Granger and I spent most of the night talking with the Hogwarts Matriarch — "

"Lonny talked to a student?"

Albus chuckled. "Yes, it was quite remarkable. Although, given Miss Granger's past — exploits, shall we call them — with the elves, I suppose it is understandable that Lonny wished to speak with Miss Granger personally."

Miranda contemplated the last beignet in the box. Eat it now or later? With a small sigh, she closed the box. "So why are you here, Albus? Better yet, why are you here with beignets?"

"I want you to add a new equation and run the number sequences again. I think that the mysterious silver line could be the house-elves. It would seem they have a part to play in this."

Miranda frowned slightly as she thought over the possibilities and quickly did a few permutations in her head. "Possibly," she said at last. "They could very well be the rogue. It would make sense, even down to how the line appeared in the matrix. It certainly fits with the house-elves habit of doing things behind the scenes without actually being seen." Her frown deepened and she gave Albus a hard look as she shook the box in her lap. "But new equations don't mean beignets that you had to go to France to get."

"Such a suspicious nature, my dear. It's such a shame you would never let me fix you up with Severus. I do think you two would get along well."

"Albus . . ."

""Fine," he sighed with a raise of his bushy eyebrows. Then just as quickly, the jovial demeanor was dropped and serious blue eyes met her own. "I want you to join the inner circle of the Order. I need you to be more in the center of things. If this plan to use the house-elves works, Tom will not be pleased and he will react accordingly. That could explain the acceleration you've seen in the probability lines. I'm going to need your expertise as changes occur."

Chapter 20: Reunions

"Enter," the voice called from within the room.

Taking one last deep breath to centre himself, Severus pushed open the heavy oak door. He'd been called to Voldemort's private study: an overdone little room that reeked of ostentatious wealth and was replete with unsubtle displays of power. It was, in Severus' well-hidden and never voiced opinion, a room that was designed around what a Muggle 'thought' a powerful wizard's inner sanctum would look like. It was, nevertheless, an imposing room and served its purpose of engendering awe and respect from those who stepped within its panelled confines. It had done that to him twenty-something years ago, it did it now to the wide-eyed, eager idiots who even now came to listen and pledge their support to 'the cause.'

He never let his true thoughts on the 'the cause' rise to the surface of his mind. Ever. Not even within the semi-safe confines of his dungeon rooms at Hogwarts.

"Sseverus," Lord Voldemort acknowledged with a broad sweep of his arm, and gestured to the chair that sat before a massive desk. "Come, sit with me."

Taking the sole chair, Severus watched as Voldemort turned his back to the room and stared out the window against the opposite wall. It was a deliberate insult and a show of just how beneath him Voldemort thought Severus to be, but Severus was unconcerned. Better to have Voldemort think him weak than consider him a threat. Those Voldemort deemed as threats typically didn't live long.

He did use the opportunity though to study Voldemort's reflection within the glass.

The humanising process that Voldemort had begun earlier in the year had reached its fruition. The man reflected in the glass was just that — a man, not a monster — or at least not a recognisable monster. Black hair had finally grown in to frame wide, intelligent eyes. Vitality showed in the straight line of his back and the confident set of his shoulders while his unlined face reflected a youthfulness that belayed Voldemort's true age. Even the hissing sibilants that marked his speech after his resurrection were fading, although Severus had noted with a bit of amusement that his own name still seemed to cause Voldemort problems.

Sitting there now, Severus felt a peculiar duality of vision. Here, he sat before the desk of a youthful Voldemort, his office neat and orderly. Soft chamber music could be heard coming from the wizarding wireless in the corner of the room. And yet, not long ago as summer began, Severus had sat before another desk and before another wizard, that one an aging Dumbledore, his office a cluttered mess of whirling contraptions and papers. There too, soft chamber music had played in the background.

Two powerful wizards reflecting each other — good and evil, young and old, affirmer and destroyer. And I stand between them. The link that binds them together.

Sometimes, on those long nights when he couldn't sleep, his thoughts wandered onto strange and sometimes dangerous paths. One of his odder thoughts returned before he could submerge it beneath the reflective waters within his mind. If he didn't exist, could Voldemort and Dumbledore exist? Could good exist without the counterpoint of evil? Could evil exist without good? If Dumbledore ceased to exist, would Voldemort disappear as well?

"What news, Sseverus?" Voldemort asked at last, snapping Snape from his rather dangerous musings.

He made sure to keep his voice level as he answered. "We had two raids scheduled last night. The raid against the bridge crossing the Ouse River at York succeeded spectacularly. The Muggle are afraid and their officials disorganized especially with the attacks seeming to happen at random and all over England. Their fear already bleeds over into the Wizarding world. Wizarding businesses that have ties to the Muggle world are feeling the strain. Several have already closed their doors." He paused, unsure of how Voldemort would take his next bit of news. "Unfortunately," he finally said, "the strike against Auror Patkins and his Muggle wife failed. Aurors appeared within moments of our arrival. None of those loyal to you were captured, but MacNair was injured."

"So, you tell me that we have demolished a bridge, and yet our true targets escaped?"

Severus winced at his lord's words. "Yes, sir. We were unable to apprehend the Patkins. Our people never even saw them."

Voldemort hissed in anger and Severus tensed. Voldemort had a tendency to punish the bearers of bad news. "Tell me how a Mudblood escaped my Death Eaters?" Voldemort demanded. "Tell me, Severus, how is Dumbledore doing this!"

"I can not tell you, my lord. I do not know. As we are in the summer months, to protect my cover, I have not met with Dumbledore. The old fool never mentioned this plan, or how it is being executed while Hogwarts was in session."

Voldemort paced before the window in obvious agitation. Severus stayed in the chair he'd been directed to, unsure of where this conversion was going. He was beginning to fear that he might not leave this room alive. His fear crept up into the range of certainty at Voldemort's next question.

"Are there spies among my favourites, Sseverus?" Voldemort turned and pinned Severus with a hard glare. "Do I, even now, hold a viper to my chest?"

Severus let his mind go completely blank; nothing disturbed the mirror-like surface of his mental landscape as he answered. "I can not know for certain, my lord."

Voldemort left off his pacing and moved to stand before Severus' chair. "And what of you, my servant? Where do your loyalties lie?"

"My loyalty is unchanged," he answered immediately. "It is, as it has been. Yet you know that I am a spy, my lord. You, yourself, set me upon this path and I have not wavered. Even now I take the instructions of Dumbledore and his pathetic Order. I have done this at your behest for all these years."

"But whose spy are you truly?" Voldemort asked, as he leaned casually back against the desk's edge.

Severus was not fooled at Voldemort's suddenly relaxed and casual stance and made sure that his mind held only the reflections of his loyalty. With no sign of hesitation, he met his Voldemort's eyes, feeling the touch of his lord's legilimency brush along his thoughts.

"Tell me, Sseverus, do even you know to whom your loyalty is given?"

The cold touch of fear went through him. Had Voldemort seen something? "My first loyalty is to you," he answered, choosing each word with measured care.

Voldemort laughed, a sound that did nothing to ease the fear coiling in his belly. "There, Sseverus, is why out of all your brethren, I value your company the most. The others bow and scrape, rolling onto their backs. But you, Sseverus, you defy me, even when your words seek to placate me."

"My lord-"

Voldemort continued as if Severus had not spoken. "Do you know, Sseverus, that out of all my elite, my honoured Death Eaters, you are still the only one whom I can not tell when you are lying? I was wise to choose you for my spy." Voldemort laughed again. "I am sure that the old man feels quite the same, secure in the knowledge that his spy is undetectable. Tell me, Sseverus, can Dumbledore tell when you lie?"

A verbal trap — either answer could damn him to a painful death. "No, my lord, I do not believe that he can."

A pleased smile lit Voldemort's face and Severus let out a silent sigh in relief. "Very good, Sseverus. Very good indeed. And to that end, I am setting a task for you. I must know how the Order is defeating my chosen ones."

"The summer is not yet over, sir. To return to Dumbledore and the Order prematurely would raise questions I cannot answer."

"Then it is well that you will have a reason to return."

"My lord? I don't under-"

He never finished his thought as with a wave of Voldemort's hand, Severus flew back, his body lifted from the chair to collide with the far wall.

Stunned at the unexpected attack, Severus fought to drag air into his lungs. Instinct screamed at him to reach for his wand. Experience fought against the urge. He was alive; Voldemort had not killed him and Voldemort never did anything without a reason, though his reasoning was often times bizarre. Fighting to draw air into stunned lungs, Severus gasped out, "My lord . . . I do not understand . . . Have I displeased you?"

Voldemort smiled, revealing incisors that were just a tad longer than human normal. More of Nagini's influence, a part of his mind noted automatically from beneath the smooth layer of mental deception.

Voldemort squatted down to where Severus sat propped up against the wall. "On the contrary, Severus, I am most pleased with you." A pale hand reached out and brushed away the lock of black hair that had fallen into Severus' eyes. The gesture was a parody of fatherly affection. Severus fought hard to remain still beneath that touch.

A flick of Voldemort's fingers and his wand appeared. The wooden tip traced against his now exposed temple. "You, my servant, need an excuse to return to the old fool's side. I am going to provide you with an adequately convincing excuse."

Again the wand tip traced over his face, down the curve of his cheek and under his jaw. "When Dumbledore asks, you will tell him that I am most displeased with you because of the thwarted raids."

The wand traced down his throat to tap against the high collar of his robe. "You will find out how it is being done." Again the wand moved, this time centring over his heart. "And when you find out how he is accomplishing this, you will report back to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort smiled again, still wrapped up in his façade of fatherly concern. "This will, of course, hurt me more than it will you."

That was all the warning he got as he was enveloped in a blast of sickly greenish-yellow magic. As he used those few precious seconds to sink his consciousness beneath the chill waters of his mind, he heard his own voice screaming.Hermione listened to the thunder that boomed and echoed outside the Black house. Safe and warm within the cocoon of her bed sheets, she stared up at the ceiling. As was becoming her habit of late, she was awake before the rest of inhabitants of Grimmauld Place. Usually by this time she would already be downstairs in the drab little kitchen, waiting and hoping that Professor Snape would appear, while the house-elves assigned to Grimmauld Place moved around her as they fixed the morning meal. She had been ever so thankful to learn that her status as a pseudo-elf allowed her the privilege of staying in the kitchens. Mrs Weasley still wasn't allowed to spend more than five minutes at a time in there. Of course, everyone wanted to know why she got 'special privileges.' Surprisingly enough, Ron had come to her rescue when he'd started laughing about the Great and Noble House of Granger. Everyone had simply assumed that as the only legitimate house-elf owner at Grimmauld Place, the elves were deferring to her for their orders. It was a complete load of bunk, but Hermione hadn't corrected their assumptions.

This morning, with the storm raging outside, she'd stayed a little longer in the comfort of her bed. Another flash of lightening struck, illuminating the dirty, cracked plaster of the ceiling, followed almost immediately by a particularly loud crack of thunder that rattled the bedroom's windowpanes.

Here she was again, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts spiralled outward, thought associations leading her further along in a meandering path. In that moment, safe and warm, she thought of everything and nothing.

I really hope that Professor Snape isn't out in this weather. I wonder if he will be coming back soon. Ceilings are boring. I'll have to remember that when I get a place of my own. I'll need to have an interesting ceiling to stare up at while I'm thinking. When I graduate Hogwarts . . . if I graduate Hogwarts . . . if we aren't all dead and if the wizarding world is still standing when this is all over . . . if it will ever be over.

Jumping slightly at another roll of thunder, Hermione forcibly turned away from her darker thoughts. Pulling on the sheet covering her, she attempted to dislodge Crookshanks from his resting spot sprawled across her left leg. The heavy cat didn't budge at her subtle hint to move.

"Lazy cat," she muttered affectionately.

Deciding that Crooks could keep his favourite spot for a few more minutes, her thoughts wound back around to Snape. Surely Snape wouldn't come on such a dark and miserable morning. It had been over two weeks since that fateful morning meeting in the kitchen, and every day that passed without hearing from him caused the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach to grow larger. Her fears were not helped by the fact that Order activity at Grimmauld Place had increased over the last couple of days with people coming and going at odd hours and meetings being set up with Dumbledore, Moody or Lupin.

The increased activity lent proof that their shadow war with Voldemort finally seemed to be going in their favour. There were Daily Prophetreports of thwarted attacks on multiple wizarding and Muggle families that seemed to indicate that her suggestion of using the house-elves as fast escape routes for families at risk was working.

Yet, for all the apparent good cheer from of the rest of the Black house inhabitants, Hermione could find no good cheer within herself as long as Professor Snape remained absent.

She might as well get up. The house-elves assigned to Grimmauld Place would be more than happy to make her a nice breakfast downstairs. She wrinkled her nose in exasperation. House-elves. At least Rink had gotten himself volunteered to Grimmauld Place. Having the little elf nearby made her feel better and she was fairly sure that Rink felt the same. At least with the two of them together, they had someone to share their worries with.

She had just decided to get up when Rink appeared above her with a muted pop . Long used to the house-elf's habit of appearing at all times standing on her bed, she didn't jump or shriek in surprise. She did sit up in alarm though when she caught sight of the terrified look on Rink's face. His large, bat-like ears, usually upright and forward, were laid back against his skull, much like Crookshanks' did when the tomcat was particularly angry.

"Ri-"

She never finished the word as Rink grabbed hold of her hand and they vanished.

"-nk"

She had one brief moment of disorientation as her brain caught up with the fact that she was standing downstairs in the foyer. The massive wood door to the Black house was standing open with what looked to be the Black house complement of house-elves standing in a ring in the doorway.

"Rink? What's going on?" she asked in confusion.

Rink tugged her closer to the group of elves and they parted before her. Across the threshold, in a slowly widening red-tinged puddle of rainwater, lay the crumpled form of Professor Snape.

For a split second she stood in absolute shock before another tug on her hand from Rink started her moving again. Letting go of Rink's hand, she knelt at her professor's side. Fresh bruises covered his face, their dark mottled colour in direct contrast to his even paler-than-normal complexion. A long jagged gash at his hairline wept bright red rivulets of blood that wound down next to older, dried tracks the colour of rust. For a few heart-stopping moments she thought he was dead until she caught the shallow movement of his chest.

What do I do? "Professor Snape? Can you hear me?"

Hermione bit her lip hard. He wasn't moving. She'd seen worse wounds and bruises after an average Quidditch match so she shouldn't be worried, right?

"Professor Snape?"

She pressed a trembling hand flat against his chest, only to cry out in pain as some sort of latent magic leapt from his body at her touch. Fire burned along her hand and she ground her teeth together holding in the rising scream.

As she fell back against the wall, Rink took a step towards her and then stopped in indecision as he looked between Hermione and Professor Snape, unsure of whom he should attend.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm okay," she hissed between still clenched teeth. "There's some kind of magical residue or curse still affecting him."

Using her shoulder as a brace against the wall, Hermione pushed herself up to her feet. The pain in her hand was lessening but it still hurt to move her fingers.

What kind of pain must Professor Snape be enduring? Could you even survive that kind of pain and still remain sane? Would he end up like Neville's parents? What do I do?

For a few precious seconds she drew a complete blank, her mind simply unable to decide what she should do first. Somewhere in the back of her panicked thoughts, an acerbic voice that sounded suspiciously like her professor's snarled, "Are you stupid, girl? Think!"

Letting out a ragged breath, she turned to the house-elves.

"Brolly, go find Professor Dumbledore and bring him here now. I don't care where he is or what he's doing. Bring him here."

Brolly, one of the house-elves stationed by Dumbledore at the Black house to act as 'runners' for the Order, nodded sharply at her command and vanished.

She turned to Rink next, who was wringing one ear between his hands in obvious agitation. "Rink, take Professor Snape upstairs to one of the empty rooms. Get him out of his wet clothes and get him dry and into a bed. Try to keep him as still as possible and whatever you do, don't touch him directly."

Rink stared forlornly at her before saying softly, "Yes, Miss." He gave a complicated wave of his long fingers and Professor Snape's body rose up in the air. With slow and steady movements Rink directed him up the stairs.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that Rink had reverted to the more formal 'Miss' rather than his usual 'Hermy.' She would worry about that later.

"Wren, please go wake Mrs Weasley. Tell her that Professor Snape has been hurt and take her to him. Make sure that you tell her that she can't touch him directly."

When Wren left, Hermione paused, not sure what else to do.

"Please, Miss, what can Pella do?"

Hermione realised one last elf still stood in the foyer. Hermione shivered, and belatedly realised that the front door still stood wide open and rain was blowing in with each gust of storm-driven wind.

"Miss?"

Giving herself a shake, Hermione focused back on her task. "Close the door, Pella. And . . . and, if you could, please clean up this mess."

Not sure what else to do, Hermione sat down on the stairs to wait. Brolly would bring the headmaster. Cradling her still throbbing hand in her lap, she waited.Less than an hour later, the Black house was in an uproar. Everyone who was living at Grimmauld Place had gathered in the library. Other members of the Order had gathered as well. Situated in the shadowed window seat with her back to the still raging storm outside, Hermione listened to the storm raging inside, and wondered where all these people had come from.

Arguments and speculation circulated about the room. Everyone had their own theories about Snape's return and what it could mean. That his condition was serious had been circulated as well. Whatever Voldemort had done to him, was still affecting him, the curse also attacking anyone who tried to touch him. Her own hand still tingled uncomfortably, although thankfully the searing pain had finally abated. In this situation, they couldn't even properly assess Professor Snape for further injuries or treat the ones they could see.

Rink had reported to her earlier that Snape did have other injuries beyond the bruising and the head wound. That no one seemed to be able to help Professor Snape was slowly driving Rink into a state. She'd told Rink to stay by the professor. She was very much afraid that he'd attack the next Order member who said anything derogatory about the Potions master. And more than one derogatory comment had been said in the last hour. If it came to it, she might attack the next Order member who said something derogatory about the Potions master.

As if on cue, her attention was caught by Moody's loud voice. "We've been betrayed. It's obvious. That traitor has given us away."

Dissent came from across the room, from a person Hermione couldn't see, although she recognised Professor McGonagall's dry, acerbic tones. "Balderdash, Alastor. The man was tortured and beaten. If Severus had betrayed us, do you not think that Riddle would have rewarded him better?"

"He was tortured until he gave us up. He was dumped on our very doorstep as a taunt."

Hermione felt ill as she watched Harry step up to Moody's side to lend his voice to the ugly mood gathering in the library. "Snape can't be trusted. It's obviously a trap of some sort. Why else bring him here?"

She couldn't listen to this . . .couldn't . . . wouldn't.

Getting up she headed for the door, as angry and worried voices rose around her. She let them wash over and around her. Truthfully, she'd given up listening to them as more and more had arrived. Why were these people even here? What did they hope to gain? And if Voldemort had tortured Snape into somehow breaking the Fidelius, coming here just made them bigger targets.

"Idiots," she muttered, as she exited the room. She was beginning to understand why Professor Snape loathed people. They were all idiots.

Seeing Professor Dumbledore coming down the stairs, she forgot her brooding contempt for her fellow Order members and hurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

"How is Professor Snape, sir?"

"Not good, I'm afraid, Miss Granger. Tom has hurt him very badly." The headmaster gave a tired sigh. "I understand that we have you to thank for him even being alive now. Your quick actions, Hermione . . . ." The headmaster trailed off. "I don't even know how he made it as far as Grimmauld Place on his own."

She seized on Professor Dumbledore's words. "You think that he came here on his own? That Voldemort didn't dump him here as a taunt to us?"

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. "I have no doubts, Miss Granger, of Severus' strength or loyalty. And of one thing, I am very certain: Severus brought himself here." A shadow that Hermione couldn't interpret crossed the headmaster's face before he continued. "I have faith that Severus will always come back."

An odd sense of foreboding hit Hermione at the Headmaster's words, but she shook it off to ask the question that had been most on her mind since Dumbledore's arrival at the house earlier. "When will Madam Pomfrey get here to fix him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his countenance grave. "Poppy is unavailable to us at the moment. By the time an owl could get to her, and she could get back here, it could well be too late. We've sent for Poppy and I've done what I can. I was finally able to break the remaining curse, but the rest of his injuries are very serious. Whether he lives or dies, I'm afraid, is now up to Severus."

A sudden surge of anger overrode her common sense. "So you're just going to let him die?"

"Miss Granger! I think you forget yourself," Dumbledore snapped. "I have called Severus friend for more years than you've been alive. You wished to be an adult, Miss Granger. Being that adult is also knowing and understanding the choices that those who are Order members make in this war with Tom." Reaching out, Dumbledore placed a firm hand on Hermione's shoulder. "As hard as this is to understand, Severus made his choice long ago and made it freely."

Hermione pulled away, Dumbledore's hand falling away from her. A plan, half-formed and shadowy, filled her with resolve. Once again they were just leaving Snape to his own devices. Damned, if she was going to do it too.

"Then I'm making my choice." Darting past him, she ran towards the front door. Flinging it open, she headed out into the storm.

It was still pouring rain when she tore out of Grimmauld Place as if the very Hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels. She was shivering and soaked to the skin within seconds of leaving the front stoop. However, she noticed neither the cold nor the rain as she ran down the short walk that separated the house from the walkway. She skidded to a halt as she felt the magic that enclosed the house in the Fidelius wash over her skin and tingle along her senses. She was now outside of the magic that bound the house. Turning just in time, she caught the peculiar twisting of reality that made the house seemingly vanish into thin air, squashed between the houses at No. eleven and No. thirteen.

The second the house vanished completely from her sight, Hermione gripped her wand, focussed and then Apparated, her departure covered by a brilliant flash of lightning, followed immediately by a ground shaking roll of thunder.

She reappeared outside St. Mungo's. Breaking once more into a run, she headed for the side entrance that she and Professor Snape had used during her detention.

Flinging open the door, she was confronted with the same squat witch from before. Hermione didn't even pause as she blew past her in a flurry of shed raindrops. Behind her, she heard a shouted "Stop!" but Hermione ignored her. Not even taking the time to dry out her wet clothes, Hermione took off down the twisting, labyrinthine corridors that made up the administrative side of the wizarding hospital towards Healer Alverez's office. As the Healer in charge of the Spell Damage ward, Hermione was sure that the witch would be able to help Professor Snape.

If she could get to the Healer, that is.

Hearing shouted voices behind her, Hermione put on an extra burst of speed. She had to get to the Healer before the receptionist got to Hermione. Fate wasn't on her side though as two burly wizards appeared at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Healer's domain. Behind them, red in the face and breathing hard was the receptionist from the entrance.

"There she is," the woman huffed. "Grab her!"

Hermione held up her empty hands to show she wasn't concealing a wand. "Please wait. It's an emergency. I have to talk to Healer Alverez."

"Emergencies," sniped the witch, "should be reported at the main Emergency entrance, where you will be seen by one of the attending Healers."

Hermione took a step backwards, preparing to make another run for it, as the door at the top of the stairs opened.

"Edelrod, what's going on?" The Healer noticed Hermione standing with her hands still up in the air. "Miss Granger? What are you doing here?" she asked in confusion.

Hermione sagged in relief at the timely intervention. Jumping in before Edelrod, who was obviously the seriously disgruntled receptionist, could tell her side, Hermione launched into her plea, mindful that she was probably breaking about a dozen Order rules about secrecy.

"Please, Healer Alverez. I need to talk to you. It's about Professor Snape."

The Healer's brows rose and she looked a bit skeptical. Not that Hermione blamed the witch. She was soaked though; her hair was probably standing wild around her head and with the Ministry's constant warnings to be on the lookout for suspicious activity and potential Death Eaters, Hermione probably would have hesitated as well.

"Please," she said again, trying to put all of her desperation into her words. "It's important."

The Healer stared at her for a long moment before she nodded her head. "Very well, Miss Granger. I'll give you a few minutes." Turning a smile to the receptionist, she added, "It's all right, Edelrod. I'll talk to Miss Granger and see her out myself."

The older witch cast a suspicious gaze at Hermione. "If you're sure, Healer." When Healer Alverez nodded, the witch reluctantly gathered up the two security guards and headed back down the hallway. As she passed, Hermione could hear her muttering some rather unflattering things about "hooligan young witches disturbing hospitals at all hours of the morning."

It was only then that Hermione realised that it was still very early in the morning. So much had happened in so short a period of time that she'd completely lost track of time. She hoped that Professor Snape could hold on a little while longer.

Pulling out her wand and drying herself off with a quick spell first, Hermione followed after the Healer into her office.

Settling into one of the Healer's office chairs, Hermione tried to figure out how to begin. She was somewhat startled when Healer Alverez started the conversion.

"Now, tell me what kind of emergency sends young witches running through the halls of St. Mungo's."

Best to start at the beginning Hermione decided. "Professor Snape has been hurt. There isn't anyone who can help him and I thought you might help him."

That definitely got the witch's attention. "Severus is hurt? How?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer and then immediately snapped it shut. "I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me?" One of the Healer's brows went up in disbelief.

"No, ma'am."

Healer Alverez contemplated her shrewdly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Hermione fidgeted a bit under that assessing regard.

"If you can not tell me how he was injured, can you tell me where is he now?"

"Uh . . ." Hermione hesitated for a moment and then said, "I can't tell you that either."

Hermione winced as again the Healer's brow rose up towards her hairline. "Please, I know it sounds bad and unbelievable. But, Professor Snape was doing something very important. And he got hurt. And he's hurt really badly. Enough that Professor Dumbledore thinks he might not live. He needs someone to help him."

"Professor Dumbledore thinks, is it?"

Hermione bit at her bottom lip. Mentioning Dumbledore was probably a mistake. She'd probably just compromised the Order. Panic was starting to set in again. This wasn't going exactly as she'd planned. Not that she'd really had a plan to be begin with before she'd run out of Grimmauld Place. I'm a complete idiot.

Healer Alverez was now leaning forward over her desk, her hands clasped before her. Hermione didn't like the look on the woman's face. It reminded her too much of Crookshanks when he finally cornered a mouse.

"If you can not tell me where Professor Snape is, or how he was injured, can you tell me how a Hogwarts' student on summer holidays came to be involved?"

She was definitely the cornered mouse. Abruptly, she stood up. This was a mistake, one she realised could have disastrous results for the entire Order.

"Sit down, Miss Granger."

Hermione ignored her, intent on making a getaway before she was asked any more questions. "Never mind, Healer Alverez. I think I was mistaken. I'll just see myself-"

"Sit!" the witch barked. Years of dealing with obstinate patients and harried hospital staff had, like Snape dealing with less than enthusiastic children, given Healer Alverez the ability to infuse absolute command into her voice.

Hermione sat, fear clutched tight around her chest.

In a less demanding tone, Healer Alverez continued. "I have known your professor for many years, young woman. His talents are extraordinary. St. Mungo's research department would take him in a second if he ever left Hogwarts. In fact, they've offered him a position here every year for the past fourteen years. Every year, they offer him more money and more staff and more freedom to pursue his own research opportunities. Every year he had turned them down."

Hermione frowned in puzzlement but kept her silence. She didn't understand how any of that had to do with the situation now and why the witch wouldn't let her leave.

"A few years ago, after the latest offer, I asked Severus why he turned us down each year as it is obvious that he cares little for the art of teaching. Do you know what he told me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, still confused where this story was going.

"He said that he had promises to keep before he could leave Hogwarts. Being the nosy old witch that I am, I asked him what kind of promises. He laughed then, although I always thought it was a rather unhappy laugh. He said that his promises where the kind made to madmen and not to be broken."

Hermione didn't say a word, unsure how she was supposed to answer.

Healer Alverez stood up. "I've always thought it interesting that Severus spoke of madmen and not a single madman. I have never been asked to participate in the conflict raging around us. And I am not stupid, Miss Granger. I am well aware that there is a war going on, regardless of what the Ministry would like us to believe. I think that it is time I chose a side and I suppose it's time to meet one of the madmen."

Gathering up her travelling cloak, the Healer picked up a brown leather bag from which the sound of clinking bottles rose. "You will, of course, need to do a side-along Apparition to wherever we are going." Healer Alverez eyed her critically. "You're young, so please try not to splinch us. Or if you do, try to splinch only yourself. At least that way I can put you back together. You'll probably also need to put me to sleep. Albus is no fool and probably has half a dozen wards and spells guarding wherever we're going. My guess is probably a Fidelius. I know I'd certainly use one." She tilted her head slightly as she thought. "Hmmm, Petrificus Totalus won't work, as the brain is still in a conscious state. I'd suggest the Somnambul Charm. Are you familiar with that spell?"

At Hermione's dumbfounded nod, Healer Alverez smiled. "Good. Well, shall we?"

Hermione could only stare at the woman in amazement. When had she lost complete and utter control of the situation? Dumbledore was so going to kill her.

Ch 21: Unravelling

Miranda Vector had thought long and hard about Albus' offer to join the "Inner Circle" of the Order of the Phoenix. There were pros and cons for both joining and not joining. She had, of course, sat down and seriously weighed the options that were presented to her. As the closest thing the wizarding world possessed to both a mathematician and statistician, Miranda Vector was rather good at weighing options.

She liked calculating the probabilities of success and failure. She liked having weighted values and knowing the value of diminishing returns. She liked knowing what she was getting into before she got into it. She was not, after all, a Gryffindor. She would never leap before looking. She was an extremely prudent Ravenclaw who would not only look, but drop a measuring string down the other side, take a few measurements, snap a wizarding photo or two, calculate the odds and then jump.

Or not.

Because really, why jump when just walking down to the other side was vastly safer and eminently more practical?

Miranda being Miranda, she'd taken a few days and done a few calculations and drew a few probability lines using some of her better Arithmantic calculations. She was, after all, an Arithmancer, and a damn good one, if she did say so herself. Ultimately, she'd decided that Albus was correct and that her skills were needed on a more immediate basis. Of course, that decision had been partially based on a rather ugly convergence she'd noticed in the main probability matrix that pointed at something serious happening between Voldemort and the Order's spy. A convergence that predicated the meeting between the Order's spy and the mysterious, and rather annoying, rogue line.

So, decision made, she'd gone back to Albus' little sea cliff home to tell him that she was accepting his offer. She'd been in the midst of explaining one of her pro/con decision trees when an elf had appeared before the two of them. Performing what was probably the most perfunctory bow that she'd ever seen any Hogwarts elf make to the Headmaster, the elf had stated in a tone of voice that brooked no disagreement, "Brolly is to bring the Headmaster now."

Albus, being Albus, on the other hand, had disagreed, although he'd disagreed with a genial smile on his weathered face. "I'm afraid that whatever it is will have to wait a bit. I'm rather busy at the moment, my dear fellow."

Albus, Miranda noted, was using that maddeningly calm and cheerful voice of his. The one that made you want to strangle him because you were panicking and he wasn't taking your panic with the seriousness it so richly deserved. She also noted that elves seemed no fonder of that tone than anyone else, if the ears twitching in agitation in front of her were any indication.

"Master of Hogwarts will come now," the elf repeated, a somewhat stubborn cast to his upraised chin.

Albus, in his own inimitable fashion, blithely went his own way and ignored the elf's increasing agitation. "Perhaps you could tell me your name and we can discuss where it is you wish me to go?"

Miranda watched as one elfin ear gave a rather jerky flap in response. She had not spent a lot of time with the house-elves. She called on her own Hogwarts' elf, Rilla, very seldom and rarely saw the elf, but she had a vague sense that this wasn't good.

"Miss said, 'Now'!"

That raised an eyebrow. Forceful house-elves . . . definitely not good.

She'd really no more completed the thought than her hand was seized by a surprisingly strong grip and she found herself, the headmaster, and the elf suddenly in the foyer of a strange house facing a rather pale and stricken-looking Hermione who was sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs.

"Professor Dumbledore," Miss Granger exclaimed, in what looked to be obvious relief before adding, "A-and Professor Vector," in something more resembling confusion.

Confusion was rather good. Miranda was feeling a mite confused herself. Still feeling the shock of being forcibly removed from Albus' kitchen table to wherever they currently were, Miranda still had the presence of mind to note that before disappearing, the elf that had abducted them had bowed quite low in obvious respect to Miss Granger.

In the words of a great Muggle mathematician who, as far as Miranda was concerned, should have been born a wizard . . . curiousier and curiousier.As she walked out of St. Mungo's beside Healer Alverez, Hermione couldn't help but wonder about the fate that awaited her back at the Black house.

Will Dumbledore let me explain first before he hexes me? Or is he the type to cast spells and ask questions later? Maybe Dumbledore will be gone when we get back. Of course, if he is gone, it's probably because he's out somewhere, looking for me. He'd just be angrier when he returned.

Healer Alverez waved to Edelrod as they passed the front desk and mentioned she was making a house call. Hermione absently waved a good-bye at the scowling witch.

Best that he's still there then . . . but would the other Order members still be there? It has only been . . oh, God, an hour has passed. Is Snape even still alive?

She quickened her pace toward the doors and she was grateful when Alverez kept pace right along side of her, her Healer's bag swinging sharply in time to their steps.

Still raining, she thought, as they passed through the doors, although the thunder and lightning seem to have stopped.

"Miss Granger?"

Jolted out of her thoughts, Hermione turned to the Healer who was currently looking at her with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"You are looking a little nervous. Are you up to this?"

Am I? Guess we will soon find out. Giving what she hoped was a decisive nod, she led Healer Alverez around to the side of the building where they wouldn't be observed. Linking hands with the other witch, Hermione gave her what she hoped was a confident smile, rotated them a quarter turn and Apparated.

Somewhat to her surprise the two of them appeared, whole and hearty, under the old elm tree in the sad little square in front of Grimmauld Place.

I did it!

Granted, they had been about four inches off the ground when they appeared so the landing was a little shaky, but as the Muggle pilots say: Any landing you can walk away from . . . .

"You did it, my dear. Quite well done."

Hermione cast the Healer a beaming smile that quickly dropped from her face as she caught sight of the row of houses behind Alverez's shoulder. It was time to face the music.

If the other witch caught the worried look that suddenly appeared on Hermione's face, she didn't say anything, which Hermione was particularly thankful for. She wasn't sure if words of encouragement would be a good or a bad thing at this moment.

"Right then," the witch began. "Just remember to keep your wrist stiff when you perform the Somnambul Charm." Alverez took a quick look around, obviously noting the Muggle residential neighbourhood around them. "I'd also suggest a good cloaking spell since you are going to have to Levitate me to wherever we are going. Oh, almost forgot, you'll have to carry this," she said, handing Hermione her bag. "Medicinal potions don't typically mix well with random bits of magic. Best you hold on to it."

As Hermione stood a moment, Alverez gave her a warm smile. "Well, get on with girl, we've got a Potions professor to save."

Not feeling quite as confident as Healer Alverez, Hermione raised her wand and pronounced, "Somnambul," remembering to keep her wrist stiff during the movements.

Once the Healer was safely unconscious, Hermione Disillusioned and Moblicorpus-ed her. Heading across the square towards Grimmauld Place, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if this dread in the pit of her stomach was what Professor Snape felt when he went off to meet Voldemort.A long time ago, Albus Dumbledore had learned to control his temper. As a young man, he'd noticed how people became afraid when he got angry. It certainly wasn't hard to make the connection between his anger and things around him blowing up, melting or simply disintegrating into dust. It was really about that time that he'd understood that by some trick of Fate, he was stronger magically than any other witch or wizard around him. And when he indulged in anger, people were afraid. Truth be told, there were days back then when Albus was rather afraid of himself and what he could do.

It was that fear that led to him to create the eccentric wizard persona that allowed him to shrug off those things that would have a lesser wizard pulling his wand and issuing dual challenges. The persona had grown with him over the years, from eccentric young man to dotty old man, and it had served him well.

Grindelwald had certainly been completely fooled and thoroughly surprised when with his dying breath he'd realised that the slightly crazy man who'd offered him tea and biscuits had just ended what should have been an unstoppable rise to world domination.

Simply put, Albus Dumbledore rarely lost his temper. And on those rare occasions when he did, it never lasted long.

At the moment, Albus Dumbledore was absolutely furious and had been for a good hour.

In response to that anger, Albus' usual impeccable control of his magic was weakening. Any witch, wizard, or magical creature with even a jot of magical sensitivity could feel the aura building about Dumbledore. In response, the Order members who had crowded into Grimmauld Place at hearing about Snape's return had quickly fled to safer environs.

He kept hearing Miss Granger's words: Then I'm making my choice. The infuriating part was that he had no idea where she had gone or what she was doing. He could have attempted to follow her, of course, but he needed to remain here. Half a dozen various scenarios had run through his head within moments of her disappearance, each more catastrophic than the last. If Voldemort got hold of her, Albus knew Harry would abandon everything in his attempts to get the girl back. They were facing a potential disaster.

Damn it all to hell and back again. They were finally ahead of Tom in this blasted war. The end was coming soon, and the girl had gone off on a lark.

He paced around the narrow foyer, his agitation needing some kind of outlet. He might have expected this kind of reckless behaviour from Harry or even from Ron Weasley, but he'd always considered Miss Granger to have a firmer head on her shoulders.

Where is that girl?

As if his mental shout had conjured her, the front door opened to admit a bedraggled Hermione Granger, her wand raised and focussed behind her. Harnessing his own magic, Albus concentrated and made out the wavering form of a Disillusioned body.

Merlin preserve them all. The girl had figured out the Fidelius' blind spot and was bringing a stranger into the house.Hermione froze when she saw Dumbledore standing in the foyer, looking for all the world like the epitome of a wrathful wizard. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she took the last few steps into the house being careful to set Healer Alverez down as gently as she could. Unfortunately, her attention slipped from the door, which was caught by the still-gusting wind, causing it to swing shut with a reverberating slam.

Several things happened then: Mrs Black roared into a full Mudblood-and-traitors tirade, Dumbledore's expression seemed to darken even further, and everyone who'd been hiding from Albus in the library came spilling out into the foyer to find out what had caused the noise.

Caught like the proverbial deer in headlights by a dozen pairs of eyes, all Hermione could think was: Bloody, blooming hell.

Professor Dumbledore was still frowning at her, his brushy brows drawn down almost to a point over his nose.

"Go to the library."

When Hermione hesitated, looking down at the still Disillusioned Healer, Dumbledore spoke again. "Now, Miss Granger. I will take care of your guest."

Hermione was a little worried about the way in which Dumbledore stressed the word guest, but she decided that now probably wasn't the right time to argue. Shoulders slumped in a mixture of dread and exhaustion she walked down the hallway towards those still gathered outside the library door. Feeling very much like she was being weighed and judged, she tried to catch Ron's and Harry's eyes, looking for support. The confusion and upset in both of their faces made her hang her head a little lower.

Once in the library, Hermione headed for her favourite chair by the fireplace. Taking her seat, she waited for the first question and was a bit unnerved at the silence around her. Glancing up through curls made even wilder and frizzier by the rain, Hermione noted that everyone had taken seats around the room facing her.

Ron and Harry were carrying on a whispered conversation from the windowseat that involved repeated looks in her direction. Ginny was staring at her with her head cocked to one side. With her red hair, she reminded Hermione of an Irish Setter, but the mental image brought forth no sense of mirth.

Fred and George had taken seats on the floor where they could lean up against one of the bookcases and both were watching her with an avid interest, as if she were going to sprout horns at any moment and they wanted to make sure that they didn't miss it.

Like Harry and Ron, Tonks and Remus were carrying on a whispered conversation from the threadbare couch they were sharing with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Moody had both real and magical eyes focussed on her. It was a rather disconcerting feeling.

Professor Vector . . . then she remembered that Vector had arrived with Professor Dumbledore. She'd been surprised at the time, but it had slipped her mind during the ensuring chaos. Oddly enough, Professor Vector was staring at her, too. At least it wasn't with the same look of confusion and disappointment as from the others, but her intense regard, a look that the Arithmancy Mistress usually reserved for complex equations, rather unnerved Hermione.

Fidgeting, she crossed and uncrossed her legs and glanced around the room again. Harry and Ron's whispered conversation took on a more heated air with Harry gesturing fiercely in her direction.

What was the old saying about no good deed going unpunished?

She wondered what was keeping Dumbledore. It was obvious that the headmaster had seen through the Disillusionment spell, otherwise he'd have never mentioned her 'guest.' Harry had mentioned that Dumbledore had that talent. Briefly she wondered if that was an affect of his age or his magical strength, before dismissing the thought as not really relevant to the situation at hand.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs again and then tucked a wayward curl behind her left ear. Remus and Tonks had finished their conversation and now both were watching her.

She sighed. What was taking so long? It wasn't like Dumbledore didn't know the Somnambul Charm since it was the same charm he'd used on her during the underwater portion of the Triwizard Tournament. He should have been able to remove it easily. Did I do the charm wrong? Is he having problems lifting it? Surely I didn't mess it up. It was one of the sleeps I studied when I was doing all the research on all the various sleeping spells for Professor Snape. I'm sure I got it. I think.

She crossed her legs again, swinging her foot rapidly back and forth.

This is ridiculous. Someone needs to say something.

Her right hand index finger started a nervous tapping in counterpoint to her swinging leg. Fine. I'll say something.

"I –"

Hermione stopped at the sound of raised voices coming through the door.

She could truthfully say that she'd never heard the headmaster yell, but there was no mistaking that it was his voice raised in anger.

At the unmistakable sounds of an unknown woman's voice, everyone in the room was on their feet with wands drawn. Hermione noticed that Moody's magical eye was now rotated so that he was looking through the far wall and into the foyer beyond.

Fearing that they might charge into the hall with wands blazing, Hermione spoke up. "It's all right. I went to St. Mungo's for a Healer. Her name is Healer Alverez, and she's here to help Professor Snape."

"Fool girl," Moody ground out, right before Albus' distant voice rose loudly enough for everyone to now hear the shouted words clearly.

"I am most certainly not being unreasonable in this. While I appreciate your willingness to exercise your talents in this matter, you will NOT be staying. Miss Granger wilfully disregarded her safety and the safety of all those fighting against Tom by pulling this stunt."

"Oh, give it a rest, Albus. The girl did what you were too scared to do. You need a few new opinions around here anyway. Inbreeding, Albus — bad for bloodlines and mysterious underground Orders."

Albus? Healer Alverez was calling the headmaster Albus? Does that mean that they know each other? Any further musings on that subject was cut off as the library door opened, the two verbal combatants striding through, only to confront each other again as they crossed the threshold.

"This does not concern you, Arrosa."

They do know each other, she thought.

"I beg to differ," Healer Alverez snapped out. "This does concern me. It concerns the whole of the wizarding world and you are no better than the Ministry with your games and lies and secret Orders." She made a noise of derision. "Let me guess, you've even got a secret handshake."

At that comment, Hermione noticed that the George, or Fred, one of the two, let out an almost silent "Oooh," of awe at the Healer's words, although, whether at the idea of a secret handshake or the very audacity of her comment, Hermione wasn't sure.

The slight noise was enough though to bring the headmaster back to his senses with an almost visible snap. He glowered around the room at the silent audience before turning the full force of his glare back on Alverez.

Hermione noted that Alverez didn't even cringe at that heated stare.

When the headmaster finally spoke, his tone was much more controlled, although the anger was still easily heard. Hermione just wasn't sure at this point if the anger was still directed at her or at Healer Alverez.

"We are getting off track. Miss Granger brought you here to check on Severus. I took you upstairs and you've looked at him. How is he?"

Healer Alverez threw up her hands in exasperation. "Eh, so now you ask?"

Dumbledore, however, was managing to keep hold of his temper, but it was a close thing, in Hermione's estimation. "Arrosa. . ." he ground out, his voice low.

Alverez pressed her lips together and let out a breath through her nose before answering. "He was hurt very badly. I stabilised him for the moment, not," she sniped, "that you let me have a whole lot of time with him. He will require extensive healing. That curse left a lot of damage along his nerves and especially along the magical pathways. However, his condition is considerably worsened by old injuries, magical and non-magical. He's going to be weak and in considerable pain for several weeks. Personally, I'd be surprised if he was up and functioning one hundred percent before the new term begins."

At her words, Hermione noticed that the anger seemed to drain out of the headmaster.

"That bad?"

The Healer's face twisted. "Yes, that bad." She gave a derisive snort, but it too lacked the heat of their early argument. "You have no idea the shape he's in, do you? Let me guess, he's been telling you he's fine all this time and you just agree with him because it's convenient."

"That is enough, Arrosa."

She shook her head, grey curls bouncing around her head. "Actually, I don't think it's near enough. It's about time that someone told you the truth about how things really are." She flung out a hand to encompass the room. "It certain that this lot won't tell you what they really think. They're all too bloody in awe of you. Your Miss Granger quite probably saved the man's life."

Hermione winced at hearing her name brought up in the conversation again. While Healer Alverez seemed immune to Professor Dumbledore's anger, she wasn't.

"Miss Granger has disregarded the rules. She has acted in an impulsive and completely thoughtless manner that could have seriously endangered both herself and the Order."

"Hoist by your own petard, eh, Albus? You're angry with the girl for acting like the Gryffindor she is? If that is the case, Albus Dumbledore, you should have populated your merry band with a few more Houses. Asclepius, help! If Severus is the only Slytherin amongst you lot, it's a wonder he's not gone mad."

"The identities of those who make up the Order are of no consequence to you," Albus said, rather stiffly.

Alverez laughed then. "Merlin's balls! He is, isn't he," she said, more statement than question. "So much for inter-House alliance. You're a fraud, Albus."

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height and it looked like the shouting match was about to begin again, when Remus Lupin interrupted with a quiet voice question. "Albus, who is this woman?"

Alverez, in what Hermione was quickly realising was her style, answered for herself. "Healer Arrosa Alverez, Head of the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungo's." She took a quick look around the room at the people gathered there. "Moody," she nodded in the direction of the ex-Auror. "Good to see that arm is still attached."

From the grins of delight on the Weasley twins' faces, Hermione guessed that they also knew the Healer. But then again, considering how many things they typically blew up with their 'pranks,' they were probably on a first name basis with all the Healers in the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungo's.

"So," Moody said, "Snape's in a bad way and goin' to need looking after. That right?"

"That is correct, Mr. Moody."

"Sure as bloody hell none of the rest of us wants to play nurse-maid to Snape. The girl can't be trusted out of anyone's sight and she should be barred from further proceedings. She put herself into this position for that bastard. Let her take care of him."

"Alastor is correct. Whether warranted or not, Miss Granger acted without authority in bringing you to this place and as such must face the consequences of her actions."

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to protest and leap to Professor Snape's defence. Of course, that was what a Gryfindor would do, the inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Snape's pointed out. Then again, this lot would never expect Slytherin word games and cunning from her.

She sent a silent apology to Snape before letting her face twist into a semblance of the same repugnance that was showing on Ron and Harry's.

Looking frantically around the room, she said, "You can't mean for me to take care of him. I just didn't want him to die. If I have to take care of him, I'd have to be with him for hours. It would be like a whole day of Potions class." She added a bit of desperate whinge to her voice. "He hates me!"

"Miss Granger, by your own actions and disregard for the rules of the Order, I have no choice but to enact a punishment upon you. As you have shown that you are not the adult I had given you credit for being. For the rest of the summer I am revoking your access to Order meetings. You will no longer be privy to our discussions, nor take part in strategy meetings." Dumbledore sent a quelling glance around the room. "Misters Potter and Weasley, as well as Miss Weasley, will also be sworn to discuss nothing with you."

Hermione hung her head, more in embarrassment than real shame. Even given this punishment, she'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

"Look at me, Miss Granger."

Hermione lifted her head to meet the Headmaster's eyes — now more the colour of flinty steel than their usual soft twinkling blue. "I've also decided that Alastor's suggestion is not without merit. You will take down Arrosa's instructions on what Severus will need for his coming recovery. You are henceforth at his beck and call and will serve those tasks that are typically performed by the house-elves, as the elves here at the Black house have other duties they are performing."

Hermione dropped her head before Professor Dumbledore could read the triumph in her eyes. She lowered her voice, mimicking Harry at his most uncooperative and sullen as she intoned, "Yes, sir."

"Miss Granger, please take Healer Alverez upstairs to Professor Snape's room. Arrosa will need time to complete her healing. I will be along momentarily to discuss what we will do about this breach in our security."

Alverez, lips compressed tightly in anger, said stiffly, "Come on," before she headed out of the library.

Hermione followed meekly behind until she practically ran into Healer Alverez's back when the witch stopped unexpectedly in the hallway. Hermione was completely shocked when the Healer stuck a finger under her chin and raised Hermione's face up to the light. Alverez stared solemnly at her for a few tense seconds before she gave a short bark of laughter.

"I knew it. I can see it in your eyes. The old goat's underestimated you — Slytherin cunning in a Gryffindor girl. You, my dear, are going to go far."

Hermione started to protest but Alverez waved her off. "Don't bother. I've got the lay of you. Now, come along and I'll explain what Severus is likely to need until he wakes up and what can be done for him afterwards to speed up his recovery."Miranda had sat back and watched the entire drama unfold, her eyes swinging back and forth between the combatants. Whoever this Healer was, she had been good. As far as Miranda knew, only Severus had ever been able to wind Albus up into a good fit of madness. This woman though, she had had the old man practically frothing. It was . . . awe inspiring. Miranda felt rather sorry for Snape that he had missing it

Ch 22: Awakenings

 

Author's Note 1: Semi-naked Snape aside, after the high adventure and rollercoaster emotions of the last two chapters, this one is going to be kind of dull. You have been warned.w

Authoris Note 2: This has only gone through one of my betas. Once the second beta comes back with her changes I'll make those updates. In the meantime, all you eager eyed readers are more than welcome to send me any mistakes. I promise not to cry.Chapter 22: Awakenings

Hermione walked with Healer Alverez up the stairs and towards Professor Snape's room, her thoughts in a whirl. Between lack of sleep, finding Snape, the mad, adrenaline-fueled dash to get the Healer, then the stomach-churning ordeal of facing Ron, Harry and the Order . . . she was wiped out and running on the last wisps of her reserves.

Again, she had to wonder if this was what Professor Snape felt all the time, between teaching and spying and running between Dumbledore and Voldemort. And silly girls who pestered him for his time she added, recognizing that she was just one more burden on his already full plate. It really was a wonder the man wasn't more foul tempered than he was. She shook her head in disbelief at her own thoughts — justifying Snape's less noble habits — she really was tired.

But even her body-numbing tiredness didn't quite dispel the twist of worry that sat hard and tight up under her ribs. Once Dumbledore had finished his spells on Professor Snape to remove Voldemort's lingering curses, she'd not been allowed back upstairs to see the professor. This would be her first glimpse of the man since she'd found him crumpled, drenched, and bloodied on the doorstep.

Feet pacing steadily up each step, she tried to tell herself she was being silly. Snape was going to get better. Alverez was here and had already done a round of healing. Hermione had been assigned to take care of Professor Snape while he was recovering. Rink was even here and would be taking care of Snape as well. Regardless of her punishment from the Order, she knew that she'd never get the elf to not do his bit to care for Professor Snape. Rink had, after all, shown that he took his job as Snape's personal house-elf very seriously. She should have been jubilant. It couldn't have turned out better if she'd planned the whole thing.

Maybe that was her problem, she considered, as they turned the last landing and headed down the long dark hallway that housed the various bedrooms. Hermione was a planner. She liked when things were nicely laid out from A to Z. But this . . . this was random luck and seat-of-the-pants flying. She was just reacting to events as they happened. It was all out of control and she was just being tossed along in the wake of the chaos.

Then they were there, and she was stumbling over the warped floorboard right inside of the room where Rink had placed Snape.

"Oh," she said faintly as she came to an abrupt halt, eyes riveted on the man lying on the narrow bed.

Once through the door, Healer Alverez took control once again; an irony, given Hermione's earlier thoughts, that wasn't lost on her. But Hermione was tired and let herself be pulled along as Alverez snapped her fingers at her impatiently. "Don't fall apart on me yet. He's actually not as bad as he looks."

Hermione didn't see how that was possible. Snape looked like he was already dead. A dingy yellow sheet that Hermione suspected had once been white was pulled up to just below Snape's shoulders. It draped over him like a shroud and gave his already shallow skin tone an even sicklier look, as if he was one of Madame Tussaud's wax mannequins.

She shuddered. Out of control.

Bruises that before had just begun to make their presence known were now fully developed with splashes of purple, green and yellow along his face and jaw. One particularly vivid set of deep purple-red marks centered on what she could see of his right shoulder, the edges of the bruise extending down beneath the sheet.

"Hermione?"

Hermione pulled her attention away from Snape, focusing on the solid presence of the Healer. Setting her shoulders, Hermione raised her chin. "What do I need to do?"

Alverez gave her a warm smile. "Good girl," she said with an approving nod.

Hermione let the Healer's instructions wash over her; one part of her mind memorizing the instructions, noting the dosages and timing of the potions and wand movements. The rest of her was quietly having a nervous breakdown. She'd just misled the Order. She'd hoodwinked her friends. She'd manipulated Dumbledore without a twinge of guilt.

For Snape.

Completely out of control.

"She needs to be here!"

"Miranda," Albus began, trying for a calm, reasonable tone. It was as far as he got before being interrupted.

"We've been through this. You've seen the matrix. You've seen the formulas."

Albus suppressed the urge to sigh. Everything was breaking down. All his careful plans and intricate strategies; he felt as if everything was starting to spin out of control. And last night, even the dependable and normally respectful Miss Granger had defied him. It was a feeling that Albus didn't particularly care for. To much rested on these plans and these people. If even one part should fail . . . he hesitated to even contemplate the horror and loss that would result if Riddle won.

He lowered his voice, dropping it into the wise old wizard routine, hoping that Miranda would follow his lead on this. "I understand how you feel," he said. "Hermione is important, but she has been barred — "

Miranda snorted. "I don't care, Albus. And she's not just important; I'm telling you, she is critical."

His grasp on his temper slipped a little. "Harry is critical. Harry is the center of the prophecy. It was not Miss Granger who faced Tom over the Philosopher's Stone, or faced the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets or stood in the Tri-Wizard tournament. It was Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets and –"

Miranda threw up her hands, frustration evident in the tense lines of her body. "Albus, I get it!" She paced around the room before turning back towards the headmaster. "I get it," she repeated. "I also get that you're angry with her. She's flaunted your authority, gone behind your back and threatened everything we have worked for." Miranda flashed him a tight smile. "I get that she brought that witch — and there was no need to name names — into the Order. I even get that you're angry with me for arguing with you about this. But Hermione is important. Maybe it wasn't Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone, but she has been there every time that Harry has faced him. She has been part of the reason for Mr. Potter's success. To leave her out of this . . . it endangers everything. And no, I can't tell you how or why or when. But trust me Albus, as you have trusted in everything else that I've done for you, she is important."

Albus let his shoulders slump. "You're sure?" he asked, more out of formality than anything else.

"As sure as math and Arthimancy can be. Albus, you've seen the probabilities. You've seen how her line intersects with Severus'. Merlin above, Albus, you have practically guaranteed that their lines are interacting."

"I did nothing of the sort. You told me that their intersection has already happened. Miss Granger's punishment of taking care of Severus now could hardly affect something that has already come to pass."

"Happened, yes, but you've ensured that she will continue to interact with him." Shrewd eyes narrowed at a sudden suspicion. "Albus Dumbledore . . ."

"Stop whatever it is you are thinking. I did not force the interaction," he said, cutting her off before she could go further in her accusation. "I freely admit that there is much I engineer, as you are well aware since your arthimantical equations are most often the basis for those plans. But I assure you, in this case, it is simply fate. Miss Granger needed a suitable punishment, and it is true that few in the Order would care to tend to Severus. Their distrust of him is to ingrained at this point."

Miranda stopped in surprise. Albus noted it wasn't long before a small piece of chalk materialized from one of Miranda's pockets, the piece rolling rapidly between her fingers. Already he could see her mind turning; could almost see her calculating variables in her head.

"You think," she began slowly, obviously thinking out loud, "that is why Miss Granger and Severus were fated to cross. It always did seem like an odd pairing when I first mapped the equations. But it makes sense if you look at it from that standpoint, doesn't it. She had to have prior interactions with him in order to want to help him the way she did, and Severus will hopefully tolerate her help in his care based on their prior school contact."

"It is the only explanation that makes sense of both your data and the facts."

Miranda considered for a moment before shaking her head. "And yet . . . I don't know. Something seems off about that explanation. Although I can't quite put my finger on what is off."

"You have another explanation to fit the circumstances? It explains your matrix."

"No, no other explanation. And it is as good as any I suppose, since it has already come to pass."

Albus gave a small satisfied smile. "Then she had served the purpose outlined in your matrix."

Miranda made a face at him, her nose scrunched up. "Good try, but no, Albus. Miss Granger still needs to be there."

He sighed then in defeat. An occurrence, he reflected, that had been happening with surprising regularity lately. "Very well. I will call an Order meeting so you can present your findings." He frowned slightly, before adding, "And I'll include Miss Granger."

Standing, Albus smoothed down his robes, straightening the fabric so that the twinkling stars around the hem were straight. He was rather proud of that bit of sartorial charm work. "We will meet tomorrow evening." Then bowing slightly, he headed out.

As Albus left the study, Miranda sank down wearily into one of the threadbare armchairs. She hated arguing with the Headmaster, but Albus was being particularly recalcitrant when it came to Miss Granger, for reasons that Miranda had yet to fathom. But that was a pondering that she was going to have to leave to another day. Now she had to focus on presenting her findings to the Order.

Truthfully, Miranda had felt a bit lost over the last day. She'd originally been prepared to meet the Order, had even expected that her appearance and her knowledge would cause a bit of a stir with the members. She would be, after all, a complete surprise to them. She'd been prepared to deal with that surprise and even a few feelings of resentment at her inclusion. But she had fully expected to win over any doubters after showing them the probabilities matrix she'd created.

Without a doubt though, she'd been the one surprised from the moment that the house-elf had brought her and Albus to this dreary old house. In the ensuring drama of Snape, Hermione and Healer Alverez, Miranda had been practically shoved into a corner and left to stay there.

A more contrary soul — like Snape — Miranda thought with a crooked grin, would have pitched a fit at her treatment, if he'd even have allowed himself to be put into the position in the first place. Miranda however was an observer at heart. It was one of the things that made her a good Arthimancer — in order to create the most accurate equations; she had to be able to fill in the variables.

What she had observed in the last couple of days made her fingers itch to get equations down on a blackboard. The Order of the Phoenix was in chaos — chaos that centered on Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. The Headmaster might believe that Miss Granger's nexus point was past, but Miranda would bet her wand that it wasn't. She could practically see the probabilities lines forming and shifting around her.

Everything might have been spinning out of control, but Miranda was about to map it all down and bring her own special version of order.Grimmauld Place was, despite the old house's dreariness and the ever-unpleasant portrait of Mrs Black, rather relaxing for Ron. Granted, there were things he'd much rather be doing if circumstances were different, but if he was going to be cooped up in a drafty old house, at least his best mates were stuck there with him. Sometimes, he even wondered how things might have been different if he hadn't met Harry and Hermione on the train that first year. But he never pondered the what-ifs for long. That was more of a Hermione thing.

Nudging his broom to hover more to the left, he gazed up at the lighted window of Snape's room. Hermione was in there now taking care of the greasy bat while the rest of them were out here the in the overgrown, weed-infested gardens behind Grimmauld Place, playing a modified version of Quidditch that they'd developed. He knew Hermione would have hated this game with the restrictions of flying below the nine foot high garden wall and goals made when the Quaffle was batted into the hollow of the enormous oak tree that dominated the far corner of the yard.

But, now, it was all spinning out of control.

Not that Ron had ever really thought that he was in control, but nothing was going the way he'd thought things would go.

His best mate was stilling acting barmy.

He'd been made a full member of the order of the Order of the Phoenix just in time to have the entire Order thrown into utter chaos.

Dumbledore was getting into public shouting matches with strange witches.

He glanced back up at the light in the window. Merlin help him, but he was even feeling a tad bit sorry for Snape, of all people.

He'd been made Head Boy.

And Hermione . . . Hermione had gone stark raving mad.

Hermione. When had she gone out of control? He rather expected it of Harry nowadays, but Hermione was still a mystery to him.

Leaning forward so his elbow could rest on his broom, Ron cut a sideways glance at Harry, who was hovering at his side. "Maybe Snape slipped her a potion."

Beside him Harry made a non-committal grunting noise.

"Okay, fine, so he didn't slip her a potion. But it doesn't make any sense. She's not making any sense."

The Firebolt abruptly descended towards the ground until Harry once again stood on Terra Firma. "I'm going to my room," he said, his voice flat, the look in his eyes cold and distant.

Ron watched Harry leave and felt something very like panic take root in his chest.Hermione had just finished giving Snape one of his pain potions when she heard the door open behind her. Thinking it was only Rink, Hermione didn't immediately turn around so was startled when she heard the Headmaster speak.

"How is he this afternoon, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun around. "Sir!"

Dumbledore entered the room, his attention focused on the man lying in the bed. "Relax, Miss Granger. I just wanted to check on Severus."

Seeing the Headmaster, Hermione was torn in her emotions. On one hand, she was still angry with what she felt was his uncaring attitude towards Professor Snape. On the other hand, even she could not miss the worn expression and slumped shoulders of the old wizard. In the end, anger gave way to compassion, although it went grudgingly and left a bite of sarcasm to her words.

Pulling out the chair she'd been using, Hermione gave Dumbledore a slight smile. "Have a seat, sir. I'm sure Professor Snape would enjoy you sitting with him awhile."

Her bit of rudeness didn't see to faze the headmaster as he settled himself into the chair beside the bed. But then, Dumbledore had been dealing with Professor Snape. Her paltry attempts at sniping were amateurish at best. If anything, her stiff attitude seemed to make the headmaster more at ease, if the slight smile hiding in his beard was any indication.

"Enjoy is such a strong word, Miss Granger, especially when used with Professor Snape. If anything, my dear, if he knew I was sitting vigil at his bedside, he would have all the charm of wet Kneazle." His smile widened. "I daresay that you should share in the experience."

Waving a gnarled hand at the space beside him, another chair appeared. "Please, have a seat, Miss Granger. I would have a word with you as well."

Dumbledore waited until she was settled in the conjured chair before he began speaking again. "I have disappointed you."

Hermione's eyes went wide in shock at the words. Automatic words of protest rose but were halted as Dumbledore raised a hand.

"Don't defend your feelings. You feel as if I should have done more for Professor Snape; cared more, helped him more."

As he spoke, Hermione noticed that Dumbledore did not turn to look at her, but instead kept his eyes focused on Professor Snape's still form. It was an odd way of having a conversation and it made Hermione feel uneasy. It was almost if Dumbledore was more talking aloud to himself that to her.

"To be honest," he continued, "part of me agrees with you. Unfortunately, the rest of me, as well as Severus himself if he could offer his opinion, disagrees."

She didn't know how to answer that, so she said nothing, but waited for Dumbledore to speak again or do something. But he neither spoke nor acted.

"Do you care for him?" she finally asked when the silence grew too thick, all too aware of how presumptuous her question was.

"It must not seem like I do from your vantage point, but if you believe that, you would be most mistaken."

"Then how can you—" she began hotly before she remembered just who she was talking to.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Finish your thought, Miss Granger. You were perhaps about to ask, 'Then how can I treat him the way I do?'"

Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione nodded sharply.

"We are at war, Miss Granger. Never doubt that. It isn't a game. People — Muggle and wizard alike — are dying between two opposing forces. No one from the Ministry was stepping forward, so I became the general in charge of one side of this war. I would like to see each and every one of those who serve with me against Tom as individuals, but I do not always have the luxury of doing so."

One of Dumbledore's hands reached out and briefly clasped Snape's before withdrawing. "I have asked Severus for much over the years. He has never failed to deliver. I will ask more of him in the future."

Dumbledore finally turned to her and full force of his gaze met hers. "There may come a time when I will ask it of you. You will have to look within yourself, just as Severus has, to determine your answer. What would you give, Miss Granger, to see Tom defeated? What is it worth to you? I protect as much as I can. I guard all of you with every bit of skill and knowledge at my disposal, but that doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. It doesn't mean that those who stand with me are never in harm's way when the need calls for it."

Just as quickly, blue eyes shifted away and Hermione drew in a lungful of air, her heart pounding.

By the time she gathered her scattered wits, Dumbledore was no longer seated beside her, but standing in the doorway.

"There will be a meeting this evening of the Order. Your exclusion from Order proceedings still stands, but an allowance will be made for this one meeting. Please make sure you attend."

"Yes, sir," she answered, but he was already gone.Hermione hesitated on the threshold of the library, unsure if she would continue. Professor Dumbledore caught her hesitation. "Come in, Miss Granger."

At his words, most of the other people in the room turned to stare at her. The impressions ranged from a welcoming smile on Professor Vector's face to varying degrees of curiosity to suspicion and outright distain on others.

She recognized each of those looks, as they were usually ones directed at Professor Snape. Ones she herself had been guilty of, on more than one occasion. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on her, she fought her urge to curl her lip in a scowl. Instead, back ramrod straight and chin high, she flashed a wide, toothy smile at the room before taking an empty chair next to Remus.

But as she settled herself, smoothing her sweaty palms down her Muggle jeans, she realized something else. It wasn't just Professor Snape who got the looks. It was all of the Slytherins; the looks, the suspicions, the disapproval inherent in every weighted glance. This, Hermione realized, was what it meant when you weren't a favored Gryffindor, when even if you'd done nothing wrong, everyone watched you, sure that you were about to betray everything and everyone.

She scrubbed wearily at her eyes. No wonder they hate us all, she thought.

"What is she doing here?"

"Peace, Alastor," Dumbledore said, his voice shaded with undercurrents of exasperation. "Her punishment has not been lifted, but she is a part of the information that Professor Vector is about to explain. To bar her from this invites a greater danger that I am not willing to ignore."

Dumbledore gestured towards Professor Vector, who stood before the assembled inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix. She cleared her throat. "Many of you have wondered about my sudden presence here these last days, but with — other considerations going on — my purpose had been tabled. Most of you know me as the Arthimancy Professor at Hogwarts. The Headmaster has been asking me to run Arthimancy probability projects since the first day that Mr. Potter entered Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Arthimancy equations are rarely static but grow and change with each additional piece of data placed within the variables. In the beginning, my data was sparse and fragmented as I worked to understand the forces that Mr. Potter interacted with, and which in turn, interacted with him."

She sighed and sent an apologetic smile in Harry's direction. "I believe that if I had better data, I could have helped to prevent a lot of the turmoil that you went through your first and second years. As it was, I was only able to identify the very basics and large probability intersections affecting the timelines: your need of your father's cloak early in your first year, the opening of the Chamber and your eventual need for Gryffindor's sword. The equations were simply too complex and while a good Arthimancer can give you instances and probabilities, even the best of us can not predict the future with less than full data."

Vector pulled her wand from within her sleeve and gave a complicated wave. Beside her in mid-air appeared a complicated tangle of multi-colored lines. As it rotated slowly in its central axis, the tangle resolved itself into what was possibly one of the most complicated, time-centric, arthimantical output representations Hermione had ever seen.

"Looks like a plate of mum's spaghetti," Ron whispered in an aside to Harry, though the remark carried easily to the rest of the room.

Hermione's first impulse was to chastise Ron and launch into an explanation of representational arthimantic equations but she clamped her teeth down on the words that wanted to spill forth. No one here was interested in her words. As a reminder to herself to keep quiet, she fell back on the habit she'd engendered during the past school year and firmly tucked her hands beneath her thighs.

Professor Vector raised a brow. "Yes, Mr Weasley, I suppose it rather does look like a plate of spaghetti."

Ron flushed pink as he realized that everyone in the room had heard his comment.

"However," Vector continued, "if you'd taken my class, you might know what it represents, although I can assure you it isn't dinner."

A low-voiced ripple of amusement went around the room, as the flush on Ron's face deepened and spread up to his ears. "Sorry, Professor."

Vector nodded and, flourishing her wand, caused the model of multi-colored lines to spin on its axis. "Arthimancy," she began, falling into the tone she used during class lectures, "combines history, sociology, mathematical statistics and interpretational and divinational magic represented as arthimantic equations to create a nearly exact science that is used to discover probability outcomes. It is used most often in interdisciplinary applications. In its simplest forms, it can be used to create new charms or hexes, or be used in potion making to determine how to alter current potion formulas or create new ones."

Vector paused as she glanced around the room. Hermione knew from being in Vector's class that the professor was checking to make sure that everyone was following her explanation. Apparently satisfied, Vector continued her lecture.

"As in any discipline, there are multiple branches of study. One of the most esoteric for Arthimancy is used as a means of divination and can be used, by an expert practitioner, to predict the course of actions of individuals and groups. This is, of course, not be confused with the Muggle science called psychohistory which, while it too utilizes history and sociology and mathematical statistics, can only be used to plot the moves of very large groups of people. It is the addition of magic that allows for the more precise control of Arthimancy."

"And this has to do what us how?" Moody interrupted from his place in the back of the room.

"It has to do with you, because I've been creating arthimantic formulas for the Order as a whole, for certain individuals, for the Death Eaters and for You-Know-Who." Using her wand, Vector pointed to several individual lines within the matrix causing them to light up. Then she pointed to one area where the glowing lines crossed. "Each line represents a calculation which takes into account an enormous amount of data and probabilities and is graphically represented. Each crossing point is what is known as a nexus point. It is the point of confluence — of change. It represents major turning points."

Vector stopped and let the room take another look at the spaghetti tangle. She raised her wand again and pointed to a nexus where the lines crossed so thickly that the individual colors of the lines could no longer be determined. "This, based on my calculations, is when the Order of the Phoenix will meet the forces of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters in what will be a last and final conflict."

Her gaze swept around the room again. "By my calculations, we have ten months before that confrontation — a circumstance which has changed recently and whose date has accelerated."It took two full days for Hermione to regain her equilibrium. Between her conversation with Dumbledore, which still gave her shivers when she thought about it, to the revelations made by Professor Vector, Hermione's thoughts were in a whirl. Arthimancy was her favorite subject in school. She'd more than once thought about focusing her studies in that direction and to that end, she'd done extensive reading about Arthimancy on her own time. That extra reading gave her a view of Professor Vector's work that she was fairly sure the others didn't see.

The most disturbing aspect was that she was represented. It was one thing to understand that Arthimancy could predict probabilities. It was another to see that prediction in spinning technicolor — to see the mapping of her life and more problematic, at least to her, the mapping of Professor Snape.

She'd thought it had been random. She'd thought that meeting with Professor Snape was simple cause and effect. It wasn't. Her probability line and Snape's were crossed now and continued forward together paralleling each other until that awful tangle that Vector had dubbed 'the final battle'. She didn't know what that meant and it scared her.

Up until now she could continue in her belief that Snape was just a project. Yes, she liked him. He was challenging in ways that stretched her mind, but it didn't really mean anything. She was just being nice to him when others didn't. But it was more than that. It was . . . well, she didn't know exactly what it was. Right now it was caregiver and patient. When he was better they would return to the roles of mentor and student. At least she thought they would. The matrix seemed to bear that out.

What really worried her though was that her line, the line of Hermione Granger, didn't seem to continue forward with those representing Ron and Harry. It crossed their in certain points, often time with Professor Snape's line beside her own. She could only hope that that meant that she and Professor Snape would be able to save Harry from whatever path of destruction he was currently on. But it was obvious to her eyes that she was no longer together with them — woven around them, intersecting them, going in the same direction — yes, but not withthem.

She thought that was something she could handle; something she could deal with. It was obvious that her interactions with Snape, the tying of her line probability with Snape's was important. She'd made a decision in regard to Professor Snape months ago and she thought she'd accepted the consequences until she run into Harry and Ron in the library.

"How could you, Hermione?" Harry hissed through gritted teeth. "What were you thinking?"

"How could I?" she repeated, brows climbing upwards in complete disbelief. "That's right rich coming from you, Harry. How many times have you gone off on your own with half a thought in your head and no consideration for the consequences? At least I admit it. I was reckless and stupid and I wasn't thinking and I'll take my punishment, but don't you dare lecture me, Harry Potter, about hair-brained schemes. I did what I did to try to save a man's life. It wasn't like I sneaked off to Honeyduke's to get something asinine like candy, like some people."

Harry's face turned an alarming shade of purple. Might not have said that, she realized, but it was far too late to take back the words now.

Harry spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the library door behind him.

Ron was staring at her like he'd never seen her before. Giving his head a shake, he followed out after Harry.

Hermione stared at the door, tears pooling up her eyes. Consequences and lines and probabilities and futures where she was friends but not best friends with Harry and Ron stretched before her. Crumpling to the floor, Hermione felt like crying. She didn't. Wiping her eyes with the backs of hands, she climbed back to her feet. She had consequences and lines and probabilities and futures before her and crying wasn't going to help.Professor Snape tossed and turned within the narrow confines of the bed. His hair stuck to his skin from sweat, his breath coming out in rapid, shallow pants. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes darted rapidly from side to side. That he was trapped in some kind of nightmare was obvious. It disturbed Hermione to see her proud teacher brought to this. What disturbed her more though were the small sounds that occasionally escaped him. They weren't quite whimpers or whinges, but some choked combination of the two, as if in his dreams he was trying to stifle the urge to scream.

She couldn't watch this anymore without doing something.

"Rink, I can't stand this. The pain potions aren't working." She scrubbed tiredly at her face. "Or they are working, they just aren't working enough. I need to do something." Fists clenched, she let out a short scream. "Anything."

"Ears are flapping."

That non-sequitur completely threw Hermione for a loop and she switched her attention from the comatose Snape to Rink, her frustration momentarily set aside. She was getting rather used to some of the odder things that Rink would say. She also felt herself to be rather good at translating elf-speak into the Queen's English. This one though, had her stumped.

"Ears are flapping?" she repeated back.

Rink, his face particularly serious, nodded decisively, causing his own rather large ears to flap forward.

Hermione hid a smile behind a feigned cough and raised hand. She wouldn't want to hurt Rink's feelings. Getting control of her grin, she asked as nonchalantly as possible, "So, what are ears flapping about?"

"Elves are very impressed with Hermy."

Hermione let out a rueful laugh. Everyone else in the house was treating her like she was some kind of pariah — actually, they were treating her rather like they treated Snape. And now the house-elves, who wouldn't even get close to her before, were now proud of her.

Good Lord, when did my life get so odd?

"Why are the elves proud of me?"

"Hermy's words. Hermy's doing. Hermy needs to do something," Rink said, as if Hermione's mounting frustration at not being able to help Professor Snape somehow made more sense to the house-elves than it did to her. "Elves need to do something."

Maybe it did make sense to the elves and maybe doing was all it took. I've already done one thing, maybe that will help here.

"Rink?" The elf was at her side immediately. "I need you to go to Hogwarts and get the sheets I made for Professor Snape."

Rink's ears, which had drooped forlornly ever since Snape's appearance at Grimmauld Place, shot straight up in response. Eyes as wide and round as saucers regarded her with faint hope.

"Hermy is doing. Hermy believes magic will help the Master of Potions?"

Hermione leaned forward in the chair. Resting her chin on a propped up hand, she stared at her teacher for a moment. "Don't get your hopes up Rink, but I'm thinking that they might. Professor Snape is still in a lot of pain and he isn't sleeping restfully. That can't be good for his healing. I hope that the spells in the sheets might — I don't know — make it easier on him or something."

Rink regarded her solemnly. "Rink will get Miss' sheets."

"Thanks."

With a soft pop, Rink disappeared and Hermione was left alone with Snape. She dared to reach out and run a fingertip along her jaw line, feeling the scrape of his facial hair again the sensitive skin. She jerked her hand away guiltily when Snape, even unconscious, flinched from her light touch.

She didn't have long to wait and soon the narrow bed had been changed with Rink's help and Hermione was smoothing down the edges of sheets that Rink had retrieved. She knew that they had helped the professor before. Alverez' charms and potions were obviously helping Professor Snape's physical ailments, but nothing so far seemed to help the man get any true rest. She only hoped that the comfort and protection she'd woven into the sheets would help Snape. Now the hard part would begin again. There was no more doing to be done. It was simply waiting."How long?" were the first words he rasped out three days later. Hermione winced to hear his normally smooth baritone sound so faint and jagged. She hurried forward to give her professor and patient a sip of cool water. As she prepared the glass she gave a short recitation of the facts, knowing that a man such as Professor Snape would be wanting to know everything that had happened.

"You showed up several days ago during a storm. You were seriously inured and unconscious when you were found." She decided to leave out the fact that she had been the one to find him, but she knew she wouldn't be able to leave out the next couple of parts.

"Dumbledore came and removed the curse you were under."

She saw Snape nod slightly at her words and wondered if that meant he remembered that awful curse Voldemort had cast on him.

"However," she continued, "he wasn't able to heal you completely, as you were very badly injured. He sent for Madam Pomfrey but she was unavailable. I –" she stopped, gathering her courage for this next par, "I went to get Healer Alverez to help you."

Snape frowned, his face somewhere between shocked and amazed. "Professor Dumbledore initiated Healer Alverez into the Order?"

"Not exactly," Hermione hedged.

Tired black eyes that still held a lot of pain in their depths met hers. "Explain," he demanded curtly.

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