Chapter 32: Inappropriate

The babble of voices was rising quickly towards an uproar as more and more students read the paper and flipped through the additional articles in the Prophet. Hermione was listening with half an ear to the conversation at the Gryffindor table. Her main focus was on Dumbledore at the Head Table. Why isn't he doing anything? Why doesn't he say something? He's just sitting there like he's waiting for something.

As the doors to the Great Hall burst open with a loud bang, Hermione realised what the headmaster had been waiting for.

"Oh God, not him again," Harry muttered.

Auror John Dawlish stood in the doorway, wiry grey hair backlit and haloed by the light spilling in from the hall. Five other men stood in a semi-circle behind Dawlish, all solidly built and capable looking. Silence spread through the room like a ripple across a pond. Professor Dumbledore stood, for once his age and power settling around him in an almost visible cloak. "Auror . . . Dawlish, isn't it?"

As Dawlish had been one of those that had been sent to arrest Dumbledore during the whole Dumbledore's Army fiasco, Dumbledore was well aware of who he was. The subtle dig at unremarkability hit its mark as Dawlish stiffened in annoyance.

Dumbledore gave him a genial smile. "My condolences on the Ministry's recent loss. Rufus Scrimgeour was a fine man and wizard. As it is almost time for the students' lessons to begin," — he gestured back toward the entryway and the stairway entrance to his own office beyond — "perhaps we can discuss your somewhat abrupt entrance in the comfort of my office." Not giving Dawlish time to say otherwise, Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, would you dismiss the children after breakfast?"

Auror Dawlish, however, quickly found his footing. "No one is going anywhere." He gave Dumbledore back the bland, genial smile he'd given him a moment earlier. "Some announcements need to be made and then the children will be returning to the dormitories while we secure the castle. Classes will resume tomorrow."

Dumbledore's smile turned frosty. "The Ministry has no authority–"

"Under Martial Law, the Ministry has every authority, up to and including closing Hogwarts . . . for the safety of its students, of course."

"Yes, the Ministry has shown great care for the students of this institution the past few years." Several students, especially from the Gryffindor table, chuckled at that acerbic pronouncement. "So, what can Hogwarts do for the Ministry?"

As his men spread out against the far wall, Auror Dawlish stepped further into the Great Hall until he came to the end of the Ravenclaw table. Climbing up onto one of the benches, he stepped onto the tabletop bringing him level with those seated up at the Head Table.

Hermione heard one Ravenclaw mutter, "How rude!" The sound carried in the too-still room.

The action though had the effect of drawing everyone's focused attention. Dawlish pulled a scroll out from the bag at his shoulder. Snapping it open, he began to read:

"By Order of Acting Minister Thicknesse, by the authority granted him by the Wizengamot on 19 October 1997, the Ministry of Magic is declaring Martial Law.

"In accordance to this declaration, the following articles shall be enacted:

1. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now under the direct control and protection of the Ministry of Magic.

2. All wizarding citizens falling into one of the following categories: Orphans, Witches or Wizards with one Muggle parent, Witches or Wizards with two Muggle parents,

or Witches or Wizards born of wizarding parents but residing within Muggle households are hereby declared as wards of the Ministry of Magic and are now under the full

protection and guardianship of the Ministry of Magic."

Several whispered conversations sprung up around the Hall as students affected by the new declarations expressed their opinions.

"Those bastards!" Harry hissed under his breath. "You were right, Ron. This isn't about protecting Hogwarts. This is about getting to me."

"Easy, mate. Don't do anything rash. If you do, that gives them an excuse to take you."

Harry's hand twitched towards his wand. "They can try. I'll leave Hogwarts and go live in the wilderness before I become a puppet for the Ministry."

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione snapped, "no one is going to go live in the woods. You think you'll be able to survive on mushrooms and berries?"

For a split second it looked like Harry was about to lose his temper before he unexpectedly grinned at her. "If I run away to the woods, will you and Ron come with me? Someone needs to point out which mushrooms are edible."

She grinned back at him as she smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Git."

"So, if we aren't going to run away to the woods, what are we going to do about them?" he asked, gesturing towards the Aurors. "We need to know what they're planning."

"I may not be Fred or George, but I've learned a thing or two." With that, Ron climbed to his feet. "Excuse me, Auror Dawlish."

The Auror swung around towards the Gryffindor table, along with every other set of eyes in the Hall. Expressions ranging from shocked to amused met Hermione's gaze. She glanced up at the headmaster again and thought she read something closely related to alarm there.

Ron's nose rose an inch into the air and his voice took on a supercilious and ingratiating whine. "Ron Weasley here, sir. Head Boy. I think it's wonderful that our Ministry is taking such a decisive stand to protect Hogwarts and my fellow students from the depravities being visited on the wizarding world by You-Know-Who and his followers."

Ginny was staring at her brother like she'd never seen him before.

Almost impossibly, Ron's nose went even higher in the air. "While I certainly can't speak for everyone," — although his tone said that was exactly what he was doing — "as Head Boy this year, I'd like to offer my assistance. As you are no doubt aware from your own years at Hogwarts, the Head Boy and Girl supervise the designated Prefects in conducting rounds of the castle."

Beside her, Harry whispered, "Oh my God, he's channeling Percy."

Beneath the table, Ron kicked at Harry as he continued. "Even with such fine Aurors as yourself, the six of you won't be able to adequately patrol the entire castle. Perhaps we can work together to come up with a schedule that will help you maintain some semblance of order."

Dawlish seemed to consider this. "Ron Weasley?" Dawlish's gaze settled on Harry, his expression unreadable. "Friend of Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

His eyes never leaving Harry, Dawlish continued. "And with that red hair, I daresay a relation of Percy Weasley."

"Correct again, sir."

"Fine young man, Percy Weasley. He's got the right attitude to go far in the Ministry."

Ron nodded in agreement, but Hermione could see the fine muscles in his jaw bunching up as Ron gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"Excellent suggestion," Dawlish finally said, his gaze switching back to Ron. "Once everyone is dismissed, have your troops escort everyone back to their houses and then come back here. We'll go over our game plan then. Good lad. And with that," — Dawlish bowed mockingly in Dumbledore's direction — "we have only one other piece of business to perform."

"And what might that be, Auror Dawlish?"

"I would think that would be rather obvious, Headmaster." He paused and Hermione felt her stomach churn. She knew what was coming.

"Where. Is. Snape?"

"Professors," Dumbledore said, heavily emphasizing the title, "are only required to sit one meal a day. Other meal times are optional. Professor Snape is, in all probability, breaking his fast in his rooms. Or he may be in his classroom, or workroom." Dumbledore shrugged. "It is a large castle after all. I do not make it a habit to keep tabs on my professors every moment."

"Do not play me for a fool. You know everything that happens in this castle." The sarcasm deepened. "You are the great Albus Dumbledore, after all."

"Great, am I? How extraordinary. I can't say I feel great. Actually, I'm feeling rather peckish, as you've interrupted my breakfast. Muggles say it's the most important meal of the day, you know. Personally, I've always rather preferred lunch, but the Muggles seem most insistent. Are you sure you wouldn't like to get down off the table and sit at it properly and have a bite to eat?"

Dawlish began turning an ugly red color as Dumbledore continued to rattle on about breakfast. Dawlish finally interrupted with a shout. "I do not care about breakfast. I want Severus Snape!"

Dumbledore halted his ramble, blinking owlishly at the Auror, dotty old professor routine in full swing. "My dear boy, whatever for?"

Several of the Slytherins began laughing, and Hermione caught smiles on the faces of many other students. Dawlish's interrogation was rapidly beginning to spin out of his control.

The crimson spreading across Dawlish's face deepened more into the purples, and Hermione was fairly positive that she could see a vein beginning to throb in his temple. "Several witnesses to the attack at the Ministry said they recognized Snape," Dawlish ground out. "The man identified as Snape was wounded with a distinctive hex when he attempted to escape justice. He will be identified."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Well, then, there you go. Professor Snape couldn't have been your man. Not a scratch on him. Are you sure you wouldn't like breakfast? The Hogwarts house-elves make a fine scramble."

"I want—"

"To speak to me. Really, Auror Dawlish, if I had known missing breakfast this morning would cause such a furor, I certainly would have made more of an effort to attend."

Hermione felt the breath leave her in a whoosh of relief as Dawlish whirled, wand drawn, to face the man standing in the doorway.

"Snape."

Snape inclined his head, the manner one of a superior granting audience to an inferior. "Auror Dawlish," — his eyes cut to the other Aurors standing with wands drawn — "and friends."

Dawlish jumped from the table, directing his men to converge where Snape stood. "By order of the Ministry you are under arrest for attack on the Ministry of Magic and for the murders of Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, Under Minister Ian Bloodgood and Under Secretary Hazel Higgenbottom. You will surrender your wand and yourself to Auror custody immediately."

"I really don't think that will be necessary, Auror Dawlish."

The room held its collective breath as Dawlish raised his wand, its tip pointed at Snape's heart. "I say it will." He grinned cockily. "Are you resisting arrest?"

By now the entire Slytherin table was on its feet, loud protests being yelled at the treatment of their Head of House.

"Auror Dawlish," Dumbledore thundered from the High Table, in a voice that quieted the entire room. "You stated earlier that witnesses placed Professor Snape at the scene and injured. As you can see, he is NOT injured. And I am sure that the professor will be more than happy to provide you with his wand for a Prior Incantato spell."

Dawlish was still wearing a smug expression that made Hermione nervous when Dumbledore added, "This is also neither the time nor place to hold an inquisition. I would suggest that this conversation be moved elsewhere."

"Of course, Headmaster. I think we can resolve this rather quickly."

"Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shot to his feet. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"You have volunteered the Prefects to help maintain order the castle. Escort everyone to their dormitories. Breakfast is over."

Ron gave a sharp nod and then gestured to Hannah Abbott, the Head Girl, and to the Prefects to gather up their respective Houses. As he, Hermione and Harry were about to split up, Harry whispered, "I'll meet you guys in the Room of Requirement."

Ron gave him a grin. "Bring your cloak and the map. We might need them."

Ron slipped into a Room of Requirement that resembled the Gryffindor Tower common room. Harry and Hermione were waiting for him exactly as he'd pictured they would be. Harry was pacing impatiently, and Hermione was studying the Marauders Map which had been spread out over a low table.

He gave the others a triumphant grin as he pushed the door closed.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

Ron collapsed onto one of the chairs conjured by the room. "Dawlish is a complete prat, and Abbott is never going to speak to me again. Is everyone still in the Great Hall?"

Hermione did a quick scan of the map. "Looks like the teachers have all gone to their rooms. Students are in the dormitories. The headmaster is in his office with Dawlish and three of his men."

"So what happened? Hermione already told me about Dawlish letting the Prefects continue walking rounds."

"Dawlish wants Abbott and me to meet with him every other day to give reports on anything the Prefects find and to discuss the security of the castle."

Harry gave Ron a sly smile. "Which means you'll know everything that they are interested in and any plans that they have for Hogwarts. And with the Map, we'll be able to work around them."

"For now," Ron said, "Harry, you really need to keep a low profile. Dawlish was all for the idea of the Prefects helping because he thinks I'll rat you out. He's particularly interested in what you are doing, what your schedule is like, and who you hang out with."

"What about Snape?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "I don't know. Dumbledore turned Snape over to them, and a couple of Dawlish's men went somewhere. I didn't know where."

"And I don't care," Harry commented.

Ron shook his head. "You might need to, mate. Dumbledore was way too full of himself and complacent about handing Snape over to Dawlish. I don't think Dawlish is going to be able to pin anything on him."

"Damn. It would have been nice if the Ministry finally did something about that bastard. They can't even get that right."

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione and then said cautiously, "If he really is on our side, we're going to need him."

"We DON'T need him."

"He's the black queen, Harry. We do need him."

"Black queen? What are you talking about, Ron?"

Ron grimaced and closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling up as he concentrated. A chess board materialized on the table in front of them.

"Don't you see, Volde–Voldemort — cripes, I hate saying that — is the black king." Ron reached over to the white king and picked it up. "You, Harry, well, you're not the white king. If anyone was, I'd say it was Dumbledore."

Setting the piece back down, he rearranged several of the other pieces around the two kings. "The kings don't do much. They stay behind the scenes and stay out of the conflict happening on the board. They just aren't very powerful."

"Dumbledore isn't powerful?" Harry asked with a derisive laugh.

"But he isn't, Harry," Hermione added thoughtfully. "Think about it. The prophecy is about you, not Dumbledore. You are the most powerful."

"Right," Ron agreed. "So that makes you the white queen. But the thing is, we can't go rushing in and confronting the Aurors or doing something stupid because that puts you, the queen, in a vulnerable position. The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, and you NEVER put her in a position where she can be easily taken, unless she's the bait in an unbeatable trap."

Harry knocked his knuckles against the board causing all the pieces to jump and glare up at him. "We aren't playing chess, though."

Ron picked up the black queen and twirled it between his fingers. "Actually, I think we are. Or, I think maybe Voldemort and Dumbledore are playing chess, and all of us are the pieces being moved around the board."

"I am getting really tired of being other people's pawns," Harry growled. "So I'm the headmaster's white queen and Snape is Voldemort's."

"That's just it, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Why play their game when you can play your own? Don't let them turn you into a pawn." Remembering Sirius Black and the fiasco at the Ministry, she added, "Don't let the situation turn you into a pawn. Don't react. Think about every step."

Harry made a face but he seemed to be listening to them. "So what? I kill Snape first and then Voldemort."

Panic flared in Hermione's stomach, but Ron spoke up before she could protest.

"No. And quit being a stubborn prat. You're a pretty decent chess player, Harry, but your weakness has always been that you don't plan enough moves forward in advance. Plot the moves to either game. Snape is the black queen, and he can go two ways. If he's really Dumbledore's man, then we control almost the entire board because between the two queens, nothing could stand in their way."

Harry took the piece from Ron's hand and put it squarely back on the black side of the board. "And if he's Voldemort's man?"

Ron's expression was grim. "Then we are in serious trouble, and we need to come up with a way to neutralize Snape before we tackle Voldemort."

"Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape," Hermione said into the silence, feeling like she was saying it for the thousandth time. "Everything he has done up to this point says he's on our side. Every time we'd doubted him or suspected him," she reminded them, "we've been wrong."

"So we play out the game both ways."

Seeing as that was the closest she was going to get to making them see things her way, Hermione sat back. "Then we need to start planning, and the first thing I want to do is make a copy of the Marauder's Map."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't let the vague sense of guilt she was feeling halt her words. "You guys are going to need the Map to get around the Aurors. I'm going to make a copy of the map and watch Snape."

Harry grinned. "Good thinking."

Hermione was exhausted, but sleep eluded her. She, Harry and Ron had spent the rest of the morning talking about plans, the prophecy and how best to exploit Ron's new status as Auror stool pigeon. Hermione had also taken the Marauder's Map to begin her research on how to copy it for their use. She'd spent the rest of the day alternating between finally getting caught up with her revisions for N.E.W.T.s, writing up her notes for how the day's events could be imcorporated into her Arithmancy project, and checking the Map to see if Dawlish's men and Snape had returned to the castle.

She'd finally seen Snape return a little while earlier. He'd gone straight to his office and had not moved from that spot. After an hour of watching an unmoving dot, she'd finally decided that she could go to bed, although she'd been plagued by a vague sense of unease. In all the time she'd watched Snape the previous year using the Map, he'd rarely ever been that still.

She was worried about him, and sleep was slow in coming. She couldn't even say she was all that surprised when Rink appeared with a sudden pop at the end of her bed. She took one look at Rink and knew that her fears had been justified. "Rink?"

"Master of Potions is unwell. Hermy will come."

She sat up, the covers falling around her. "Rink, I can't just–" She really needed to stop telling Rink 'I can't' when the house-elf had already made up his mind that 'she would,' which is how Hermione found herself sitting on the floor in Snape's shadowed office wearing nothing but her nightgown and no house-elf in sight. She hadn't even been able to grab her wand so she could transfigure herself a robe.

Bloody fucking hell.

Hugging her arms around herself, Hermione shivered. Even in her inadequate clothing, the room felt much colder than it should have. She half expected the hem of her gown to flutter in an icy wind. She frowned. She felt she was freezing, but if the room had really been that cold then the stones beneath her feet should have been icy too, instead they were no more than their normally cool temperature.

She stepped further into the office, her bare feet soundless against the stones of the floor. Wand. I want my wand. I'm going to kill Rink. I really really want my wan– Shite.

She found Snape. He was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, and arms outstretched across them. His head hung down between his arms and even from where she stood she could see fine tremors running through his body every few moments. The chill in the room seemed to intensify as she stared at him.

Suddenly, she was reminded of another time when she'd felt an unnatural cold seeping into her bones. Snape had been there as well, and he'd just come from a Death Eater meeting. She was fairly sure that Snape had been part of the Death Eater raid on the Ministry the previous evening, and then he'd gone straight with the Aurors. He was doing this, whatever this was.

She tried to remember that night. Had Dumbledore felt the cold? She didn't think so. Then the pieces clicked into place. Snape was a Legilimens, a powerful one at that, and she shared a magical Affinity with him. Whatever he was doing — and from the chill settling into her, she couldn't think it was good — he was either unconsciously projecting, or she was unconsciously tuning in.

It's like I'm freezing from the inside out. She shivered again, unable to stop her quick intake of breath. The sound was soft, the barest inhalation, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like thunder.

Snape's head snapped up, his eyes like black pits in the gloom of the room. Hermione shivered again. She had no doubt now that Snape was the cause of this. If Winter could be said to have a look, it was there in his eyes. How in the name of all that was Holy did he hold all that in when he confronted Dawlish in the Great Hall earlier? How had Dawlish not seen it?

They stared at each other for long minutes — Snape blinking at her as if she was some conjured phantasm — Hermione because she was afraid to either move or speak, unsure how he would react to either action.

"Are you real?" His voice was hoarse and rusty sounding, not at all like his usual smooth baritone. She wondered briefly what Dawlish had made of that.

"Yes."

He contemplated that for minute, reconciling it with some notion in his head, as if he didn't quite believe her.

"You are in . . . ." He frowned. "You are barefoot and in your nightclothes. Again." He gave her what could only be described as a world-weary sigh. With a wave of his hand, his teaching robes, which had been hanging on a hook against the wall, flew over to land in a heap of cloth at her feet. Snape lowered his head back down. "Go back to your tower, Miss Granger."

Taking a moment to wrap herself up in Snape's robe, although she doubted it would do much for the cold assailing her, Hermione considered her options: act like a Slytherin or act like a Gryffindor?

Know thyself.

Gathering up the hem so she wouldn't step on it, Hermione crossed the last few feet and slid down the wall to sit at Snape's side.

He didn't move his position, but she heard him growl, "Girl–"

Daring to interrupt, she said quickly, "Rink brought me. He thought you needed me." She hesitated, then added, "I think you need me."

"Need?" He snorted in derision. "I don't need help. No potion or salve, nor Alverez' incantations can fix me."

Hermione didn't answer, and Snape didn't push again to get her to leave. She remembered what she'd told Ron: Tons of books that mention human touch and how it works for and against magic. Touch can denote comfort and caring and love. It can ground us and remind us of where we are and who we are.

Touch.

A mere two inches separated them. Cold swirled around them, she could almost hear it whistling through the gap.

He'd been part of the attack on the Ministry. She knew it with a deep certainty. He'd performed Dark Magic. And while she didn't like to think about it, he might have even killed someone during that raid. She also knew that whatever the cold was, whatever he was doing to maintain his control, it was hurting him.

Touch. Caring. Love.

Taking a deep breath and digging up every bit of courage she possessed, Hermione slid over those last two inches. As her shoulder touched his, Snape's entire body went rigid.

"Granger . . ." There was a wealth of warning in his voice.

"You're cold." As if to underscore her words, a hard shiver ran though them both.

His head came up to lean back again the wall. "You can feel . . ." he trailed off before muttering softly, "Of course you can, because I'm not allowed even that bit of privacy." More loudly he said, "My apologies. Our Affinity makes it hard to prevent bleedthrough, and I have been unable to follow my . . . normal routine." He took a deep breath and the chill lessened. "You may leave now."

Where Angels fear to tread. "Stop it," she said softly and then taking the biggest risk of her life, she reached out to grasp one of his pale hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she used her other hand to lightly chafe the back of his hand. "I can't give you whatever your normal routine is, but I do know that cutting off the bleedthrough isn't the same as fixing the problem." She gave his hand a squeeze. This will fix it."

He used her own intonation back at her. "This is highly inappropriate."

It might have been inappropriate, but she noticed that he hadn't pulled away from her. At least not yet.

"You asked why I'm a Gryffindor." She chuckled softly. "Maybe it's because no one else would be this–"

"Foolish."

She shrugged against him. "I was going for daring."

Silence fell between them. Hermione continued to rub his hand between her own, the movement soft and slow. She studied the hand trapped between hers. It was an elegant hand, the palm solid and square with long fingers. She'd seen these hands move with amazing grace and fluidity when preparing potions. She'd seen them steady, sure and infinitely dangerous when holding a wand. She'd also been privileged to see them gentle when he'd taken care of her after she'd nearly drained her magic.

On another man she wouldn't have been surprised to know that they belonged to a surgeon or a concert pianist. From a distance, they were beautiful. It was only when you saw them up close that you could see the damage — the scars, the burns and cuts, the pinky finger that looked to have been broken and never set correctly. The palms were rough, and she could feel several thick calluses beneath her fingertips.

Hermione felt her heart constrict, the pressure beneath her breast almost painful. These were the hands of a man who would do whatever was necessary, regardless of the cost.

Oh, Hermione Jane Granger, this is so much more than a silly crush, and I am in so much trouble.

When she had her emotions under control, she said, "You were there. At the Ministry," she added, as if there was any doubt this night about where there was.

Soft as a sigh. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." It sounded, and felt, totally inadequate.

It was his turn to shrug, although his was stiff and unnatural against her shoulder. He was uncomfortable but still not pulling away. She counted that as a remarkable victory.

"The Aurors?"

"Spent several fruitless and frustrating hours questioning me using a variety of methods."

Hermione grip tightened at his words as anger coursed through her. She was startled when she felt his hand squeeze back in reassurance. "They could pin nothing on me. My . . . duties at the Ministry were targeted elsewhere."

"Oh."

"The Dark Lord is now aware of the full prophecy and Potter's role."

"Oh," she said again, because really, what else was there to say.

Long minutes passed, and finally she sought to fill the silence. "You're warmer."

A pause. "Marginally."

Again the silence fell between them. Okay, so I'm uncomfortable too.

Continuing with her touch, she sought something . . . anything to take his mind off the two of them sitting together, holding hands, in this shadowed room. She went with the first thing that popped into her head. "I'm holding a Potions revision class."

It was a moment before he responded. "You held one last term. Mr. Longbottom and someone else."

"Colin Creevy," she identified.

"The staff has heard rumors of a class this term."

She could feel him slowly relaxing against her, the tension bleeding away. Even the cold seemed to be dwindling as the painfully long pauses between his words shortened.

She grimaced. "That would have been Colin." Even she couldn't tell if it was fondness or exasperation that colored her voice. "He told a few people about the class. They told a few other people. Not that it was ever a secret, we just didn't speak about it. It was originally just for Neville, anyway."

He paused again before he spoke. "And now it has grown out of hand."

"Like a Tanglevine," she said ruefully.

"You must have done an adequate job. Misters Longbottom and Creevy had noticeable improvements in their scores."

She laughed quietly, her shoulder knocking against his with the movement. "It was actually you that did the work."

"Me?"

"I held your class, complete with dreaded Potions master." She could almost feel his interest now, even though he wasn't looking at her, and she was both afraid for what she was about to reveal and elated that the ice no longer seemed to be flowing through her veins. "I impersonated you."

"Impersonated?"

"Clothes, hair, eyes . . . manner."

Silence filled the room again as he took this in. "Was Mr Longbottom suitably terrified?"

Again she laughed. "Yes."

"And the current class?"

"I haven't introduced them to your doppelganger yet. I wasn't sure if I should since I have more students now. But, well, Potions just doesn't seem like Potions without you."

"I am sure," he said dryly, "that there are those who count that as a blessing. Show me."

That startled her. "What?"

"Show me."

"I can't." She shook her head. "Rink didn't give me time to grab my wand before bringing me here."

Almost immediately a length of ebonized wood appeared before her. "Show me," he said again.

She swallowed the lump that appeared in her throat. He can't mean . . .. But there was no doubting the wand being presented to her. Slowly she disentangled their hands, and taking the wand, climbed to her feet. She couldn't meet his eyes as she took a few steps away from him.

The wand was warm in her hand, as if it had been resting next to his body and she tried very, very hard not to think about that. Clinching her fingers tight, she performed the glamour spell and with a wash of cool magic she became Granger-Snape.

There was no sound at her transformation, and fear clutched at her insides. Raising her eyes to finally meet his, she found his expression unreadable. The fear rose up in her throat in a wave of nausea.

"I'm—" she was going to say 'sorry', but never got the chance as his stony expression broke and Hermione Granger witnessed Severus Snape dissolve into helpless gales of laughter

 

Chapter 33: Denial

 

Tonight was bad. Worse than bad. He'd kept up the Occlumency imagery too long. He knew better. Knew what it would cost him but he'd been without a choice.

 

The raid on the Ministry of Magic the night before. Such senseless death and destruction.

 

And the Dark Lord, so pleased to have him at his side once more. The favoured tattling child bringing bits and snips and drops of rumor, innuendo and truth. Always the truth embedded somewhere to make the swallowing of the lies go down smoothly.

 

Another shudder rippled through him, though whether of disgust or cold, even he could no longer tell.

 

And the prize truth, wrapped in a pretty lie about the prophecy. How the Dark Lord had so eagerly swallowed that one down. So like Nagini gulping down her rats — head, fur, bones and tail.

 

The phantom cold chilled his bones. Closing his eyes he saw only endless ice and a lifeless pond. No choice. No recourse. No help or hope.

 

Aurors everywhere when he was finally able to return. Poking at his mind with a Ministry-trained Legilimens. Making him drink Veritaserum. He snorted softly. He was a Potions master and served both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore . . . as if a Ministry drone could see beyond the things he wanted them to see.

 

He clenched his hands into fists to stop the trembling. They should have got him drunk instead. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been well and truly pissed. He snorted again. Firewhisky, the great equalizer.

 

Why couldn't he thaw the lake? Too long. Too long gone. He couldn't break the ice.

 

It was the sound that drew him — soft, the barest whisper of indrawn breath where no sound should be.

 

She'd appeared out of the darkness like a ghost, the flickering lamplight casting her in and out of shadow. "Are you real?" he'd asked, not sure in that moment if perhaps he hadn't conjured her in his need. It was possible, he thought, as a shiver rolled through him.

 

"You are in . . . ." He frowned as he glanced at her toes peeping out from beneath the hem of her nightdress. "You are barefoot and in your nightclothes. Again."

 

Innocent. Staring down at me with eyes bright with . . . mucking around in the blackest of dirt. If I laid my hands upon her would . . NO! Forcefully, he pushed those thoughts aside and down, deep under the ice.

 

Dark Magic. Black Magic. Out of control. Twisting his thoughts.

 

He sighed, the sound coming from the depths of his being. A wave of his hand and his teaching robes flew to land in a heap of cloth at her feet.

 

Severus lowered his head back down. He tried to send her away, tried to do the right thing. He almost smiled at that one. Who was he to even contemplate the right thing?

 

"Go back to your tower, Miss Granger." Where all the innocent princesses should be.

 

He heard the rustle of his robes, waited for her to leave, sure that she would do what everyone from Albus to Arrosa Alverez and others had always done and go away when he told them to leave.

 

What she should have done. What the innocent princess in the tower always does.

 

He really shouldn't have been surprised when he heard her slide down the wall and settle next to him. He'd forgotten that Hermione Granger was no princess.

 

He didn't move, but instead growled out, "Girl–"

 

"Rink brought me," she interrupted. "He thought you needed me." She hesitated, then added, "I think you need me."

 

"Need?" He snorted in derision. "I don't need help. No potion or salve, nor Alverez' incantations can fix me." Not even pretend princesses.

 

But she didn't push and he didn't ask her to leave again. Silence fell between them and Severus concentrated on the shivers wracking his body. Quiet was nice. He could do quiet, with only the sound of another person's breathing letting him know he wasn't alone, even if he didn't have the courage to look at her.

 

Until she moved . . . shocking warmth burning along his arm as she slid up against him. His entire body went rigid.

 

"Granger . . ." There was a wealth of warning in his voice.

 

"You're cold." As if to underscore her words, a hard shiver ran though them both.

 

His head came up to lean back again the wall. "You can feel . . ." he trailed off before muttering softly, "Of course you can, because I'm not allowed even that bit of privacy." More loudly he said, "My apologies. Our Affinity makes it hard to prevent bleedthrough, and I have been unable to follow my . . . normal routine." Too long. I should have broken the ice hours ago.

 

He took a deep breath, concentrating on his imagery, narrowing his focus until he had himself under control once more. "You may leave now." His voice, to his own ears, was as frosty as the bleak scene behind his eyes.

 

"Stop it," she said softly and shocked him even further when she reached out to grasp one of his hands in hers. Lacing her fingers through his, she used her other hand to lightly chafe the back of his. "I can't give you whatever your normal routine is, but I do know that cutting off the bleedthrough isn't the same as fixing the problem." She gave his hand a squeeze. This will fix it."

 

He used her own intonation back at her. "This is highly inappropriate." Sweet Merlin protect me. I can't do this.

 

But he didn't pull away. Couldn't pull away from the heat rolling off of her, of the softness of her hands enfolding his own.

 

"You asked why I'm a Gryffindor." She chuckled softly, the sound sliding along his tangled nerves. "Maybe it's because no one else would be this–"

 

"Foolish," he answered.

 

She shrugged against him, more heat flooding in to his body. "I was going for daring."

 

Daring. Foolhardy. Insane.

 

Silence fell between them. Hermione continued to rub his hand between her own, the movement soft and slow and he couldn't help but bask in her touch. When was the last time someone touched just to comfort? He was weak. He wanted to send her away but he didn't have the strength.

 

"You were there," she said, and then added, "at the Ministry." As if there was any doubt this night about where there was.

 

Now, she will pull away. But he'd promised her that he'd speak the truth, so soft as a sigh he answered, "Yes."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

It was his turn to shrug, the slide of shoulder against shoulder making him uncomfortable.

 

"The Aurors?"

 

He gave a slight smile out into the darkness of the room, remembering the Aurors and their increasing frustration with him. "Spent several fruitless and frustrating hours questioning me using a variety of methods."

 

Her grip tightened at his words and it took him a moment to realise that she was trying to reassure him. A moment's hesitation and he gave her a slight squeeze back. "They could pin nothing on me. My . . . duties at the Ministry were targeted elsewhere." At the Dark Lord's side. Untraceable potions. Unnamed poisons. Severus was too good a spy to ever leave traces of himself behind. No Prior Incantato would ever catch him.

 

"Oh."

 

He caught no condemnation in her voice so he added, "The Dark Lord is now aware of the full prophecy and Potter's role."

 

"Oh," she said again.

 

Long minutes passed and he slowly relaxed back against the wall, ignoring the warnings of his tattered conscience.

 

"You're warmer."

 

Closing his eyes he focused on his mental imagery. The lake's edges were free of ice though the center still remained frozen. He concentrated, forcing himself to relax and let the walls melt away. "Marginally," he said, reopening his eyes.

 

Again the silence fell between them.

 

"I'm holding a Potions revision class."

 

Unsure if a response was required from him, he waited a moment before saying, "You held one last term. Mr. Longbottom and someone else."

 

"Colin Creevey," she identified.

 

"The staff has heard rumors of a class this term."

 

More of the tension bled away under the inconsequential small talk, along with the cold that Severus could feel finally retreating.

 

"That would have been Colin. He told a few people about the class. They told a few other people. Not that it was ever a secret, we just didn't speak about it. It was originally just for Neville, anyway."

 

He could see where that was heading. "And now it has grown out of hand."

 

"Like a Tanglevine," she said ruefully.

 

"You must have done an adequate job. Misters Longbottom and Creevey had noticeable improvements in their scores."

 

She laughed quietly, her shoulder knocking against his with the movement. "It was actually you that did the work."

 

That surprised him. "Me?" he asked.

 

"I held your class, complete with dreaded Potions master." How? Almost as if she heard the thought, she said, "I impersonated you."

 

"Impersonated?" She couldn't really mean what he thought she meant.

 

"Clothes, hair, eyes . . . manner."

 

Then again, maybe she could.

 

Silence filled the room again as he took this in. It was a measure of his tiredness that the only thing he could think to ask was: "Was Mr Longbottom suitably terrified?"

 

Again she laughed, the sound spilling more warmth into his system. "Yes."

 

"And the current class?"

 

"I haven't introduced them to your doppelganger yet. I wasn't sure if I should since I have more students now. But, well, Potions just doesn't seem like Potions without you."

 

"I am sure," he said dryly, knowing the truth of his words, "that there are those who count that as a blessing." Now curiosity came. "Show me," he said.

 

His request startled her. "What?"

 

"Show me."

 

"I can't." She shook her head. "Rink didn't give me time to grab my wand before bringing me here."

 

He didn't hesitate, though his subconscious again whispered dire warnings. He presented her with his wand. "Show me," he said again.

 

Slowly she disentangled their hands, and he told himself firmly that he did not miss the warmth of her touch. Taking his wand with a hand that shook only a little, she climbed to her feet. Her eyes refused to meet his as she took a few cautious steps away and performed her spell.

 

He wasn't sure what he expected — some caricature of himself perhaps, but not this. It was an elegant bit of charm work, even he could recognise that. Severus found himself staring at a distorted image of himself wearing Granger's face, her eyes wide with apprehension.

 

"I'm—"

 

She was him — black haired, black eyed and still wearing his robes. It started small, low in the pit of his belly. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He fought to control it, inhaling deeply through his nose. It was no use. Quite suddenly he lost control, the laughter bubbling up. Inside, Severus felt the ice dissolving away.

 

The laughter was hard and unexpected, and tinged with no small amount of hysteria, but he couldn't care. And every time he thought he had himself under control he'd catch sight of Granger, black clad and wearing an expression somewhere between concerned and horrified.

 

After the second round of almost getting control of himself, she seemed to finally realise what was setting him off and with a wave of his wand, reversed her appearance.

 

Of course, now seeing her wrapped up in his own oversized teaching robes, one set of bare toes peeking from beneath the pooled hem, set him off again. It was long minutes before he finally got himself under enough control to look at her.

 

Taking deep gulps of air, he wiped at the tear tracks marring his face. "I should expel you."

 

Her eyes, already wide in alarm, got bigger.

 

"But I will not. Mostly because I have not the faintest idea how I would write it up. Disrespect . . . mockery, they don't even begin to touch," he gestured at her, "the sheer scale of what you've done."

 

She fisted her hands in the material of his overlong sleeves. "It wasn't like that." Taking a few shuffling steps forward, she knelt in front of him. "I didn't mean—" She stopped, earnest expression melting into exasperation. "You're making fun of me."

 

He gave her the smallest of smiles. "It seemed only fair."

 

As she rocked back on her heels, he debated getting up off the floor. His position was hardly decorous, but really, after tonight, he couldn't imagine he had much dignity left. And having her sit in front of him was preferable to her retaking the position at his side. Touching him.

 

"You're okay?" She stretched her hand out to him but didn't touch. Maybe she too realises that moment is gone. But the worry was still plain to read in her eyes and was as solid and warm against his skin as any previous touch.

 

"I am . . . well."

 

"What was—"

 

He shook his head and climbed to his feet. "Another time. I will explain another time. Redo the spell."

 

She looked dubiously at him but complied.

 

He studied her and the glamour that was wrapped around her. His teaching robes, oversized on her smaller frame, now fitted her perfectly. Thick soled, heeled boots gave her added height. He noted the way her stance had subtly shifted — her feet slightly further apart, her back straight.

 

He was amused to note that she was wearing a slightly condescending sneer. Although he thought that the riot of black, tangled curls that framed her face gave it a somewhat less sinister aspect than his own lifeless hair.

 

In essence, it was perfect, right down to the silver, serpent-embossed buttons.

 

"You did Potions revisions like that?"

 

The sneer melted away. "I did." She bit her lip in obvious hesitation, and then added, "They called me Professor Granger-Snape."

 

He snorted. "Of course they did." He circled around behind her. "Whatever else could they call you . . . Professor."

 

She whirled about to face him, her robes . . . his robes . . . swirling out around her. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a grin from forming. Grinning was not conducive to maintaining his proper image. Not that he was even sure he had a proper image where she was concerned any more.

 

"You're making fun of me again."

 

"On the contrary, Granger, I am confused. I do not know whether I should be amused or angry. My experience with Gryffindor impersonations of me — most notably by the Weasley twins, I might add — were usually of the less than respectful kind."

 

"There was never any disrespect intended. It started as a way to make Neville more comfortable with your presence. It sort of grew from there. And . . ." she trailed off.

 

"And?"

 

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, deep black eyes rather unsettling when he was more used to her usual brown. "I kind of like being able to slam the door and the way the robes swirl behind when I walk." Her voice dropped as if she was imparting a great secret. "And I always feel taller."

 

Biting his cheek wouldn't work this time. Giving in to the inevitable, he laughed, and then laughed that much harder to again see that startled look on her face.

 

Getting control of himself, he told her to release the glamour. The spell was no sooner broken than she was presenting him back with his wand.

 

"I think we need to return you to your room, now." And I need desperately to restore my equilibrium.

 

"What about—"

 

He waved her off. "Do what you will in regard your revision class. I would be curious, though, to know what Miss Worth thinks of Professor Granger-Snape."

 

"You know about . . . ." She made a face. "Of course you do."

 

"You will find that very little goes on in this castle that your teachers do not know about and I am always aware of what my Slytherins do. It is late and you need to be returned."

 

It was obvious that she didn't want to leave, but she nodded her head in silent acquiescence.

 

"Rink!" he called.

 

Severus was prepared to berate the house-elf for his presumption in bringing Granger in the first place, but taking one look at Rink's woeful expression left Severus with the distinct impression that he was about to kick a puppy. He decided that was a conversation for after Granger was returned to where she belonged. "Return her to her rooms and then return to me."

 

The elf didn't say a word, merely taking hold of the girl's hand and disappearing.

 

Alone again. Severus reached out for his robes even as he realised that Granger had taken them with her. He sighed, too tired to even be annoyed. If annoyed was even what he was feeling. His emotions were all over the place and he needed some solitude to sort out the last two days — the Dark Lord, Albus, the Aurors — all had left him reeling. Now there was Granger, possibly the most disruptive of them all. He turned away from that thought, not ready to deal with that added complication. One thing he was sure of though, the young woman was obviously chaos incarnate.

 

But now, with the silence and the quiet of the room, his exhaustion rolled over him. Without the constant draw of the feedback loop of magic to keep his Occlumency imagery up, he was beginning to crash. He couldn't sleep just yet, though his bed called to him. He needed to deal with Rink.

 

House-elves.

 

Twelve years he'd been a teacher. Twelve years Rink had been assigned to him. In those years they'd had several discussions about Rink's duties and how Severus felt about the standard house-elf tendency toward punishment. Rink had been a model elf — unobtrusive, silent and helpful when needed. In all those years, to his knowledge, Rink had never taken the initiative to do something he thought went against Severus' wishes.

 

Now, within a few short months of meeting Miss Hermione Granger, Rink had become the equivalent of a house-elf rebel.

 

Rink returned with a soft pop, narrow shoulders held back and ears upright. Severus knew that look. Granger had given a last minute Gryffindor pep talk. Glaring down at the elf, he projected as much menace as sixteen years of teaching dunderheads could give him. "You and I are going to have a chat."

 

Rink had returned Hermione to her bed, in almost the exact same spot she'd left. She grabbed the elf's hand before he could leave. "Don't let Professor Snape scare you, Rink. You did the right thing coming to get me."

 

Rink's entire body, and not just his ears expressed how completely intimidated the elf was. "Rink was bad. Rink knew Master of Potions would not want Miss."

 

She knelt up so she was eye to eye with Rink. "You did the right thing," she said again. "Rink — oh, God, I can't believe I'm about to say this — if you need to, if you want to, I would be honoured to slam the front doors of Hogwarts on your fingers." She tried to smile but was unsure of just what her expression really looked like, as she added, "I would take care to swing them very hard."

 

It was obviously the right thing to say as Rink's entire demeanor brightened. "Hermy is a true friend." Giving a bob of his head, Rink disappeared.

 

Hermione let herself collapse back on the bed. When did everything get so weird? I'm offering to help Rink punish himself and I was . . . I was . . . .Oh, God, I'm still wearing his robes.

 

The whole evening had a feeling of unreality to it. Snape had been . . . she could find no other word but vulnerable. That he'd allowed her to see that vulnerability was a gift beyond measure. He'd allowed her to offer comfort and more important than the offering, he'd taken the comfort she presented.

 

He let me be his anchor.

 

And then he'd laughed, twice. She closed her eyes, remembering and savoring the sound of his laughter. It was such an unexpected sound that even now it curled her toes and brought an answering smile to her face.

 

Then within moments, he'd slammed the doors on his emotions and pushed her away, buckling on his proverbial armor once again.

 

Wrapping her arms around her chest she buried her nose in the thick fabric of Snape's robes. Inhaling deeply, she pulled in the mingled scents of smoke, herbs and the indefinable smell of Snape.

 

Such a complicated mess.

 

Wrapped in Snape's robes, Hermione replayed the scene over and over in her head until her thoughts drifted and she fell asleep to dream of hands, calloused and warm.

 

Hermione covered a yawn as she headed down the steps from Gryffindor Tower. Her late night was showing. While she could hear Harry, Ron and Neville having a quick-paced conversation behind her, most of the other students were quiet and reserved. She hardly blamed them. After the events of yesterday with the Aurors and the announcement that Hogwarts and the wider wizarding world was now under Martial Law, many students were anxious about what was to come. Everyone was wondering what new plans the Aurors had in store for today.

 

They didn't have long to wait. Hermione stumbled to a halt just inside the door of the Great Hall. Luckily, no one ran into her because everyone else was doing much the same. Auror Dawlish it seemed was taking a page from Dolores Umbridge's book, only larger and even more audacious. Writ in two foot high, black letters on the far wall of the Hall were the new Hogwarts rules:

 

Quidditch is cancelled until further notice of the Ministry of Magic.

 

Hogsmeade trips are cancelled until further notice of the Ministry of Magic.

 

Muggle-borns, and individuals with one Muggle parent or Muggle-born parent, will have a Tracer spell added to their wands to ensure their safe whereabouts at all times.

 

A small table had been set up under the list of rules, manned by one of the Aurors. A short line of students was already queuing up. A wave of anger washed through Hermione as she recognised them as those students who fell under the third rule.

 

A commotion at the Head Table drew her attention. Professor Sinistra was arguing with Professor Dumbledore, her voice getting louder with every word.

 

"I will not submit my wand to a Tracer spell. If they want my wand so badly I'll be happy to shove it-"

 

Dumbledore pulled his own wand, the Professor's voice abruptly cutting off, though Sinistra's violent hand gestures confirmed that the argument still continued.

 

Ron spoke up from behind Hermione. "This is bad. I didn't realise they were going after adults too."

 

Harry's expression was unreadable. "The bastards are closing the noose. They'll say it's about protection for anyone with close Muggle ties, but it'll give them a way to find and track everyone."

 

"Easy targets," Neville agreed. "But what can we do?"

 

Hermione swallowed down the bile rising in her throat at the thought of standing in that line and offering up her wand. She shook her head, for once unable to come up with a clever solution. Even Ron shook his head.

 

It was Harry who finally answered, his voice grim and determined. "We do what they want, for now." Without a backwards glance he started for the queue.

 

Ron leaned down and spoke into her ear. "We wanted Harry focused on the real enemy. I'd say he just found it."

 

By the time Hermione slipped into Professor Vector's classroom for a little peace and quiet at the end of the day, she was feeling about as substantial as one of the castle ghosts. Professor Snape had been an absolute bear during Defence for some reason and Professor Flitwick had been giving her odd looks during Charms. Potions class had so far been the only normal class she'd attended during the day, Professor Slughorn being his usual congenial self.

 

He'd asked her again after class if she wanted to join his Slug Club, and she'd once again explained that she really didn't have the time this year. He was a nice enough man, she'd decided, but she always felt the need to wash her hands after dealing with him one-on-one.

 

As Hermione settled her things at her desk, she let out a sigh of annoyance as Auror Garmin walked into the room and took up a position against the back wall. Aurors had been coming in and out of classes for the past couple of days, much to the annoyance of both students and teachers. This was the fourth time today she'd seen Garmin, and a paranoid side that Hermione wasn't even aware she possessed until this point, was loudly announcing that the man was following her specifically.

 

Ignoring the man looming in the background, Hermione pulled out her Arithmancy books and the number table she was currently working on for her N.E.W.T. project. After discussion with Professor Vector, she had decided that her project would be something that would be useful to the Order and would stretch her Arithmancy skills. She was attempting to identify the rogue silver line that tracked through Vector's matrix.

 

She'd gone back to Vector's very first equation and was plotting number combinations. The work was tedious and time-consuming but its very exacting nature forced her mind away from spinning uselessly on things that she couldn't control.

 

She wasn't sure how long she'd been working when Vector interrupted her. "Miss Granger?"

 

"Ma'am?"

 

Professor Vector was holding two books out to her. "I'm glad I spotted you in here. Professor Flitwick asked me to give these to you. He thought they might help with your project."

 

Hermione frowned. Her problem didn't deal with Charms — that was Lisa Turpin's project. Before Hermione could voice her confusion, the two books were snatched from Vector's hands by the Auror.

 

"What are you doing?" demanding Vector.

 

"Looking for contraband," Garmin answered with the faintest of sneers.

 

"Those are Charms books, not contraband," her professor said, her voice as cold as Snape's had ever been.

 

The Auror just shrugged and tossed the two books back at Hermione. "So they are," he said with a smirk, secure in his power.

 

Vector glared at the man for a moment before her eyes sought Hermione's. "I think I'm going to close up the class for today, Miss Granger. Why don't you take your books back to Gryffindor Tower." She turned her glare back on the Auror. "I'm sure you'll find it much quieter reading there."

 

Hermione didn't want to head back to her rooms just yet. She had her revision class that night and had just been looking for a quiet spot to work while she waited for the time to pass. Stashing one of the books in her bag, she idly flipped through the other as she headed towards the Room of Requirement.

 

Linking charms? Why in the world would Professor Flitwick give me a book on Linking charms?

 

Still flipping through the book, Hermione let the castle's stairways play with her a while so what should have taken only four or five minutes ended up taking nearly twenty. She gave the last stairway an absent-minded pat as she was finally deposited in the correct hallway.

 

Reaching the Room of Requirement she found Agnes Worth waiting in the corridor, her presence reminding her of Snape's comment about wanting to know what Worth would make of Professor Granger-Snape.

 

Tucking the book, into her bag with the other one, Hermione gave her a quick smile and then paced the required three times, thinking about what she needed the Room to provide her with by way of the class. When the door appeared, she gestured Agnes inside.

 

 

After the two of them had settled their belonging, Hermione wandered over to the other girl's desk in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Worth, why are you here?"

 

Agnes gave her a somewhat startled look before starting to pull her ingredients out of her bag. "I'm here to practice, same as anybody."

 

"I've seen your work," Hermione said. "You don't need the revision time."

 

"Maybe I'm here to spy on you."

 

Hermione couldn't hold back her snort of amusement at the other girl's slyly calculating tone. "Don't make me laugh. I'm not that interesting."

 

"Some might think you are. Muggle-born, clever, friend of Harry Potter. Some might think you're very interesting."

 

Hermione thought on this a moment while she watched Agnes set up her desk top. Slytherin word games: riddles within riddles. "Is that a warning or a threat, Agnes?" she asked, deliberately using the younger girl's first name, against convention.

 

That earned her a quick grin. "Do you think all Slytherins are evil, Granger?"

 

"No, I don't."

 

"Funny thing, I don't think all Gryffindors are stupid." Agnes gave another quick grin. "Well, not fundamentally stupid. Holding this class, amongst all the Houses, that's kind of stupid."

 

Hermione gave a grin of her own. "I prefer to think of it as brave and the right thing to do."

 

Agnes shrugged. "Stupid . . . brave. You still end up dead in the end."

 

"Which brings us back to why are you here, Agnes Worth of the House of Slytherin?"

 

"Could just as easily have been Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff . . . or even Gryffindor. Worths are old and as pure-blooded as they come but we don't breed true like most families. Sorting Hat doesn't lie." She shrugged again. "And I don't bow to anyone."

 

"Sounds brave."

 

Agnes rolled her eyes, but a grin teased around her lips when she said, "Sounds stupid to me."

 

"And somebody had to be first." Hermione studied Agnes a moment longer. "How are your Defence skills and would you be interested in another revision class?"

 

A slow and rather sinister smile spread across Agnes' face. "Now, we're talking."

 

Severus settled into his usual chair at the table, not bothering to hide his disdain for the Auror that had been seated at his left. He had no doubt that Auror Dawlish had deliberately chosen the place so he could better keep his eyes on Severus. He squashed the urge to tell the Auror in great and exacting detail just who he was really working for now with the Ministry compromised. Severus knew himself to be just a diversion — a useful wild goose chase devised by the Dark Lord to keep the Aurors focused on him and not on the Ministry where it should be.

 

A useful tool, for now, he knew. Because he had no doubt that the Dark Lord, like Albus, wouldn't hesitate to throw him to the wolves if necessary. His stomach churned, acid rising in this throat. He inhaled deeply, pushing the nausea down.

 

He was gratified to see a cup of weak green tea appear before him along with a thin rice gruel. He'd noticed the previous year that his meals had changed and silently thanked whatever kitchen elf had noticed that he wasn't eating their usual fare.

 

Ignoring Dawlish, a move he knew annoyed the other man, he lifted his cup and surveyed the Great Hall, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. They were subdued this morning, much as they had been for the last several meals, ever since the Aurors had instituted their new rules. Severus could almost smell the fear and anxiety. Sipping the tea, his gaze moved to his Slytherins. Eight-six students under his care and he had only the roughest estimation of what each of them would do and where their ultimate loyalties lay.

 

His gaze shifted down to Miss Worth. He'd done what he could there — nudging her in Granger's direction. Slytherins were not by nature trail-blazers, but where just one went, others would follow. If only to ensure that the first did not somehow acquire an unfair advantage. It was a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a child but only a first year could have done the unthinkable and joined a Gryffindor-led revision class. He wondered what Agnes Worth had though of Professor Granger-Snape, and then had to take another sip of his tea to hide the automatic grin that thought provoked.

 

Gryffindors. His eyes moved to the Gryffindor table, where once he would have sought for messy black hair first. Now, his gaze was drawn first to brown curls. Her head was down, her nose buried in a book, completely oblivious to the students around her. Every so often she leaned forward to scribble furiously on a piece of paper. Potter and Weasley were sitting across from her this morning, their heads bowed together. Weasley was coming along nicely. It was becoming harder and harder to throw the young man off during their games.

 

As for Potter — he scowled — Lily's child. Bright, beautiful Lily. Every time he looked at the boy he saw Lily looking back at him in accusation from those green eyes. Anger coursed through him as it always did when he looked at Harry Potter. Lily had turned away from him, disgusted by his fascination with the Dark Arts. He'd loved her with everything he was and she'd cared for him, he knew that. But she'd been unable to love him, unable to accept all of him, even her caring tinged with that underlying distaste.

 

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Potter. There is your baby boy, Lily, walking down the same path I did. He's me, right down to the Dark Arts taint and for all the same old reasons. Do you love him still, Lily fair?

 

Resentment rose within him and even knowing how destructive it was, he welcomed it as an old and familiar friend. So much alike he and Potter but with one great difference, the boy had a circle of friends, strong and true. He had Albus Dumbledore and Minerva. He had no doubt that Lily loved the boy still from wherever her soul rested.

 

He snorted softly at his own wretched wallowing in self-pity. Breakfast was not even over yet. It was way too early in the day to be spiraling down these well-trodden paths.

 

Granger caught his eye again just as her head lifted from the book. She flashed him a wide, toothy grin before returning to her scribbling.

 

Severus refused to acknowledge the feeling of warmth that spread through his chest as that smile chased away the bitterness.

 

"Severus?"

 

Severus swung his attention to the headmaster. "Sir?"

 

Albus was holding out a folded copy of The Daily Prophet. "Have you seen today's paper?"

 

Severus felt the acid churn again in his stomach at the look in Albus' eyes. Taking the paper, he flicked it open.ACTING MINISTER OF MAGIC THICKNESSE NAMES NEW SECRETARY OF WIZARDING SECURITY

 

Acting Minister of Magic Pius Thicknesse, in a bold move to guard the wizarding world from the depredations of You-Know-Know and his followers, has created a new Department of Wizarding Securiyt. The new Department will fall under the command of Mr. Devrom Dollort. In his welcoming and introduction speech, Minister Thicknesse was quoted as saying, "Mr. Dollort will be working closely with myself and the Wizengamot to ensure that peace and safety is returned to the wizarding world." (See page 8 for the full speech by Minister Thicknesse). (See page 9 for the new rules being instituted by the Department of Wizarding Security).

 

Beneath a short paragraph was a picture of Minister Thicknesse shaking hands with and smiling at a handsome, dark-haired man in impeccably cut wizard robes.

 

Severus' breath caught in his throat, as the man in the picture turned from Thicknesse to smile out at the camera. Severus had known that the slow progression of 'becoming human' had finally succeeded but he'd not understood why the Dark Lord had begun the transformation. Now it was clear. Devrom Dollort was the Dark Lord.

 

Chapter 34: Blitzkrieg

The man known as Devrom Dollort winked at the pretty young witch stationed outside his office door, pleased when she blushed at his attention. "Ah, Marantha, diligently guarding the inner sanctum, I see. How's everything this afternoon?"

Marantha smiled at her new boss. "Everything's good, sir. Your two o'clock is already here and waiting for you inside, and Mr Latimer from Law Enforcement confirmed that 2:30 this afternoon is good for him."

"Excellent, my dear." Devrom graced her with a smile. "When Mr Latimer shows, please send him in. Until then, see that I'm not disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Turning from his assistant, he went through the massive double doors of his office. The smiling, congenial mask of Devrom Dollort dropped the minute the doors closed and the silencing and privacy wards engaged. "Report," he snapped, as he crossed the open space of the office.

Thorfinn Rowle, who'd been leaning against one of the leather club chairs facing the room's oversized desk, leaped to his feet. "All active Portkeys have been repossessed, per your instructions. We currently have people watching for illegals. If Snape's right about Dumbledore's interference we should catch those using these mobile telephones" — he said the words slowly as if unsure of the pronunciations — "soon enough."

"Sit, Rowle." He gestured to one of the chairs. "I am well pleased with the work you are doing for me."

Rowle took his seat as Voldemort leaned back in his chair, hands clasped before him. "Muggles and Muggle-borns are a pox on our once-great society. Make no mistake, we will deal with their infestation, but do not waste significant resources there now. The Muggles were only a diversion. Our next phase of plans should be of paramount concern to us at the moment." Leaning forward he fixed his eyes on Rowle. "We are at a critical junction, Rowle. It was here, at this point that Dumbledore and his Order ruined my plans the last time. The same mistakes cannot — will not — be made again.

The fevered light of the fanatic lit Rowle's eyes, much to Voldemort's satisfaction. "No, sir. Nothing will stop your rise to prominence. You have my life, my Lord."

"Good. What of the borders?"

"When Martial Law was instituted, the old wards under Ministry control were activated. Our people now control them." Rowle gave a toothy grin. "Once they were activated, all Apparation into or out of Great Britain came to a halt."

"Excellent. Over the next two weeks I want you to increase the attacks. Bella knows the targets. Coordinate your efforts with her. Once my new security measures are implemented, we'll scale back the attacks. The population will assume that the security measures are working and be more amendable to further controls."

"What about Dumbledore, my Lord?"

Voldemort chuckled. "You wish to attack Hogwarts?"

Rowle flushed. "I know the futility of that, my Lord. Hogwarts is well protected. But can't we move to remove the old fool?"

"No, he is right where we wish him to be. With Hogwarts being threatened, by the very nature of the wards that tie him to the school, he can't abandon it. He is locked up just as tightly as if he were in Azkaban. We know where he is and with Severus acting as my eyes and ears, we know what he is doing. By the same token, we know where Potter is. And there they both will stay, corralled and watched until a time and place of my choosing."

A short knock interrupted them. A moment later the door opened. "Mr Dollort, Mr Latimer is here. Shall I have him wait or are you ready for him now?"

"Send him in please."

A small, twitchy-looking man entered, his robes of impeccable quality, but cut too large and obviously padded across the shoulders, as if he was trying to appear larger and more substantial than he really was.

"Mr Latimer, come in. Please be seated. I believe you know Mr Rowle?"

"Yes, we've met at a few Ministry functions," he said, as he gave a polite nod of the head to Rowle.

"Good, good. Well, I'm sure you are curious as to why I've asked you here. And I do hope you understand the gravity of the situation and why I've brought it directly to you. In these times, it's always prudent to know who the key players are."

The other man puffed with pride, unaware of how his ego was being deliberately stroked. "I must say that I'm rather surprised you asked to see me. I would have expected you to seek out Mrs Bones, as Head of the department. But I'm here to help in any way I can."

"I was hoping you would say that. With Mr Rowle's help, my office has begun an intensive security check of Ministry personnel. I'm sure that I don't need to tell someone as intelligent as yourself that the attack He Who Must Not Be Named launched on our beloved Ministry could only have been accomplished with inside help."

Latimer pulled in a shocked breath. "Here within the Ministry? Unbelievable."

"Indeed." Voldemort pasted on his own expression of outrage. "And much to my own sorrow, I'm afraid that we've found one viper right within your own department. It's why I felt the matter should be brought directly to you."

"Magical Law Enforcement? You can't be serious. Mrs Bones would never tolerate any such . . ." Latimer's voice trailed off as he caught look on Voldemort's face at the mention of Amelia Bones. "You can't think that . . . that . . . Amelia Bones? Surely not." Latimer looked wildly between the two men. "Mrs Bones has been a long-time and staunch defender of the Ministry. There has to be some mistake."

"No mistake, I'm afraid," Voldemort said, his expression conveying just the right mix of deep sadness and disappointment. "We have eye witness accounts of her meeting secretly with one other well-placed follower of You-Know-Who."

Latimer, eyes wide, had shifted to the edge of seat. "I'm almost afraid to ask," he said, breathlessly. "Who could—"

"Arthur Weasley."

"No! He loves Muggles."

"Exactly, Mr Latimer." Voldemort thumped his desk in emphasis. "Can you think of a better cover to throw off suspicion?"

"Oooh," Latimer breathed out slowly, "I see. How diabolically clever. I never would have suspected." A worried expression crossed Latimer's face. "But you have proof?"

"Yes, more than enough to implicate them both."

Latimer's mouth set in a firm line. "You know, I never liked Weasley. There was always something off about the man. Always going on and on about Muggle this and Muggle that. It was always just a little too much, if you ask me. And Bones. I'm just shocked, I tell you. How can Law Enforcement help you, Mr Dollort?"

Taking care with his body language, Voldemort leaned forward across his desk towards Latimer. He pitched his voice lower to give a feeling of exclusivity and secrecy. "We suspect that Bones and Weasley are part of a larger network of You-Know-Who supporters feeding information to Him. We'd like to cut off that information network."

Latimer was now leaning forward as well, eyes bright with excitement. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing untoward or illegal I assure you." Voldemort held up his hands in a reassuring manner. "After all, while I believe our evidence is sound and irrefutable, due process must be followed. However, if these people are indeed secret supporters of You-Know-Who then we can't in good conscience allow them free reign. No, what I'm suggesting is simple — arrest and detainment until such time as a full inquiry can be made."

"Yes," Latimer nodded, "I see what you mean. The Ministry can certainly hold them until after this whole mess with You-Know-Who is sorted out."

Devrom Dollort gave Latimer a warm smile, pleased when the other man preened under his regard. Latimer would be easy to control. "Of course, with Bones in Azkaban, Law Enforcement will need a strong guiding hand to coordinate the department. Would you be willing to be that person, Mr Latimer? I can certainly speak on your behalf with the Minister, if you are interested?" Voldemort waved a negligent hand. "But that is business for later. I have a short list of names." He pulled a pristine piece of parchment from his desk and picked up a new quill, handing both items over to Latimer. "We've already discussed Weasley and Bones. These are the others that we believe they have been in contact with."

Hermione contemplated the door to the Room of the Requirement. Harry was using the Room for his Defence revision classes on the off nights when she wasn't using it for Potions. The door looked different — darker and somehow more threatening. It was only natural that the door was different since it was Harry who'd conjured it, but still, wasn't a door just a door? Surely the whole dark-and-threatening thing was just an overactive imagination.

"This isn't a good idea," Agnes said tartly from behind her.

Agnes' hesitation gave Hermione's courage a needed boost. She twisted slightly so she could see the younger girl. "You agreed to it. Weagreed to it."

"I also said you're crazy."

"You aren't the first to have mentioned that," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "But it's got to start somewhere, and bravery doesn't begin and end with Gryffindors."

Agnes pursued her lips like she was trying to hide a smirk. "Just stupidity."

Hermione swung all the way around. "Oh, now that hurts, Agnes," she said with a laugh.

"Not as much as the hex Potter is going to send your way."

"You are far too young to be such a cynic."

Hermione found that she really enjoyed Agnes' company even if the girl was six years her junior. Agnes had a keen intelligence, a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. She was beginning to consider the girl a friend and it was a rather novel experience. It wasn't that Hermione didn't have friends of her own outside of Harry and Ron, but somehow or another they were all guys. She'd never really had any female friends. The three closest female contacts she had were Ginny, Parvati and Lavender, and Hermione just couldn't imagine having this conversation with any of them.

"Okay, just follow my lead . . . and try to look harmless."

Agnes let out a laugh. "You have a strange sense of humor."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione once again confronted the door. Sending out a wordless plea to the universe for luck, she pushed open the door, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Oy, Hermione, you're late," Ron yelled from the other side of the room as she stuck her head in the doorway.

"Sorry. Got detained." She caught Harry's eye where he was working on shielding spells with Finch-Fletchley. "I found someone who wants to work on her Defence skills with us."

"Sure," Harry said. He made a 'come here' gesture with his hand. "Bring them in."

Pushing the door open wider, Hermione stepped to the side and let Agnes walk through the doorway. It only took three steps into the room before silence reigned.

"Everyone, this is Agnes Worth." Silence greeted her introduction and Hermione was starting to panic when Luna came to her rescue.

"I'm Luna Lovegood. Most people call me Loony Lovegood."

"Unfortunate naming. Most people think I was named after a Dark witch." Agnes gave an indolent shrug before adding, "What can you do?"

Someone in the back of the room snickered softly, a sound that was completely drowned out by Harry's roar. "Are you crazy? She's a Slytherin. Or didn't you notice that snake patch on her robes?"

Silence again filled the room. Hermione, eyes narrowed, was just about to lay into Harry when Luna once again broke the quiet. "It's not like we can help our Houses, Harry. I think you would have made a masterful Slytherin yourself. You're very suited to that House." Obvious to Harry turning an alarming shade at red at her words, Luna smiled at Agnes before completely jumping topic. "Is it true that a captive Muttlethump lives in the Slytherin dormitories and tries to eat the unwary?"

Agnes blinked in befuddlement, a reaction of most people when first encountering Luna. "Can't say that I've ever seen a captive Muttlethump."

Luna nodded sagely. "Well, you're just a first year. It may wait a while before trying to eat you. I hear Muttlethumps are rather courteous that way."

"Hermiiiiooneeee!"

It seemed that Harry had once again found his voice. After that, it pretty much all went pear-shaped.

Hermione's head pounded, the pain feeling as if a vise were slowly squeezing her temples. Even the headache potion she'd downed after the fiasco of Harry's Defence revision wasn't helping.

She was almost sure that she could still hear the yelling that had erupted ringing in her ears. Who in the world would have thought that one eleven year old girl could case such a ruckus?i/

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, Hermione supposed she could have handled it a little better. She winced as one particularly loud exchange came back to her:

"Why don't you just ask Malfoy to join us?" Harry had yelled.

"Maybe we should," she'd yelled back.

There'd been a lot more yelling until, surprisingly enough, the Hufflepuffs in the group had reminded Harry of the Sorting Hat's song for unity among all Houses and the Ravenclaws, led by Anthony Goldstein, had pointed out that You-Know-Who was the enemy and not Slytherin.

Harry had been a less than gracious loser in the confrontation.

She rubbed ineffectively at her temples. At least one Gryffindor trait had worked in her favour, or maybe it was just a teenage boy trait. Either way, Harry couldn't let himself be seen as the 'lesser' man in the situation. He'd given a grudging acceptance and dragged poor Agnes off to a far corner where he'd proceeded to work on her shielding. Of course, working on her shields consisted of Harry showing her the proper technique for casting a shield once and then throwing hex after hex at her while she attempted to block them, a move that more often than not had Agnes being knocked arse over teakettle.

It might have been a trial by fire, but by the end of the session Agnes was blocking, or avoiding, practically everything Harry was throwing at her.

Hermione, angered and ashamed at Harry's behavior, had almost put a stop to it all until she caught a good look at Agnes' face. Her eyes had been narrowed in calculation and determination but a wide grin had been plastered across her face. It was then that she'd realised, even if Harry hadn't, that Agnes had won.

All of which should have left Hermione feeling elated. Inter-House unity was a reality, if not exactly a friendly reality. Instead, she was wide awake, in pain, and feeling vaguely sure that somewhere the other shoe was going to drop.

Perched in his bed, Ron watched Harry pace in the open space of the dormitory he shared with Neville, Dean and Seamus. Harry had been pacing and complaining since the boys had turned in for the evening. Neville and Dean had both given Ron apologetic smiles, while Seamus had given him a long-suffering roll of his eyes before the three of them had promptly hid themselves behind the closed curtains of their respective beds, leaving Harry and his complaints to Ron.

Ron was wishing he could hide behind the closed curtains of his own bed. Maybe with a small silencing spell added for good measure.

Harry took a turn and paced towards the door. "Hufflepuffs? What do Hufflepuffs know about what it means to have unity?" Six steps later, he spun jerkily on his heel and headed back towards the window. "And Goldstein? Where does he get off telling me who the enemy is?"

Arriving at the window, he turned and then headed back towards the door. "I know who the enemy is. I've met the God-damned enemy." Turn and pace and the pattern was repeated.

Ron was tired of this. Hermione was already past tired if her heated, and somewhat shrill, confrontation earlier at the DA meeting had been any indication. After the Aurors shown up at the school, Ron had been holding out such hope that Harry was finally returning to the Harry Potter of old that he remembered. It didn't seem like that was happening

"Can you believe Hermione? Bringing a Slytherin to a DA meeting? What was she thinking?"

And just like that, Ron decided he'd had enough. "You want to know what she was thinking?" Heedless of his two sleeping roommates, Ron flung off the covers and stormed across the room to where Harry was standing. "She was thinking that you've become a complete prat."

"I've . . . I've become -" Harry sputtered indignantly.

Ron cut him off. "No, you're right. Not a complete prat. You've become a bloody royal prat. Did you think we didn't know?"

Harry's face paled. "Know what?" he demanded.

"We're your friends, you git! We know about the book. We know what you've been doing. We know about the bloody Dark Arts and we know that whatever you're doing with that book is turning you into a complete pain in the arse."

Colour flooded back into Harry's face. "You don't know anything."

"I don't? I don't? Who do you think has been covering for you? Who do you think has been making the apologies behind your back when you bite someone's head off? Who do you think has been running interference for you?"

"I don't need to have any interference run for me. I'm in control of it."

Ron laughed. "Yeah? Control. That explains why you tried to beat up a firstie tonight."

Harry roared, "She's a Slytherin."

"She's not your enemy," Ron yelled back. "Voldemort is. And bloody hell, I hate saying his name."

"Don't you think I know that? I'm doing everything I can think of to fight him. And when it comes time to kill the bastard, I'll do that too."

"With Avada Kadavra?"

"Yes!"

Ron took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me again what the prophecy says," he demanded.

"Ron . . . "

"Tell me!"

Harry glared at him for a long moment. Then he started reciting the prophecy, the words spit out as if the very taste of them was vile on his tongue. "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. . . "

"Stop."

"Don't tell me. Tell me," Harry snarled. "I thought you said you wanted to hear it."

"No, I wanted you to hear it. And it's obvious that you've missed the point again. But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Let's say that part again, shall we? Power the Dark Lord knows not." Ron stopped and waited on Harry expectantly, but when Harry just stood there glaring at him, Ron threw up his hands in defeat. "How in the bloody hell do you think the Killing Curse is using a power he knows not? I'm just making a guess here, but I think he's pretty familiar with that one."

Harry's eyes were hard chips of green glass and the lightening bolt scar stood out red and angry on his forehead as he growled out through gritted teeth, "You don't know anything."

"Yeah, well, at this point, I'd say I know more than you do. I know better than to play with the Dark Arts."

Harry's wand was suddenly in his hand. Ron, wandless and wearing only his pajamas, glared back at him, not backing down, until Harry spun on his heels and headed for the door, body stiff with anger.

"That's right. Run off and sulk. Again!" he yelled at Harry's retreating back.

A slamming door was Ron's only answer.

Tilting back his head, Ron howled his frustration to the shadowed ceiling of the bedchamber.

A soft cough behind him had Ron spinning, reaching for a wand that he wasn't wearing. Three very concerned and somewhat frightened looking roommates were staring back him, framed by their individual bed curtains. Giving them a sheepish smile, he said, "I don't suppose you'd believe -"

"No," Dean interrupted, "don't think I would, mate."

Scrubbing a hand up through his hair, he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

"Ron?"

"Yeah, Neville?"

"Was that a real prophecy?"

With a sigh, Ron wearily returned to his own bed and climbed back in. "It was a real prophecy."

Neville was silent as he contemplated the new information. "I was born in July," he said slowly. "M-My parents defied You-Know-who three times. The last time was when they were . . . were . . ."

"I know Neville," Ron said, so Neville wouldn't have to say it.

"It could have been me." What little colour remained in Neville's face drained away. "Why wasn't it me? Are you sure it's not me?"

Ron flopped backwards onto his pillow, blowing out an exasperated breath. "It's not you, Neville. It's Harry. As for why it wasn't you picked . . . we'll, I don't know for sure, so I'll tell you what Hermione told me when I asked her. She said that You-Know-Who's a great arrogant berk and he picked Harry because Harry's a half-blood like him."

Seamus, who up until this point had only been listening with wide-eyed fascination, finally spoke up. "You-Know-Who's not a half-blood."

"He's a half-blood whose father was Muggle." Ron put a hand over his eyes and wondered how he'd ever got into this conversation.

Harry stormed down the stairs from his dormitory room to the common room. How dare Ron question him? How dare Ron even chastise him as if he was some stupid little kid? I've faced and fought Voldemort four times.

What did Ron know about it anyway? He wasn't the one everyone was counting on. He didn't go to sleep at night and wake from dreams of Death Eaters torturing and murdering everyone he cared for.

Everything he'd done. Everything was for them. Ungrateful bastard.

Harry flung himself onto the couch in front of the fireplace, hand still gripped hard around his wand.

"It has to be the Killing Curse", he said to the empty room. "It has to be."

Two days after the Battle of Agnes, as Hermione privately referred to it, Harry was shut up tighter than a clam and wasn't speaking to either her or Ron. Ron had refused to explain, only saying that he'd told Harry something he didn't want to hear. But glaring looks and the silent treatment aside, Harry had not protested when Agnes had showed up for the next scheduled session.

Of course, Hermione was fairly sure the younger girl was only a side annoyance. Harry's main focus for his glares was Ron, which made Hermione extremely curious as to what Ron had said. For her part, Hermione was just ignoring him and concentrating instead on the Charms books that had been passed to her. She wasn't stupid and knew that she was supposed to be finding something important in the books. She was now fairly sure that she knew what that was.

Linking charms, she'd discovered, were a much used, but vastly underrated aspect of magic in the wizarding world. It was linking charms that connected things together in the wizarding world like the wizarding wireless, the Floo Network, and even allowed magical portraits to move from one painting to another. It was turning out to be fascinating reading and she'd come up with at least four ways to circumvent the Ministry tracking charms placed on their wands without, she was hoping, alerting the Ministry to her tampering. The only thing left to do was get the boys to help her test her theory. She was hoping that the thought of doing mischief against the Aurors would pull Ron and Harry back together.

Ignoring her half-eaten lunch, she continued making additional notes on how to refine the spell she was crafting.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr and Miss Weasley, please come with me."

Hermione looked up, surprised to find Professor McGonagall standing stiffly next to the Gryffindor table. A quick glance at both Ron and Harry confirmed that both of them were just as surprised by the request as she was. Ginny gave a quick shrug of her shoulders to show she had no idea of what the summons meant.

"Okay, Professor," Ron said.

Quickly gathering up her things, Hermione followed the others, noting that Professor Sprout was also speaking to Susan Bones. She was surprised when they went out of the Great Hall and headed for the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's suite. She wanted to ask the professor what this was about, but was put off by the expression on McGonagall's face. Something was very wrong.

"Blood-flavored Lollies," McGonagall said. As the stairway opened, Ron went to step inside but McGonagall held him back until Professor Sprout and a confused looking Susan Bones joined them. Once they were all together, they were ushered inside and up the revolving stair.

Hermione wasn't sure why she was there. If anyone had asked, she doubted she could have even explained how she'd got there. She'd been paying no attention to her whereabouts, simply stumbling along letting the castle and her feet take her wherever as her thoughts and emotions swirled in ever tightening circles.

She'd fled from Gryffindor Tower and the oppressive feelings of helpless rage emanating from Ron and Harry. She should have stayed, she knew that. Harry was as bad as she'd ever seen him and Ron had been helpless, caught up in his own emotions. Ginny hadn't stopped crying since they'd heard the news. But she needed to get away. She needed to deal with her own anger and grief. So she'd fled, not even heeding Ron's call as she bolted for the Tower door.

Not being sure how she got here, she nevertheless wasn't completely surprised to find herself outside the door to Snape's office.

When the door opened, he didn't say a word, only gestured her inside. There she stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself while she stared at the grey slate flagstones that made up the floor. Now that she was here, she was unsure of what she was supposed to do next. What does one do in this situation?

"I don't know." The words, so soft they were the barest whisper, slipped out before she could bite them back.

Snape had moved so that he was in front of her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "You don't know . . . what, Miss Granger?"

She looked up, blinking against the tears that wanted to flow. She knew how Snape felt about tears and she didn't want to cry in front of this man. "I don't know what to do."

He sighed then, a pained expression crossing his face before his usual expressionless mask settled into place. "Sit down before you fall down." The words were harsh, but the hand that took hold of her elbow and led her to chair was warm and steadying. "You've been told."

"Dumbledore called us all into his office. He wanted . . . wanted to tell us before it was announced in The Prophet tomorrow."

"Potter and Mr and Miss Weasley?"

"Harry is –" she shook her head, not sure how to explain Harry. "Ron and Ginny are terrified and angry . . . and . . . did you know?"

"No." He sighed again. "I am as much the Dark Lord's spy as I am Dumbledore's. It would have been the greatest of follies to entrust me with that kind of information."

She gave a jerky nod of her head in understanding. "Dumbledore didn't . . . wouldn't give d-details. You said . . . you said, you'll tell me the truth."

"Are you sure you want that truth? Will knowing the circumstances help?"

"Yes," she said, then shook her head. "No. I don't know. I just . . . I need to know."

He looked at her for a long moment before he began to speak. "Our sources within the Ministry said that the Aurors took Arthur Weasley this morning at the Ministry. Molly was at the Burrow when they took her. Neither put up a fight, or even realised what was happening until too late. They have been arrested and charged with treason and collaborating with the Dark Lord. They've both been sent to Azkaban pending their trial."

The words hit Hermione like a blow to the chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Snape's words were stark and uncompromising, so unlike the soft-edged words filled with meaningless assurances that Dumbledore had given them earlier. She drew in a deep shuddering breath as tears filled her eyes. "And . . ." she choked out.

Snape hesitated again and Hermione fought hard to control herself and look him in the eye. Whatever he saw in her expression must have convinced him, because he finally said, "Lupin was not as surprised. When the Aurors came for him, he fought back. Being a known werewolf, they were taking no chances and employed . . . harsher tactics."

"They killed him."

"Yes."

Again, a jerky nod of her head. "The o-others?"

Snape grimaced, his expression twisting into a scowl. She had the feeling he didn't want to be telling her this any more than she wanted to be listening to it. "Charlie Weasley is safe in Romania, but with the borders closed and the Aurors on the lookout for him, he won't be able to get back into Britain, at least not by the usual methods. Bill Weasley was in the Gringotts' vaults when they came for him. The Aurors were unable to find him and the Goblins were being less than helpful. The vaults below Gringotts are vast and mazelike. If Weasley doesn't want to be found, he will not be. And, as the Goblins have never been great supporters of the Ministry, they are unlikely to help in his capture.

"That's good for him," she said softly, reaching for whatever hope was available.

Snape just shook his head. "The Aurors will be watching. If he surfaces, he will be taken. He is as effectively trapped as if he were in Azkaban as well."

"What about the twins? Professor Dumbledore said he didn't know about them."

"The Weasley twins were tipped off before the raid, although we do not know by whom. When the Aurors arrived at their workplace, the shop had been ransacked and the place was empty. No one currently knows their whereabouts."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, fists clenched to keep them from trembling. "Thank you. For telling me. For -" the word dropped off in a sob and the tears she'd been trying so hard to control spilled down her cheeks. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Hermione turned blindly in the direction of the door, hoping to get out before she lost control completely.

She got two steps before colliding with Snape who had moved into her path. Reflexively her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes, and when she wasn't pushed immediately away, she held on all the tighter and let the tears flow.

Chapter 35: Ripples

Hermione wasn't sure how long she cried, but eventually the ball of pain in her chest eased. It was still there, but muted now to a dull throb. She was also aware that she was still leaning heavily into Snape, her hands curled against the flat planes of his chest, while his strength supported both of them. Her thoughts drifted, buoyed by the safety and comfort she felt. And even though it came as a guilty pleasure, she didn't stop herself from burying her face in his shoulder to breathe in the comforting mix of herbs, smoke and Severus. A small, bitter-sweet smile curved her lips. Somewhere along the way he'd become Severus in her head and she doubted she'd ever get to say his name out loud.

Gradually though, she became aware that the man she was so comfortably wrapped around was, himself, anything but relaxed. It wasn't that he was standing rigidly, but he was unnaturally still. Even the chest she leaned against barely moved with each of his breaths. The hands that lightly cupped her shoulders neither pushed her away, nor enfolded her closer. If it had been anyone else, Hermione would have said there was no comfort offered here, and yet Hermione still felt that blanket of security wrapped around her as she leaned into him. She also knew she was being entirely unfair to him, inflicting her crush on him when he was so obviously ill-at-ease.

Tightening her hands one last time in the soft wool of his robes she let go, stepping back and away from him. She kept her face averted, knowing she was no delicate damsel with a pretty, tear-stained face. She knew she looked a complete mess with wayward strands of hair stuck to her wet face.

Together they stood in tense silence before Hermione heard him make a soft sound that was almost a sigh. A large hand gripped her elbow and led her back to the chair. When he withdrew she couldn't help but miss the warmth of his hand, even as she berated herself for being three kinds of fool.

A pristine white handkerchief was thrust before her. "Here," he said, brusquely, "compose yourself."

She bit her lip to hold in the smile at the dichotomy between his words and action and Hermione felt herself slide a little further down the slippery slope that was her attraction to Snape . . . to Severus.

"Sorry," she murmured as she blotted her face, knowing all the while there was no help for her puffy eyes and splotched complexion. Gathering her courage, she finally raised her head and gave him a watery smile. "Thank you. I didn't mean to . . . " She trailed off and gestured vaguely in his direction, not wanting to actually say the words 'blubber all over you.' "Thank you," she repeated.

He gave her back a small wry smile of his own. "You are not the first to cry on my shoulder, Miss Granger."

Back to Miss Granger, shethought, with a small pang of disappointment. He had been uncomfortable with the contact. The disappointment grew as he went about reestablishing the boundaries between them, though she couldn't fault him on it. Inappropriate, a part of her whispered, and Hermione couldn't disagree even when she wished she could.

Restlessly folding and smoothing the edges of the linen handkerchief, Hermione watched quietly as Snape pulled another chair around. Sitting so that there was an acceptable distance between them, he caught her eyes. "Listen to me Miss Granger. I know that you are hurting, but I need you to focus. The Headmaster warned you and the others for a reason. Tomorrow's Prophet will be a masterwork of Ministry propaganda, designed by the Dark Lord himself, to feed into the fears of the wizarding populace."

"How can they all just accept it? Why doesn't anyone question what they're being told? How can the people at the Ministry just go along with everything that a virtual stranger who has just appeared at the Ministry is telling them?"

"I suppose it wouldn't make much sense to you, or probably much sense to any Muggle-born. When Muggle-borns and their parents are first introduced to our world, two words typically come to up to describe us."

"Victorian," she guessed, having heard her father use this description on numerous occasions.

Snape gave her a small nod. "Quaint," he said with small sneer, "would be the other word. As you yourself have noted, we do not accept change as a society easily. We cling, rather tenaciously, to our pasts and our traditions. Unlike the Muggle world, we have more or less a single source of news. Only The Quibbler maintains any true independence and it is largely ignored. Family names, dynasties if you will, are known and recognised by almost everyone. As a society we rarely question those in authority. You wish to know how this could happen? That is how. Our world is terrified and they are looking for a savior who will protect them without any effort on their parts. The less they have to get involved, the more they will follow along with any Ministry plans."

"And the Ministry is going to provide scapegoats."

"Then you understand."

She frowned. "But the Aurors?"

He sat back in his chair and gave her the look that intimated she'd just said something stupid. "Aurors are trained to follow orders, not to question them. Nor do we know who has been Imperiused or who among them is an actual supporter. Add in the fact that those who are true wish to take action, to do something productive and-"

"They'll leap at any course of action shown them without looking very carefully."

"Precisely. Which is why you must be prepared. Tomorrow is going to be worse than any day you've faced. Tomorrow, your classmates will turn on the Weasleys and any other students whose families have been targets, and on you for being friends with them."

She shook her head, not accepting his words.

"They will," he insisted, with such certainty that she couldn't help but believe. "The Weasleys have never maintained the status, influence, or wealth of the Malfoys or the Blacks, but their family name is just as well known and in its own way, powerful. To have them branded as traitors -"

She sucked in a hard breath at the word.

The hard eyes holding hers softened. "Get used to the word. They will be called traitors and worse. Many will turn their back on you, especially those of your own House."

She wanted to deny that, but couldn't. She knew how quick to judge those of her House could be. She only had to remember the times in the past that her Housemates had flipped between shunning and welcoming Harry.

She clenched her fingers tight around the handkerchief in her hand. "What do I need to do?"

"I wish I could tell you to focus Potter on his rage. What I need you to do is remind him of his compassion. The Prophet has recorded Potter speaking out against the Dark Lord too many times for him to be labeled a sympathizer now. Use that with the other students who are going to be affected. This will affect more than the Weasleys and Miss Bones before it is over. Pull those students together and put Potter at their head. Surround him with those who will need a comforting hand and not reckless charges into danger."

He paused then and grimaced. "And stop looking at me like that. I've told you before that I don't hate Potter. And I most certainly do not wish him to fail at this endeavor."

She gave him a small smile, feeling a glimmer of hope for them all.

Severus walked Granger out to the main hall, his stride shortened and his steps moderated to accommodate her slower pace. His impatience pounded at him, but none of his internal need to move expressed itself in his demeanor.

They walked in silence, for which he was eternally grateful. He simply didn't know the words to offer her solace. He knew his strengths, and giving comfort had never been one of them. For all that he'd given her a shoulder to cry on, he couldn't image that she'd drawn much consolation from him, especially when the minute her tears had dried he'd simply given her more dire news and an almost impossible task.

"Will someone check on Tonks?"

The question brought him back to himself with a start.

"She'll want to bury him." Granger did not elaborate on who he was.

Severus shut his eyes momentarily at her soft-voiced comment and the new wound he knew he was about to inflict on her. "I will ensure that the Headmaster sends someone, but she will not . . . the Aurors took Lupin's body." At his words, her step faltered momentarily but she kept walking.

His esteem of her rose yet again. But for that small lapse and the tiny tremor in her voice, she remained composed. "T-they will be watching for anyone who cares enough . . . cares enough to come for him."

"Yes," he said, dropping his voice to the barest of murmurs.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Severus had no answer for her. His life had rarely been about "fair" and he'd given up on that and Fair's bright sister, Hope, long ago.

So they continued on in silence until once again she crashed against his inner defences and with a few seemingly casual words sent him reeling.

"You'll be careful, won't you?"

When he was slow to offer a response, she added, "He'll want to celebrate this victory. You haven't been called-" She stumbled over her words. "I mean, I haven't seen you leave the castle. But he will . . . just . . . please be careful."

Then Hermione Granger blushed, pink flushing her cheeks. He waited for her to drop her eyes, stammer forth some apology. She did neither, merely held his eyes in steady seriousness until he became the one to stammer out a response. "I . . . I will endeavor to be careful." His heart pounded within him for reasons he refused to acknowledge. "Your concern is noted and I-" And then in the space of a heartbeat, he snarled, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

The sudden swerve caught her off-guard, her shock forcing out a startled, "What?"

Snape scowled, his expression thunderous. "Another five points for insolence." She flinched in surprise, completely unprepared to handle such vitriol from him on the heels of her concern. "Prefect status does not, I assure you, entitle you to wander areas of the castle that are off limits."

Hermione just blinked at him in total confusion, the pretty blush deepening into the darker red of mortification as Severus turned sharply, addressing a deep shadow in one of the alcoves that lined this section of the hallway. "Auror Garmin. I have been summoned to the Headmaster. Would be you be so kind as to escort Miss Granger to Gryffindor Tower?"

Hermione spun herself to face the alcove as Auror Garmin stepped into the light. The Auror was wearing a faint sneer, although Severus couldn't decide if his distaste was for his presence or Hermione's. Severus stepped back into shadow as the Auror turned his attention to Hermione. By the time the buffoon thought to keep an eye on him as well, Severus had already melted into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Not trusting the Auror, Severus shadowed their progress partway to Gryffindor until he was sure that Hermione would be taken safely back to her tower.

Sweet Merlin, the girl confused him. She pushed and asked and demanded with her very presence that he . . . he . . . be her. . . her . . . and here his thoughts skittered away. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the cool stone of the castle. The way she'd asked him to be careful. The way she'd looked at him. Merlin help him, he wanted . . . Impossible. He pushed violently away from the wall. Insanity. It was complete insanity. Albus. I need to talk to Albus.

Hermione walked stiffly back to Gryffindor Tower, the Auror a chilling presence at her back. Opening the portrait door, she gave one last thought to Snape, Severus, and the sense of safety she'd felt when leaning against him. Then she was stepping through and thoughts of safety were left behind.

The common room was mostly empty at this hour, only a few students were gathered around the fireplace and two third years were off in one corner studying. Her friends were much as she'd left them when she'd fled earlier. They had taken over a small couch and two chairs in a nook created by the round walls of the tower and the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitory. It was a quiet spot, out of the way from the general traffic of the common room, and was often sought out by the more studious members of Gryffindor.

Harry sat at one end of the small couch with Ginny curled up into his side, one of his arms slung protectively over her. She couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at the sight. Ginny needed Harry's comfort right now and Harry needed to be touched and needed. Ron sat at Ginny's feet with one hand wrapped around one of her ankles. Hermione was glad to see that this crisis had pulled Harry out of whatever snit he'd been in with Ron and that the two of them were once again presenting a united front. Hermione was also heartened to see that Neville, Dean and Seamus had joined the group since she'd left. Good, she thought. That makes doing what Severus asked of me easier. And maybe not all of our friends will be turning against us.

"Where've you been?"

She ignored the accusation in Harry's tone, knowing he was hurting and lashing out. Instead she simply took the words at face value. "I needed to . . . " She trailed off. She didn't want to say that she needed space or that she'd desperately needed to see Snape.

Ginny came to her rescue. "It's okay, Hermione. Everyone copes differently."

Hermione sent her a grateful smile. "Thanks Ginny. I just needed a little quiet and someplace to think."

"I don't think your books are going to help us this time."

She took a deep breath, letting her own anger go. "I think you're wrong, Harry. Hold on, I'll be right back." Heading up to her room, she grabbed Professor Flitwick's books and her notes and then returned to the group.

"What are you planning?" Ron asked, when she settled back down.

She held up one of the books. "It's all about linking charms."

"So?" asked Dean.

Hermione took another deep breath, knowing the conversation that she was about to have was going to hurt. "The Weasleys weren't the only people targeted by You-Know-Who." She glanced around the small group, noting Ron's pinched expression and Ginny's eyes filling again with tears. "We know Susan Bones' mother was taken. We know about Professor Lupin. There are going to be others."

She leaned forward trying to make them really hear her. "But that's just part of the attack. They are also targeting half-bloods and Muggle-borns with the wand registration nonsense. They'll know every spell we cast and I'm pretty sure it will tell them everywhere we go. The wizarding world doesn't do well standing up to the Ministry. The people who would are the half-bloods and the Muggle-borns, those people who've seen other systems of government and different ways of doing things. It will be harder for them now because of the registration."

"Divide and conquer," Ron said, "and attack along multiple fronts."

She nodded and gave Ron a smile at his more concise explanation.

"So how do linking charms help?"

Hermione pulled her wand out and asked Neville for his. She held the wands side by side. "By casting a linking charm on my wand that connects it to your wand. Although ideally we cast the link to someone who is above reproach and not involved with anything we are doing. The Ministry gets their information as it is fed through the new link, bypassing the original tracking charm. It lets us, Harry in particular, stay out of their sights."

Ginny sat up a little straighter. "You link to my wand. I stay in the dorm and cast a few harmless spells. The Ministry reads that you while in reality you are off doing something somewhere else."

Hermione gave her a smile. "Exactly. And if the Ministry and Voldemort are using it to keep tabs on Harry and anyone else, then we send them on wild goose chases."

"You can cast this spell?" Dean asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to be the one to cast it. Harry needs to."

Harry gave a jerk. "What? Why?"

"Because others are going to be affected. You've always been a rallying point about You-Know-Who. Tell the students that are affected about the spell and cast it for them. As more families of students are taken, be there for them. Have them turn to you."

Harry's expression was a mixture of unease and rebellion. "I don't want to be their savior or some kind of stupid chosen one."

Neville, who was staring intently at Harry, finally said, "I don't think you've got a choice."

Albus felt the castle's wards jump the minute Severus ordered the guardian gargoyle aside. He wasn't quite sure how he always knew when Severus interacted with the school's wards but he did, even if most of the other teachers and students were just the vague impression of someone being there. He had always marveled at how well those wards recognised the other man, even occasionally letting him know the emotional state of his Potions master. It was, he'd concluded after long contemplation, as if the castle liked Severus, an idea and occurrence that never failed to amuse Albus.

Tonight there was no amusement. The castle wards tied to his magic snapped and sizzled along Albus' senses. Severus was agitated and that agitation was being conveyed quite strongly. He conjured a small teapot and two cups and waited.

Severus entered quickly, the door abruptly thrust open. Severus' teaching robes swirled around him as he fell into pacing in front of Albus' long desk. But for that pacing and the wards' insistence, Albus would not have known that Severus was troubled. The man's expression was a smooth mask of indifference, his posture was erect, neither hunched nor belligerent, and his hands, the usual tell-tale markers of Severus' mood, were clasped tightly behind his back rather than furled into fists at his side.

"Severus, is everything-"

"Everything is as expected, Headmaster."

The words were curt, but no more or less than what Albus usually expected from the other man. The wards once again rolled across his nerves, causing him to stiffen in his chair. Giving a thought to pushy castles, he asked, "Expected?"

"Expected. The Dark Lord has his hands firmly around the throat of the wizarding world, the Order — what remains of it — is practically in hiding, our fate rests on the shoulders of an unstable boy, and Lupin is . . . dead."

Albus noted the almost imperceptible hesitation before Severus pronounced Lupin's demise. Unsure of Severus' mood, he started cautiously, "Remus was -"

"I never thought that I would outlive the wolf."

It was said dispassionately, as another would comment on the fact that it was raining. With those words, the jangling at his magical senses fell silent, leaving him reeling in the quiet. Without the added benefit of the castle's magic, Albus was left with the impenetrable wall of Severus' emotional defences.

"Lupin was . . . ." Severus halted his thought, and then added, "Now only Pettigrew is left. And me, of course. Odd that."

Severus made another circuit around the room as Albus watched him warily, unsure of this unusual turn in the man he knew. "Severus-"

"You'll need to send someone for him. Someone of unassailable character."

Albus frowned in confusion. "For Peter?"

Severus shook his head sharply. "Lupin."

And for just for an instant, Albus knew what every Potions student had ever felt when on the receiving end of Severus' "you're an idiot" tone of voice. But he did finally understand, although he was very surprised at Severus' concern. It seemed unlike the man. "I will ensure that Remus' remains are returned from the Ministry."

Severus nodded. "Granger said that Tonks would be appreciative."

Albus clamped down on his surprise. Granger? Remembering Vector's matrix, Albus' alarm grew and with it his need to retake control of his pacing spymaster. Albus indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Severus, sit. You're making me dizzy."

Only when the other man was situated in his usual chair did Albus float Severus a cup of tea. He was concerned as Severus sat rigidly instead of sinking into his normal boneless slump. Something was very much wrong.

They sat quietly, each sipping from their cups, until the taunt line of Severus' shoulders eased just a fraction. Only then did he say the man's name, for he'd learned over the years that the best way to get the man to open up was to let him come to you. "Severus?"

The shoulders softened a fraction more. "I find myself . . . troubled."

Albus felt a bolt of fear go through him at Severus' words. All my plans . . . .

Severus kept speaking, unaware of his effect on the headmaster. "I have known the course of my life from the moment she died." There was a distant quality to voice as he continued. "In many ways I died as well. I have not wanted anything beyond retribution and repentance since." He stared down into the bowl of his cup as if he saw his future laid out in the tea leaves. "I have not asked for . . . ." He stopped and shook his head. "I have not wanted . . . ." His voiced trailed off into silence.

"What is it that you want, Severus?" Albus asked softly, his own fingers tight around the handle of his cup.

Severus finally looked up and stared at him for a long measured moment, though Albus wasn't sure the man really saw him or not. He opened his mouth to speak and stiffened abruptly in his chair. Albus knew that reaction all too well. Damn Tom and his sense of timing. "You are being summoned?" he asked.

The easily read confusion that had briefly reflected in Severus' eyes was gone, to be replaced with nothing but mirrored black. "I am." Standing abruptly, he placed his tea cup on Albus' desk with careful precision. "Forgive me, Albus. I find that there are things I must attend to." He paused for a moment as if waiting for some added word from Albus, but then with a single nod of his head, turned to leave.

Albus stared at the closed door, undecided on his course of action. He was not as ruthlessly Machiavellian as some portrayed him, but neither was he the kindly doting grandfather of others' tales. Severus Snape had given everything he was to this fight. Albus knew that if asked, Severus would give even more.

He had no illusions. He knew Severus expected to forfeit his life before it was over. It pained Albus to know that Severus was, in all reality, probably correct, and that Albus would be the one to order him to his death. But until tonight, Albus had never questioned that Severus would not hesitate to follow through with that final order, but something, or someone, had shaken Severus' control. Albus couldn't help but to see that as a threat.

Eyes narrowed in thought, he pulled his wand. A moment later Miranda's matrix floated like a multi-coloured sea anemone in the middle of his office, its lazy spin throwing rays of colour across the darkened room.

Granger said that Tonks would be appreciative.

Albus found the matrix lines representing Severus and Miss Granger. He watched as Severus' line blinked in and out of existence. Abruptly he turned toward the fireplace. Reaching for a handful of Floo powder he tossed it into the dancing flames. "Miranda Vector's room" he said as the flames turned green. Avoiding the discomfort of his creaky knees, he skipped kneeing into the flames and called out instead. "Miranda, are you there?"

A moment later, a somewhat confused reply came. "Albus?"

"Can you come up to my office?"

A few moments later, Professor Vector stepped into his office, her expression moving from tense to worried as she caught sight of her matrix spinning in the middle of the room. "Has something happened?" and then quickly amended it to "Has something else happened?"

He gestured to the chair recently vacated by Severus. "Sit. Please. As for something happening, I am . . . unsure. How is Miss Granger's project coming along?"

One eyebrow shot up. "You didn't ask me here at," she glanced at the many clocks filling his office, "at eleven at night to ask about Hermione Granger's schoolwork."

When Albus hesitated, she blew out an exasperated breath. "Damn it, Albus. I know you love your secrecy and your games, and Merlin knows how Minerva has stood you all these years without hexing you to the bottom of the lake, but I deal in facts and numbers. If you want an answer from me you have to ask me the real question and not try to sneak around it from the backside."

They stared at each other until Miranda threw up her hands in obvious disgust. Climbing to her feet, she headed back towards the fireplace, muttering dire imprecations only partially under her breath. Albus caught the words Minerva, saint and old goat.

"Wait."

She stopped, as he knew she would, but she didn't turn around.

"Can Miss Granger be removed from the calculations?"

When Miranda finally did turn, her eyes were wide in shock.

"Calm yourself, Miranda. I mean the child no harm. I simply need to know if she can be removed from the field, as it were, without jeopardizing the matrix as a whole."

"No."

"But -"

"Albus, I assume you are asking for my professional opinion — that opinion is no. She's too intertwined, too a part of this now."

"Intertwined," he repeated. Yes, too intertwined I think. He chose his words with great care. "The influence she is bringing to bear on Severus is . . . disconcerting."

To his surprise, Miranda burst into laughter. "Headmaster, you are a wise man who has the ability to see a bigger picture than anyone I've ever met. But Miss Granger's influence, as you call it, is just that the girl likes him. She treats him with respect and consideration and a kind regard. She isn't afraid of him and she doesn't want anything from him." She gave him a twisted smile before adding, "Forgive me for saying it Albus, but you know that you demand of Severus just as much, if not more, than You-Know-Who. Is it any surprise that Severus finds himself comfortable in Miss Granger's presence?"

Steepling his fingers, he contemplated her words. On the surface it seemed harmless enough. He'd always known that what he asked of Severus isolated the man, but before Miss Granger that had not seemed to bother Severus.

"I will consider your words. But indulge me, if you will, and see if she can be unentwined from Severus without causing harm."

She shook her head. "Albus, this isn't a good idea."

When he merely looked at her in response, she sighed. "Fine."

Her expression was still disapproving when she left.

Alone in his office again, he waved a hand, extinguishing the candles until the only light remaining came from the matrix. He was an old man. He was used to waiting for things he wanted. Patience had provided him with more victories than the combined forces of threat and guile. Now he waited for Severus to return and thought hard on the girl.

Albus felt the shift in the wards as Severus reentered the castle grounds. Unlike earlier in the evening, he received no sense of dissonance from the castle, but was merely informed that the wards had been breached. That the castle's wards sent no ripples of alarm meant, Albus decided, that at least in this particular meeting with Tom, his spy had escaped unscathed.

Albus blew out a breath in aggravation, his thoughts turning dark. Tom has every reason to be celebrating this night. The Order and its allies are neatly boxed into a corner and now is entirely too soon to be showing my hand.

As dawn was not far off, he waited the minimal time before deciding that Severus would not be coming to him. Not that he blamed the man for that. Even Severus needed some sleep. But Albus knew, as few others did, what toll these meetings with Tom took from his Potions master. Even those meetings that went well tended to darken Severus' mood for days afterwards. And only Albus knew of the nightmares that so often preceded Severus' restless insomnia.

He debated now. Stay or go? He thought again on the troubling conversation they'd shared earlier and the matrix he'd been staring at for the last few hours. Go, then.

It took only a few moments to step from his fireplace into Severus' rooms. He expected to find Severus still awake as he entered the man's quarters, so he was concerned when he found the rooms dark and quiet. He paused, suddenly unsure, but a brief outreach to the castle's internal wards confirmed that Severus was indeed in his rooms.

Wondering if perhaps Severus had been hurt after all, Albus lit a candle and went in search of him. His concern went to alarm when he found his notoriously insomnia prone Potions master asleep in his bed. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Severus did not wake on his entry, or when the candle's light fell across his face. He merely grumbled and turned away into the darkness.

Now Albus was more than alarmed. Several thoughts spun through his mind from Severus taking a heavy dose of Dreamless Sleep to Tom somehow drugging him. None of the scenarios he came up with as an explanation made him feel better.

He debated momentarily on the ethics of his decision, weighing Severus' privacy against his fears. I can't take the chance. Pulling his wand, he used a Healer's spell that detected potions and poisons. His wand tip glowed green as he swept it over Severus' body, showing Severus was not under the influence of any type of sleeping potion.

His next thought was some type of charm or hex. He cast a powerful reveal spell and again his wand glowed green as he waved it over Severus. Then, just as he swung his wand in a sweeping arc over Severus' head, the wand light blinked. He stopped. The light had not turned red, indicated a malicious spell, but had blinked. Albus wasn't sure he'd ever seen the reveal spell do that before. He stilled. Then very slowly he retraced his wand over Severus' head but the blink in the light didn't reoccur.

Frowning, he pulled at his beard with his free hand. Then using a side to side sweeping motion, he began again. This time, as his wand neared the edge of the bed, the light blinked again. The spell is on the sheets.

Unsure of exactly what he was dealing with, and still not wanting to awaken Severus just yet, as the spell could easily be designed to harm the sleeper if detected, Albus used the tip of his wand to tease out the bottom sheet from where it was tucked under the mattress.

His gasp was loud in the quiet of the room. Sleeping Sheets! Someone made Severus Sleeping Sheets.

He was astounded. He'd never known of a case where Sleeping Sheets were made for an adult. He didn't even think that was possible. The magical energy and intent that would have been needed to fuel the Sheets for an adult rather than for a child was enormous.

How? When? Why? And more importantly, was this the interference to Severus' path that was highlighted in Vector's matrix?

Waving the hovering candle closer, he pulled up the Sheet's edge to more closely examine the embroidered sigil. A single glance told him that the stitching was finely done and that much care and attention had been taken with the work. Like most magical sigils this one moved. Albus was astonished to see a lioness rise up to crouch protectively over a coiled snake, her ivory-coloured fangs bared to him in a silent snarl of warning.

And Albus knew. Hermione Granger.

He also knew what he had to do. He had no idea how the girl had made the sheets or even how she'd got them on Severus' bed. Those were minor concerns now. The most important thing was that she could not be allowed to interfere with his plans. Couldn't be allowed to distract Severus from his path, regardless of what Miranda Vector thought. He also knew that he could not be the direct cause of the severance of their relationship. That would build resentment and again take Severus' focus off the things that Albus needed him to do. Severus could not doubt him at this critical junction in his plans.

Eyes narrowed in thought, he came to a grim decision. He knew Severus. Knew his moods and his prejudices and how the taint of Dark Magic influenced his tempers. He had only to set the stage. Severus would do the rest because Albus knew how he would view these sheets: as betrayal and manipulation and influence.

It was, he decided, the best course of action.

Turning to leave, he left the sheet and its damning sigil untucked for Severus to find in the morning. Severus himself would do everything needed after that.

The next morning Ginny, eyes still red, refused to stay behind in the tower when the others were ready to go down to breakfast.

Knowing what the morning held, Hermione couldn't blame Ron for trying to dissuade her but Ginny was standing firm. Ron finally gave in with ill-concealed grace. Hermione went out the portrait door first, Ron behind her, followed by Ginny, then Harry, with Seamus, Neville and Dean bringing up the end. Their Housemates, sensing their mood, gave them a wide berth in the corridors.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table became a waiting game that gnawed on all of them. At one point, Hermione looked up at the Head Table hoping to distract herself with Severus, but the thunderous black look he leveled in her direction left her shaken. She quickly dropped her eyes back to her food, picking at it in confusion.

Even Ron was picking at his food, but Hermione was too shaken by Severus' venomous look to really notice. The clatter of his fork onto his plate finally jerked Hermione's eyes upwards to where the morning owls were silently winging their way across the room.

Her own owl landed in the open space beside her, the Prophet clenched tightly in one talon. With trembling fingers she paid the bird, offered a bit of bacon and then sent it on its way.

"Open it."

"Ron . . ."

Ron swallowed, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. "Best to know now. Open it."

Harry gave her nod, so Hermione cleared a space on the table and spread out the paper so that all of them could see it. A series of photographs scrolled across the top half of the paper beneath a blazing inch high headline: MINISTRY ROUNDS UP YOU-KNOW-WHO SYMPATHIZERS. She didn't bother with the article but focused instead on the pictures. A woman Hermione didn't recognise was crying as a grey-haired man was lead away. A picture of Madam Bones flashed next, her expression a mixture of confusion and anger. Ginny sucked in a breath at a slightly blurry picture of Molly Weasley being led away. There was another picture of an older gentleman, his face too wearing an expression of confusion. On and on the pictures scrolled across the page.

Hermione realised then how they'd done it. None of these poor people really understood what was happening to them. They all just thought it was some kind of mistake — some kind of aberration that would be cleared up quickly.

"They didn't have a clue," Harry said roughly, his thoughts obviously following hers.

Ron's slightly shaking hand pointed to a tag line mentioning a special insert section. "Open this."

Hermione flipped the paper open, only to immediately press her fist against her mouth in horror. The special insert was a list of names in blocky, black text. Each name listed the supposed crime, a summary of the evidence against the person and a column showing the status of the individual. A quick scan of the list showed that Remus Lupin had not been the only individual to resist arrest and pay for it with his life.

"Oh God, there are so many."

Chapter 36: Consequences

As was happening all too often of late, the voices and laughter that usually filled the Great Hall during the breakfast hour quieted. It was easy to hear the muffled sobs of Glynnis Colbern over at the Hufflepuff table and the shell-shocked voice of someone in Ravenclaw saying over and over again, "I don't understand."

Then the muttering began, softly at first and picking up volume and speed like a cresting wave. Into that upsurge of noise, Professor Dumbledore stood up. He didn't make any call to attention, but gradually silence spread through the Hall. Hermione saw several of the Aurors stationed along the outer wall shift nervously. She watched Auror Garmin finger his wand before a sharp motion from Auror Dawlish made him drop his hand.

Dumbledore's complexion was ashen, almost the same colour as his long beard. "Dangerous times are upon us," he began. "Dangerous men walk among us." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Believe what you will. Do not believe everything you read or hear." With an unreadable expression on his face, Dumbledore gathered his robes around him and swept out of the hall.

Silence followed in his wake, then the uproar began, voices competing against each other to be heard.

"I don't understand," Ron said. "Why didn't he . . . he didn't really say anything."

Hermione tapped a knuckle against the spread-open paper. "Here. Aberforth Dumbledore's name is on the list."

"But why didn't-" Ron stopped and then lowered his voice and began again. "Why didn't he say anything when he told us about mum and dad and Remus?"

"He might not have known," Ginny said.

Ron's lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as he worked through the implications. "Bugger. Aberforth is a hostage to the Headmaster's good behavior. In fact, I bet a lot of people might have had family taken to ensure good behavior or to provide some kind of leverage."

Harry made a growling noise from where he sat next to Ron. "I really, really want Voldemort dead. Do you think the Headmaster will . . ." Harry trailed off, not wanting to say the actual words he was thinking.

Ron and Hermione studied each other before Ron shook his head. "Can't say for certain. But-" he hesitated, then plowed ahead with his thought, "Dumbledore has put a lot of time and effort into this fight, into defeating You-Know-Who. Probably more than anyone but old Snape. I don't think — even for his brother — that he can back away now."

"The Headmaster's just as ruthless and narrow-focused as Voldemort in his own way," Hermione said, then added hastily as Harry's face went white, "And I'm not saying that's bad. We need someone to be ruthless, it's just something to think about and remember."

Harry nodded after a tense moment. "Hermione, how many names are on that list?"

She did a quick count. "Twenty-two people were taken alive." She took a quick breath and then added, "Four others died when they were apprehended." She didn't say Remus Lupin's name, but knew that the others were thinking it along with her.

"Do you know how many were Order members?"

"Only the ones we saw regularly at the house. The Headmaster is the only one who knows the names of all the members and supporters."

"Damn."

"So what now?" Ron asked.

Grabbing hold of Harry's hand, Ginny stood up. "We do what we talked about. My parents and brothers aren't You-Know-Who supporters." With a toss of her head that raised her chin high, Ginny led Harry over to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry settled down next to Glynnis Colbern while Ginny sat down across from the distraught girl. Any surprise at two Gryffindors sitting down at the Hufflepuff table was overshadowed by the talk of the Voldemort supporters and the Ministry's response. Watching Harry and Ginny talk to Colbern, Hermione kept her ears open to the conversations around her. True to Professor Snape's predictions, the talk she could hear ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other. A lot of suspicion undercut the voices around her, as well as a lot of fear.

From the height advantage that the teacher's dais gave, Severus watched the ripples of shock move through the students collected in the Great Hall. It was almost like watching multiple pebbles being dropped into a clear pool. The first stone drops plop as the Prophet and its insinuations of support for Voldemort move across the room. Plop. The second ripple flowing out quickly on the heels of the first as students looked at their neighbors and classmates, wondering Are you one? Plop.The third, a larger stone, its waves of reaction generating mini ripples as Dumbledore's words and subsequent abrupt departure were matched up with Aberforth's name being found in the Ministry's list.

He tried to watch the ripples, tried to see which students responded to the news with horror and anger and which ones cast guilty eyes at their classmates. Albus would be interested in his report on how the students reacted. He tried, tried to do what needed to be done but his concentration and control was grayed and he found that time and again his gaze was drawn back to the Gryffindor table.

To her.

Each time his eyes found her, he felt the rising anger course through him, shading his vision into blacks and reds. Plop. He struggled and fought to calm his own roiling emotions beneath the still surface of his control but like the students that he gazed down upon, the ripples moved through him, uncontrolled and unchecked.

Plop.

How dare she! She thought to make a fool of him?

Plop.

She would rue the day she'd crossed his path.

Plop.

Teeth grinding, he swallowed the deep-noted howl of rage that wanted to burst forth from his throat. Reaching for his cup, he wrapped his fingers around the cool metal, squeezing until his knuckles turned white with the force exerted. I will not be ruled. The very contradictory nature of the thought brought him a measure of control. He was always ruled — ruled by Dumbledore, ruled by the Dark Lord, ruled by the very out-of-control emotions that he sought so desperately to control. Usually controlled. He'd had moments over the years where he'd slipped. When the tenuous control, frayed by years of Dark Magic use, broke and he lost sight of everything except his own desires and wants. That cur Sirius Black had had the ability to bring him to this state. The Potters, old and young, could as well.

He'd not been expecting Hermione Granger to wield such control over him.

His gaze swept the room again, automatically noting the Aurors' positions, before coming once again to rest on the Gryffindor table.

He'd awakened that morning in a tangle of sheets, something that hadn't happened in a very long while. There had been a time when waking in sweat-soaked, twisted sheets had almost been the norm for him. But as he couldn't remember any nightmare and felt perfectly rested, he'd shrugged off the occurrence and gone about his morning routine. It was only when he'd thought to straighten the bed linens that he'd found the sigil.

His eyes found her slender form. She and her friends hovered over the opened Prophet, their heads bent together in shared companionship.

Severus' first thought on finding the sigil had been a sort of confusion, disbelief warring with a sort of bemusement at the idea of a grown man with what were obviously sleeping sheets for a baby. On seeing the lioness, his second thought had been of Albus and Minerva. It wasn't until he'd spread his palm across the stitched pattern and felt the magic signature embedded in with the threads that he'd realised just how wrong he was. Bemusement had fled to be replaced by a sense of betrayal he'd not felt since Lily Potter. The rage had come swiftly on the heels of that betrayal, its depth and breath surprising even him. Infuriated, he'd reached for the sheets, snatching them from the bed and feeling a surge of satisfaction as the silky fabric had ripped.

But that had only been the beginning. He'd seen it then. All the little things that had followed, small steps to gain his notice, gain his confidence, worm her way close to him. She'd taken his lessons well, he'd give her that. Subverting his house-elf had been a brilliant tactic and worthy of any Slytherin.

Now, there were only questions: Why him? Why now? And what had she to gain?

He thought that maybe he knew the answer to all of them. Potter. It was always, always, about Potter and Hermione Granger would do whatever it took to save Potter. If she'd had Severus convinced . . . if she'd asked . . . what would he have done if she'd asked or even pleaded for Potter's life?

He felt laughter, cold and unforgiving rise up, but he uttered not a sound. The girl had done it all for nothing. She could have asked no more from him than Dumbledore did . . . than Lily's memory did. He'd imagined the scene in a thousand times in a thousand different variations. It wouldn't matter who asked him. He knew how it would end. Potter would challenge the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord would respond. Potter would do something foolish and Severus would throw himself between Potter and an untimely but certain death in order to win the boy more time.

She'd done it for nothing. He smiled then, sharp and cold-edged. Maybe I'll tell her.

Voldemort leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the Minister of Magic across the table. He loathed these meetings but they were a necessary evil in controlling the Ministry. Not enough of his own people were in place yet for a complete take-over. Not using his resources wisely and his own impatience for success had been part of his downfall the last time. He would not be making that same mistake again. Flicking his eyes around the table, he brought his attention back to the Minister.

"As was discussed in our last Ministry meeting, steps have been taken to increase the security of the wizarding world in this trying time." Dollart inclined his head graciously in the Minister of Magic's direction. "Based on recommendations put forward by our own Minister of Magic, Aurors have gone out and detained individuals that may have ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Based on those detentions, we have opened up Azkaban to a larger population. The steps taken have been distressing," Dollart said, acknowledging those department heads who had voiced opposition to the initial plan, "but I believe that we will see positive results come from our measures."

"What's this I hear about new people?" asked Marigold Shrinker, the head of the Agriculture Department, in a nasally whine.

Dollart gave her a practiced smile as he plotted the old biddy's demise in his head. "Yes, we did add additional personnel to the Ministry roles."

Steepling his fingers before him, Dollart concentrated, deepening the Imperius' hold. "Several of my staff have carefully handpicked additional people with impeccable backgrounds to be installed at Azkaban to ensure that all detainees are taken care of properly."

Thicknesse blinked, a vague frown pulling his brows down. "Wouldn't it be best to have more Aurors there?"

"After further discussions, it was felt that the Aurors would be better used handling real emergencies and not doing guard duty. One or two Auror supervisors should be enough. The other men and women I've recommended should be more than adequate."

The Minister's frown deepened as he struggled against the foreign hold on his will. "We should start the official inquiries immediately. I'm sure many are just mistakes."

An amused Dollart let him struggle for a moment before tightening his control. "Excellent idea, Minister. We do want to let everyone know that we are on top of the situation."

Thicknesse blinked rapidly and then smiled at the assembled Ministers. "Well, I think that does it, unless anyone else has anything they need to add." None of the Department Head who had reported earlier had anything to add. As the meeting broke up, Dollart stood. "If there is nothing else, I'll get back to my other duties?"

Thicknesse waved him away. "Yes, yes, of course."

Dollart turned to his aide, standing discreetly against the back wall. "Mr. Rowle. If you would be so kind, I have a few additional items I need to discuss with you."

"Of course, sir. I'll follow you to your office."

Both men were silent as they walked through the corridors of the Ministry. On reaching Dollart's office and the safety of its privacy spells, Voldemort turned to Rowle. "Everything is in place and ready?"

"Yes, sir. Our people are there and the staging is almost complete."

"Good, then it is almost time. Round up the additional people on the list. Then execute the plan."

Rowle bowed his head. "It will be done, my Lord."

Miranda Vector headed out of the Great Hall with her head down and purpose in her stride. Students scattered before her but she was too focused on her own thoughts to really notice. Breakfast had been a certified disaster. Between the shock of the news in the Daily Prophet and the suspicions amongst the students that had swept the Hall moments later, to Albus walking out — to say that Miranda could feel bad things coming was an understatement.

Aberforth had been a shock. She and Dumbledore had gone over the implications of the Ministry's move to detain members of the Order. She'd been up late last night modifying the final equations to take into account everything Albus knew from his sources still remaining in key Ministry positions. Dumbledore's brother had not been part of that reworking.

Merlin's balls, I really hate this.

Slipping in to her workroom, Miranda threw up a "Don't Bother Me" shield and then reactivated her matrix. "That's not right," she muttered, before shutting down the matrix and materializing the equation-filled blackboards. Losing herself in the convoluted intricacies of Arithmancy, she began running through each of the equations. A long time later, Miranda stared in disbelief and something that was almost outrage. "You can't do that," she muttered for the fourth time. The matrix and the laws of Arithmancy ignored her outrage and continued doing exactly what they'd been doing for the last hour or so.

As she'd done the previous four times, Miranda waved her wand and vanished the visual representation of her Arithmancy equations. Another more complicated wave materialized each individual blackboard that contained a matrix equation. Once again she went through each one looking for discrepancies or accidental erasures . . . something . . . anything to explain what she was seeing. For the fifth time, she found nothing. Closing her eyes, even while knowing the futility of that gesture, she waved her wand in the pattern that manifested the matrix. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. "Well, shite."

Before her the matrix blinked like one of the Muggle devices that lined the streets in London. One moment the Matrix was as it had been just yesterday evening, a few seconds later it shifted to show You-Know-Who winning and the wizarding world going up in multi-coloured flames. It made no sense.

The matrix had been stable last night. Granted, the loss of so many Order members had shifted the over-all patterns and the probabilities, but both she and Albus had been both surprised and gratified when those probabilities had only shifted by small amounts, not anywhere near the amount they'd both feared. She'd even mentioned Severus' odd conclusion that in the end, most of the Order would not play a decisive role one way or another.

And now this.

"I'm missing something," she grumbled in annoyance. Between the flashing and the colours and the sheer mass of calculations for individuals and groups, it was hard to see anything anymore beyond a jumbled mass of colour. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Something happened." But nothing had been reported in The Prophet that she hadn't accounted for; she even had Severus' information from meeting with You-Know-Who incorporated.

That thought brought her up short. "Severus? Surely not," she argued with herself. Pulling his equation sets out of the jumble of blackboards, she studied the numbers again. "Can't be. He's probably been the most stable equation since I first started working on the numbers seven years ago. Nothing ever seems to-" She stopped and stared at her matrix, her eyes searching. With something almost like dread, she waited until once again the probability shift occurred and then frozen the image. Flicking her wand, she started removing equations until only Severus' remained, the probability line representing him, hanging alone in the middle of her workspace.

Where the hell is the rogue line?

"Hermione!" Hearing her name yelled, Hermione turned searching the mass of students filling the doors of the Great Hall. Spotting Lavender, she headed over to the other girl. "Lavender," she greeted her roommate.

"I had to go back up to the room right before breakfast and get a book I left behind."

Hermione, hoping Lavender would hurry up, nodded, not understanding exactly what any of this had to do with her.

Lavender gave Hermione a look she couldn't interpret and then said, "I just thought you should know that there were a bunch of weird noises coming from behind your bed curtains."

Unease flooded Hermione. "Weird?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "What kind of weird?"

Lavender gave her a half shrug in return. "Crying and loud snuffling sounds."

Vague unease shot up to worry. Only one individual would be in her bed at this hour. Rink. Reaching out she gave Lavender's arm a squeeze. "Thanks Lavender." She was already headed in the direction of Gryffindor before Lavender got out her reply.

Once past the crush of students, Hermione took off in a fast walk. Heading toward the staircase, she was grateful when one of the lower sets of stairs swung around in her direction as she reached the bottom step. She knew Severus would probably have been called last night and that, coupled with the black look he'd sent her at breakfast, had her fears working overtime. Somewhere on the second floor the walk became more of a trot. By the time she was headed up the girls' dormitory stairs anxiety had Hermione running. Dropping her book bag as she came through the bedroom door, Hermione skidded to a stop, her breath coming out in harsh pants. Over the sound of her gasps for air she could very clearly hear through the drawn bed curtains the soft sound of Rink's keen of abject misery.

Flinging back the bed curtains, Hermione felt the ground drop out from beneath her. Rink sat rocking in the middle of her bed, large fat tears rolling down his face, while his ears were folded flat against his head in elfish distress. Puddled around Rink's legs were the sheets she'd made for Snape.

"Rink?" she questioned, although she already knew.

Rink held up the sheets in mute reply between his outstretched hands. Hermione had no problem discerning the large rip that traversed the bottom sheet, as if someone had grabbed one edge and forcibly yanked on the fabric.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as disappointment and sorrow bubbled up in her. Then stuffing her feelings down to be dealt with later, she snapped them open. Climbing up onto the bed, she pulled the bed curtains closed and with a flick of her wand set the silencing spell. Settling herself cross-legged in front of the house-elf, she gently took hold of his hands and disentangled him from the sheets. "Hey, it's okay. Tell me what happened."

Rink let out a great snuffling sound. "Rink doesn't know what happened. Master of Potions called Rink very early. Master was angry. When Rink appeared Master said . . . Master said . . . ."

She squeezed Rink's hands reassuringly. "What did he say, Rink?"

Rink made another of those great shuddering sobs. "Master said that he no longer required Rink's s-services."

Hermione felt her stomach knot. "Oh Rink, I am so sorry. I should never have involved you in all of this." Then a horrible thought hit her. "Rink, did Professor Snape give you clothes?"

Rink violently shook his head no, his ears slapping against his face. "Master should have. Rink wishes M-master had given clothes."

Hermione's eyes widened at that. Not even Dobby had wished for clothes. She squeezed Rink's hands again, gripping them tightly. "He didn't give you clothes. Don't you dare go wishing that he had," she said fiercely. "Do you understand me?"

Rink nodded but Hermione thought he was unconvinced. "What else happened?" she asked, although she had a fairly good idea.

"Master had sheets in his hand. Master dropped them at Rink's feet. Told Rink to give Miss Hermione a message." Rink stopped there and Hermione forced herself to ask the next question. "What did he say?"

"Master said, 'Tell Miss Granger that whatever game she thought she was playing is over. Her services are no longer needed either.'"

Hermione had always known that there was a possibility that Snape would find the sheets. Truthfully, as time had gone on, she'd begun to think that they'd never come to light and hadn't given them much thought beyond the good they were doing. She'd never really contemplated the consequences if they'd been found, either in the very beginning or as time had passed and she'd grown closer to Snape.

Consequences, she mocked herself. How very, very Gryffindor. It was time to deal with those consequences.

Glancing at her watch, Hermione realised that she'd already missed the beginning of History of Magic. Pushing the sheets over to one side of the bed, Hermione forced as much good cheer into her voice as she could. "Come on Rink. I need you to take me to the kitchens. Can you do that?"

Rink nodded, and with her hands still clasped around his, Rink Disapparated them. The two of them reappeared sitting on top of the long trestle table amidst the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts' kitchens.

With a heavy heart, Hermione looked up, unsure of what her reception would be since she was sure Rink's dismissal had set ears to flapping all over Hogwarts. She stepped cautiously down from the table top only to be overwhelmed by a sea of house-elves greeting her. Within moments she found herself seated, a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of still warm biscuits in front of her. Rink had been seated next to her and was being fussed over as well.

"Miss Hermy honours us," said an elf whom Hermione didn't know.

Hermione shook her head. "Not sure how much of an honour it is to know me at the moment."

The unknown elf gave her a look of tolerant amusement. The same look Hermione had received from her parents over the years whenever she'd done something they considered both childishly naive and childishly amusing. Giving a short bow, the elf said, "Neena will fetch Lonny," and disappeared.

Hermione knew the instant Lonny appeared, as the circle of elves around her and Rink split open to admit the Hogwarts Elven Matriarch. Hermione was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Lonny honours me," she said.

Lonny's mouth twitched in that same look of amusement before she conjured the same low stool that Hermione had first seen her use. Seating herself with great dignity, Lonny waved a hand and said, "Out!" Within seconds, only Hermione, Rink and Lonny remained in the kitchens.

Consequences, she thought, as she prepared to accept responsibility for what had happened with Professor Snape and Rink. Taking a deep breath she started at the beginning with the day she'd first come to the elves for help with Professor Snape and continued on through the destruction of the sheets and the Professor's reaction to both her and Rink this morning, even though she was sure that Rink had already filled Lonny in on those particulars. But she wanted to make sure that Lonny knew that Hermione held herself completely responsible, especially if Rink was going to be in any kind of trouble.

Lonny listened with fixed attention until Hermione finished. Then she studied the pair of them until Hermione was fighting the urge to fidget.

"Rink," Lonny said, "whom do you serve?"

Rink's ears, which had slowly risen during the recitation of events, folded back down. "Rink serves no master or mistress except Hogwarts."

Lonny nodded, as if satisfied with his answer. Then she asked, "Whom did Rink serve?"

Rink's ears rose again. "Rink served the Master of Potions and Miss Hermione."

"Me?" Hermione sputtered in surprise, eyes wide. "You can't serve me."

At her outburst, Lonny pinned her in a stare. Hermione grimaced in embarrassment. "Sorry."

Lonny nodded and turned back to Rink. "The Master of Potions has ended Rink's service?"

"Yes."

Lonny cut her eyes over to Hermione and then back to Rink. "Would Rink change Rink's service?"

Rink's answer came immediately and without hesitation. "Rink served Master of Potions. Master of Potions is better now. Rink could not have served as well without the help of Miss Hermione. Rink would not change Rink's service."

Hermione swung around on the bench seat. "But Rink, he let you go."

Before Rink could answer, Lonny thumped the table, pulling Hermione's attention back to her. "Whom does Miss Hermione serve?" the elf demanded.

Hermione jerked, startled by the question, but realised immediately what Lonny was doing. "I don't serve anyone," she said with a sad smile.

"Whom did Miss Hermione serve?" Lonny asked next, just as she'd done with Rink.

"I served Professor Snape."

"The Master of Potions has ended Miss Hermione's service."

Like Rink, Hermione answered with a simple, "Yes."

"Would Miss Hermione change Miss Hermione's service?"

Hermione sighed softly. "No, I wouldn't change what I've done. Professor Snape needed someone . . . still needs someone. I'm happy to have done what I could. I just wish . . ." she trailed off and then shook her head. "Never mind," she said softly.

Lonny eyed her for a long moment before nodding her head as if in confirmation of something. Then she turned to Rink. "Rink's next service will be to the House of Slytherin."

Rink nodded, and Hermione read his relief in the cant and fold of his ears. She figured that it probably had to do with the fact that at least he'd be able to stay near Professor Snape.

Lonny then turned to Hermione and she was curious to know what 'assignment' the Hogwarts Matriarch would give her. "Miss will never serve again."

"What?" Hermione snapped out and then almost immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, murmuring "sorry" through her fingers.

Lonny gave her another of those looks. "Miss has done all Miss can with service. Now is time for Miss to take a new role. Master of Potions needs other than one who serves," Lonny said.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Miss Hermione will find Miss Hermione's answer. Rink will serve Slytherin and Hogwarts elves will serve the Master of Potions in place of Rink and Miss Hermione."

"But-" Hermione tried again and then stopped as Lonny's ears swept down in disapproval. Lonny's word as the Hogwarts Matriarch was law and Lonny had spoken. "Yes, ma'am," Hermione said with a disgruntled sigh. "I'm off service duty."

Lonny laughed. "Miss will find Miss's way. Shifting her attention to Rink, Lonny gave him a nod. "Rink will return Miss now."

Hermione felt Rink's hand close about her arm and then found herself back on her bed. A moment later Rink was gone to his new duties and Hermione was alone. Climbing out of the bed, she looked around, unsure of exactly what she should do at this point. She'd missed, for the first time since entering Hogwarts, a good portion of the day's classes for no good reason. If she left now and hurried, she could get to Potions but she really didn't want to go. She couldn't seem to make herself care one way or another about Slughorn or her grade. Some part of her realised that she was in shock and could catalogue the signs and symptoms. The rest of her simply didn't care. So much had changed in twenty-four hours — the Weasleys, the wizarding world, Severus, and Rink. She really didn't know what she should feel first.

Wandering aimlessly around her room, she picked up random objects before putting them back down again. Spying her bookbag and its spilled contents she set about putting it to rights but found she really lacked the energy to get back up off the floor. She studiously avoided looking at the bed where Severus' sheets lay crumpled in a heap. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She'd always had plans and had always known the next step that needed to be done. Plans and steps were good and fitted into her orderly world. Harry needed help so she found something to set him on his path once more. Ron and Ginny needs support so she offered them her friendship. Rink was lost, so she did what she could to ease his distress and put right what harm she'd created. Neat, logical steps.

But Severus? Here she was lost. No steps presented themselves. No plans sprang to her mind. No books called to her to research. Sitting on the floor of her room with the silence pushing in around her, Hermione listened to the overly loud beating of her heart. Every so often, she reached up and wiped away tears.

During the next days, everything Snape had predicted had come to pass. Hogwarts became a gloomy place, filled with silent, suspicious-eyed students. Small knots of students whispered together in the hallways, only to fall silent when another individual walked by. Fights and accusations had broken out several times, not only between the various Houses but within the Houses. One fight in the Ravenclaw common room had ended with four students under the care of Madam Pomfrey.

The slowly building tension within the castle rose up each day, only to explode each morning as more names appeared in each edition of The Daily Prophet. The only bright spot was that Harry seemed to have found his calling. The wild swings of temper and paranoia, while not gone, at least had a focal point now. Harry had found an enemy he could focus on rather than the nebulous, out-of-reach Lord Voldemort and he was making a difference.

"How many today?" Harry asked Hermione.

It had become habit for Hermione to be the one to check the paper each morning. Flipping to the correct page, she quickly scanned the information. "Only four. No names I recognise."

Ron grimaced. "That's something. Not much but something." Then pushing his breakfast plate away from him, he gave a quick glance around the hall. "Are we talking to anyone this morning?"

Harry nodded and sat back as well. "Dunnigan in Ravenclaw. He's Muggleborn."

"Best get to it then. Oh, and don't forget, I've got the Head Boy meeting with Dawlish this afternoon. Bloody ponce."

"It works in our favor if the Aurors still think you're spying on us for them," Hermione said.

"Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it and acting like Percy makes my head hurt."

Leting out a half-hearted chuckle, Hermione gave a nod out to the open room, "Quit grumbling and go on." As she watched them head towards the Ravenclaw table, she risked a glance from the corner of her eye up at the Head Table. Professor Snape watched Ron and Harry's progress across the Hall with a deep scowl on his face, but his eyes never turned in her direction.

Hermione had started out trying to pretend that nothing had changed between them. She tried to be polite and engaging and make her presence known, hoping that Professor Snape would see her remorse. That brought her nothing but silence. When passing Professor Snape in the hallways she greeted him the same. He looked through her now. Defence class had become an ordeal. It wasn't that Snape called on her or used her as a target. For all that he acknowledged her presence; she might as well have not been in the class.

Hermione thought that his indifference might hurt more than if he'd acted his normally acerbic self. He didn't look at her with scorn or hatred or even contempt, he didn't look at her at all. It was as if she was even more invisible than the castle ghosts. She'd even considered simply writing him a message, hoping to explain, but in the end she'd discarded that notion. What needed to be done and said, needed to be done and said in person.

Time and again she told herself that he was hurt and angry, but she couldn't ignore the fact she was hurting as well. Hermione, though not a great reader of fiction, had read enough romance novels in her life — mostly from her mother's stash of books — that she knew the scenario of the pining heroine. Personally, she'd always thought that was pure rubbish and she'd never let any man hurt her like that. She acknowledged now that she'd been more than a little naïve. The hurt was all too real and not easily set aside but as the days progressed Hermione decided she was done with pining.

She might not be able to stop the hurt when Severus' eyes slid past her, but she didn't have to languish like those silly book heroines. Harry and Ron needed her. And Severus . . . well, she could hope that one day he'd forgive her but she'd be damned if she was going to waste away like a gothic heroine in some cheesy romance.

Like most things in life, though, it was easier said than done. But she was learning and taking it one step at a time.

It was to that end that she once again gathered up her sewing supplies, spreading them out across the coverlet of her bed. She chose her needle with great care and carded out several dozen of the fine, white silk threads. Then she reached under the coverlet and felt down along the foot of her bed until her questing fingers hit against a soft bundle of cloth. Pulling it up to her, she shook out the bottom sheet until it was spread across her bed. The magic imbued in the sheets was still there, resonating in her fingertips. She let out a breath in relief. She'd been afraid to really touch the sheets before now, fearing that the magic had faded. It had been silly, but if she hadn't known for sure, then she didn't have to admit that everything really was over. But they hadn't been destroyed, even if everything else had.

But this thing, she'd decided, was the last step in letting go of something that she wasn't even sure she'd ever had to begin with.

"Idiot girl," she muttered to the sheet in her hand. Breathing deep, Hermione summoned her magic and centered it in her chest. When she could almost feel the beat of it like a second heartbeat, she felt herself ready. She'd come a long way since the first time she'd tried this, feeling sure and confident now in both herself and her magic. This time, the magic wouldn't be the drain it had before.

Softly she began to sing, and if this time there was a note of sadness in the words, there was no one to hear but the magic.

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