A/N: This is the ‘final’ version of Ordinary People, last edited on 7 February 2004.  It’s also the one with the formatting that I most approve of.  The entire novel is in this one file, with a list of chapter links at the beginning.  Final author’s notes follow.

 

Summary: How do you go about life when you're one of the ordinary looking people?  A SS/HG romance that strives for realism.

 

Rating: PG-13

 

Disclaimer: Never owned anyone mentioned here, never will...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ordinary People, A Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Romance

 

by: Hayseed (hayseed_42@hotmail.com)

 

 

            Chapter One--Things as they are

 

            Chapter Two--An eventful evening

 

            Chapter Three--Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

 

            Chapter Four--Broken heroes are rarely useful

 

            Chapter Five--Not quite back to normal, after all

 

            Chapter Six--The unlikelihood of change

 

            Chapter Seven--Adventures in experimenting

 

            Chapter Eight--Vampirism and French sadists make strange bedfellows

 

            Chapter Nine--Your lovely awkwardness

 

            Chapter Ten--Romancing the mundane

 

            Chapter Eleven--Indeed there will be time

 

            Chapter Twelve--The latent causes of faction

 

            Chapter Thirteen--Bloody Romans and their damned incantations

           

            Chapter Fourteen--The worst day since yesterday

 

            Chapter Fifteen--Not every action has an equal and opposite reaction

 

            Chapter Sixteen--I will fear no evil

 

            Chapter Seventeen--One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies

 

            Chapter Eighteen--The jaws that bite, the claws that catch

 

            Chapter Nineteen--Conditions of complete reality

 

            Chapter Twenty--Things as they might be

 

            Endnotes and Footnotes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

            Things as they are---

 

 

Hermione Granger knew she was not beautiful. No one had ever told her this, of course, but she'd managed through the years to figure it out on her own.

 

Not that there was anything wrong with her, in particular, she supposed. Nothing out of the way. Now that she'd fixed her buck teeth.

 

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror, automatically straightening her collar. Oh well--she was actually about fifteen minutes early at the moment; she could afford a bit of shameless self-mockery. Hermione looked more closely at her reflection, wincing at the obvious bags under her eyes. They didn't help her a bit. Nor did their cause--she hadn't been sleeping well since she'd arrived at Hogwarts this term.

 

Of course, no one seemed to be in a particularly good mood. There was too much of an air of...anticipation.

 

It was unspoken. This was Harry Potter's seventh year. Voldemort's time for a final strike on Hogwarts. The final battle, as it were. No one mentioned it, but Hermione noted a definite subdued air in the student population. Even Draco Malfoy had been quiet for a change.

 

All the professors were on edge. Dumbledore was very nearly brisk with students and Snape downright poisonous. They moved in groups--rarely did you see a single professor out prowling the halls. And every student knew that being out after curfew meant at least a hundred points from their House. Past nine PM, you could hear a pin drop at the other end of the castle.

 

But it wasn't all seriousness--they were still children, after all, for all that they'd been asked to shoulder adult burdens. Lavender Brown wailed about her on again, off again relationship with Justin Finch-Fletchley to anyone who offered to commiserate with her, Ron Weasley showed up periodically in the common room armed to the teeth with Honeydukes' sweets and bottles of butterbeer, and even Harry laughed that morning in Potions when Blaise Zabini's cauldron exploded on Professor Snape and he literally sprouted daisies.

 

And in the middle of all this sat Hermione. Neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring.

 

Her friends had been surprised when she hadn't made prefect and thus been overlooked for the Head Girl position, but Hermione herself knew better. Grades notwithstanding, she spent too much time in trouble to be asked to reprimand others for the same activities she herself indulged in. And recently, even her grades had taken a dip. Not noticeable to anyone save herself, but a dip was a dip.

 

About halfway during her fifth year, she'd realized she was nearing the end of what Hogwarts was going to teach her. It had saddened her at the time; after all, Hermione lived for knowledge. To know more and to be able to use that to help people--that was what she craved. She studied because she wanted to, no other reason. And some time during that year, she'd basically finished learning the Hogwarts curriculum. Two and a half years too early.

 

And so, Hermione's brain crying out for other knowledge, she'd turned to other subjects. Muggle ones, many of them--literature, both wizarding and Muggle, mathematics, physics, chemistry, history, even art. But she also continued to study vigorously in her magical subjects, particularly Potions and Transfiguration. She began reading the journals, learning what ideas were current and what ideas were groundbreaking.

 

Hermione also found herself shocked at how ignorant the wizards doing the publishing seemed to be. Wizards were so wrapped up in the application of magic, they'd never bothered with the theory of it. Through all of her vast research, Hermione couldn't find a single wizard or witch who had made an honest attempt at determining the origin of magic or even the mechanics of it.

 

So she delved deeper, the selfish drive to answer her own questions pushing her. Hermione slowly began integrating her Muggle education into her wizarding one, trying to think of magic in terms of biochemistry, in terms of physics, in terms of mathematics. Boldly, she'd begun to submit her ideas in paper form to various journals through anonymous owl post under the initials H.G. Right off the bat, Hermione realized that she would never be taken seriously as a sixteen year old witch just beginning her sixth year of training, so she took great care not to give away any hints as to her identity.

 

She had been greatly surprised when her first paper was accepted immediately for publication in a fairly prominent journal. A second and third followed in quick succession, and Hermione soon found herself engaged in written debates with some of the greatest wizard minds of her time. She received letters and queries by the handful, causing Harry and Ron to tease her mercilessly about secret admirers. She had, of course, not informed anyone of her moonlighting as a scholar of magical theory and had no plans to.

 

But yes--her schoolwork suffered slightly for it. She no longer cared much about her grades. How could she, when she was working on ideas so much more interesting? Why should she bother to remember the twenty-three uses of mandrake root when she was trying to pin down the exact origin of magical energy manifesting in a single individual?

 

If the professors noticed that their pet student was no longer scoring a hundred percent or higher on every exam, they chose not to comment on it to her. Besides, it wasn't as if she was failing. She was still consistently scoring above ninety percent and she knew that she could have gotten at least fourteen NEWTs in her sleep during her sixth year. Her OWLs, in fact, had been the highest the school had seen since Tom Riddle came through.

 

And so, Hermione's status as the Gryffindor Know-It-All had declined a bit. Her fellow students still pestered her for help on occasion, but she was just as likely any more to toss out the title of a book for them to read than to actually give them the answer they were looking for.

 

Even her rock-solid friendship with Harry and Ron was more faulty than it used to be. With Ron joining the Quidditch team their fifth year as Keeper, he and Harry had one more thing in common that she didn't share. They still palled around and kept up the pretense, but it was half-hearted at best. Hermione could barely keep her eyes open once they started on a Quidditch discussion, and neither boy hardly ever bothered to ask her what she was up to any more.

 

But she didn't blame them--Harry was justifiably worried about the upcoming battle and Ron...

 

Well, Ron was Ron. Big and cuddly and unconditionally loveable, but not generally the most perceptive Gryffindor in the pack. And any more, he was way too busy chasing after girls to pay much attention to anything else.

 

Hermione had once fancied that she had a slight crush on Ron, back during her fourth year. She'd been flattered that he'd gotten so angry about Viktor Krum and she'd spent the entire summer convincing herself that she was in love with him.

 

And then her fifth year. As soon as Hermione set eyes on Ron in Diagon Alley for their annual meeting, she knew she had been lying to herself. Ron and Harry were more her brothers than anything else. Ron hadn't been jealous--he had been trying to protect her from getting hurt, just as he would have Ginny. She was no more in love with Ron than she was with Crookshanks. He and Harry were the closest people in her life--she felt more comfortable around them than anyone else.

 

Even her parents, and that hurt to admit.

 

But, truth be told, they'd always been a little unsettled by their odd daughter. She'd had so much trouble as a little girl because of her burgeoning magical abilities and then she'd compounded it by going off to some strange school to learn more about such nonsense. Hermione knew that her parents were still hoping that she would come home, marry a nice boy from a well-to-do family, and start supplying them with grandchildren to spoil.

 

All of these thoughts brushed briefly through Hermione's mind as she stared at her reflection, taking in the relatively standard features of her face, the curly hair that still defied control even after countless haircuts and different hair-care products, and the utterly not special figure, neither helped nor hindered by her school uniform. Someone no one would even look twice at, and to date, someone no one ever had looked twice at.

 

Well, except for Viktor Krum. Briefly. Until he'd gotten back to Bulgaria and noticed the legions of girls following him around asking for autographs.

 

Hermione sighed and gathered up her textbooks, making her way slowly to the door. It had been nice to be noticed.

 

She made her way to the Potions classroom without incident and slipped into her usual seat beside Neville a full three minutes early for class.

 

"Not as early as usual, I see," Neville remarked to her with a slight grin.

 

She returned the grin. "I was caught up in my daydream of you," she said cheekily.

 

"You watch it or I'll tell Ginny on you," he replied.

 

Hermione laughed. Neville Longbottom was perhaps the greatest surprise of her year. Somewhere between his fourth year and his seventh year, he'd turned from a timid, pudgy little boy into a tall, broad young man with nearly beautiful features and an easy smile. Of course, he was still terrified of Potions (more accurately, of Professor Snape), and so most of his self-confidence disappeared once he walked in that door, but outside of that arena, he was one of the most well respected prefects on the grounds.

 

And of course the perfect picture was completed with the perfect girlfriend, Hermione thought without rancor. Ginny Weasley had blossomed into a kind, sweet, absolutely beautiful young woman and she and Neville were wonderful together. Not even Ron complained about his baby sister and her boyfriend.

 

But her thoughts were interrupted as Professor Snape billowed into the classroom, a glare permanently fixed on his face since they'd set foot on the grounds in September. Not even Draco Malfoy tried to test his patience these days.

 

Hermione had it from Harry, who was allowed to attend the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, that Snape'd had a very difficult time proving his loyalty to Voldemort when he returned three years ago and lately his motives had been questioned again.

 

Certainly Snape looked as sleep-deprived as any of them and Hermione absently noticed that he often winced as he sat down or moved quickly. She supposed that being tortured nearly nightly and playing spy against the most evil man alive would tend to put one in a bad mood.

 

"We will begin NEWT revisions today," Snape said softly and without preamble "The Potions NEWT is a practical one and covers all seven years of your coursework. You will, of course, continue to study the more complex brews in an outside effort--I will assign weekly essays on these brews. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for you, most of these potions require too much time to be brewed in a classroom setting. Although I consider each of these essays to be testable material, so do not be surprised if one or more show up on your midterms or even on some of your NEWTs." Here he looked at Neville, who swallowed loudly. "Today you will brew the Swelling Solution you made during your second year without the benefit of a textbook. Each piece of information that you must look up will cost you five percent of today's grade. Now, get started!" he barked.

 

Neville jumped in his chair.

 

"Relax, Neville," Hermione muttered. "This is an easy one. You just dump everything in the cauldron and let it boil for an hour. Remember?"

 

"I...I think so," Neville stammered.

 

"Granger!" Snape snapped from behind them, causing both Neville and Hermione to jump. "Recall that you will not be permitted to give Longbottom instructions during his NEWTs and behave in kind. Ten points from Gryffindor."

 

"Yes, sir," Hermione mumbled, feeling her cheeks redden. She automatically gathered together the ingredients she needed and began chopping, shredding, and skinning.

 

Fifteen minutes later, she had a happily bubbling cauldron full of what would be Swelling Solution in an hour. Adjusting the burner so that it would not boil over, Hermione surreptiously pulled out a notebook containing some equations she'd been puzzling through the night before and began reworking them. She also tried to keep an eye on Neville so that she could intervene if he worked himself into the middle of a complete disaster. So far, he seemed to be doing all right, although he'd needed to check his book once to verify some ingredients.

 

The classroom was fairly quiet. Snape stalked from table to table, examining potions, deducting points here and there. Hermione was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed him beside her, criticizing the consistency of Neville's potion (although thankfully not the color). She did, however, notice him when he came to a halt at her table.

 

"Miss Granger..." he practically hissed.

 

"Sir?" Hermione dragged her eyes from her work with no small degree of effort.

 

"What is this? Doing Arithmancy homework in my classroom? Twenty points from Gryffindor and put it away immediately." Snape's glare intensified.

 

Indignation welled in Hermione's breast. Her potion was fine, so what was it to him if she chose to do something else while she waited for it to finish? "It's not Arithmancy, sir," she said boldly.

 

He leaned in closer, eyes widening at her audacity. "I see equations, Miss Granger, and I believe the only subject those are required for is Arithmancy."

 

"No, sir, I am working out the Principle of Second Quantization," she told him, inwardly relishing the gasps of her classmates as she continued to talk back to Snape. "My potion only needs to simmer for thirty more minutes and I did not trust my earlier figures and wanted to recheck them."

 

Second Quantization? she saw him mouth, losing the glare momentarily. But then it was back, deeper than before. "Detention, Miss Granger," he returned in an even tone. "And put that book away. I will not tell you a third time."

 

For a single moment, Hermione considered defiantly ignoring him, but in the end, her common sense won out and she grudgingly put the notebook back in her knapsack. She kept her head bent over her cauldron for the remainder of class, making sure her Swelling Solution was flawless and thinking of horrible things to do to Snape and mentally going through the equations she'd been working on.

 

She all but sauntered up to his desk after he dismissed the rest of the class. "I believe I have a detention to discuss, Professor?"

 

He nodded shortly. "Return to the classroom tonight at eight PM. I'm sure there will be plenty of cauldrons in want of a good scrubbing."

 

"Yes, sir," Hermione retorted with a frown, not trusting herself to say any more. She turned to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

 

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he called after her.

 

"Sir?" She turned to face him questioningly.

 

"Why are you working on graduate-level Muggle physics problems?" he asked.

 

Hermione started at the look on his face. He wasn't scowling (for once) and seemed genuinely curious. She permitted herself a cheeky grin. After all, she already had detention and points from Gryffindor had ceased to bother her years ago. "They're interesting. And I'm curious about the origins of magic from a more mechanical perspective," she said truthfully, forgetting for a moment just who she was talking to.

 

Snape's eyes showed his surprise. "Have you ever read the Magical Review Letters?"

 

"Periodically. Why?" Hermione wanted to laugh--actually, she'd published her second paper in MRL.

 

"There's an article in there. Six months old, by now. But I think you might find it of some interest. Apparently there's a wizard out there who has a similar curiosity. I can't remember the title, but the author's a fellow who goes by H.G. He's made quite a splash in the academic community lately."

 

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, making a hasty exit from the classroom before she lost her composure. Her own work was being recommended to her by the most hated professor at Hogwarts, who had gone from snarling at her to genuinely interested in her. Bizarre.

 

----------

 

Severus Snape considered himself a difficult man to surprise. He paid too much attention to his surroundings to be genuinely taken back by much of anything.

 

He had early on consigned Miss Granger to annoying overachiever in his head. One of those poor children who overcompensated for their real lack of intelligence by showing off what knowledge they had and memorizing books and that sort of thing. Their goal in life was to be number one. But in general, their ambitions stopped there. A hundred percent on a test, valedictorian of their class, whatever they could achieve that did not require actual independent thought. Book learners. Hard workers.

 

It had never occurred to him that Miss Granger might actually be brilliant. In fact, when he'd taken note of her grade slips over the past two years, he'd simply assumed that she'd found her wall and could go no higher.

 

But today, when he saw her working on problems in Muggle physics that he hadn't ever seen before simply for her own benefit, he'd finally had to consider the possibility that Miss Granger might be a true intellectual. That maybe she hadn't read her way through the entire Hogwarts library (as reported by Madam Pince in Miss Granger's fifth year) because she felt the need to show her knowledge off to her classmates but because she'd genuinely wanted to understand the information contained in those books.

 

So her infamous OWL scores were not the product of a need to be the best. Rather, they came from the fact that Miss Granger might really be the best without a great deal of effort. And that would also explain why she hadn't groused over not making prefect. She knew as well as any of the professors why she hadn't been given the position and understood (and perhaps even agreed with) their decision.

 

Severus frowned. He was unaccustomed to having his entire view of an individual so radically altered.

 

Miss Granger might be worth teaching.

 

In fact, if his suspicions were correct, there was probably very little he could teach her any more. Twelve years of teaching rudimentary potions to idiot children rather dulled the intellect. He hadn't published a paper in more than five years, although he was currently working his way through H.G.'s theories, trying to come up with a decent rebuttal to them. There was something about H.G.'s logic that did not sit well with Severus--he just couldn't determine what. It was as if there was a next step that H.G. had not taken in his work that was numbingly obvious to Severus.

 

He had a sneaking suspicion that he did not have a good enough grasp on the Muggle sciences to formulate his thoughts properly. And he certainly wasn't going to expose his ignorance to one of the world's greatest minds. No--research first, then rebuttal.

 

Idly, Severus' mind drifted back to Miss Granger's physics dabblings. Maybe she could...

 

No! Severus immediately berated himself. What was he thinking? A Gryffindor and one of Harry Potter's best friends? No, he would put all of this nonsense out of his head and work the theories out himself. Miss Granger had admitted to being unfamiliar with the work of H.G.--she couldn't possibly be helpful.

 

Of course, he told himself right on the heels of that thought, if she had managed to come up with the same ideas as H.G. completely independently, she was even more brilliant than he secretly suspected.

 

No matter. She would serve her detention, he would antagonize her as usual, and he could push all thoughts of her out of his mind.

 

----------

 

"So, Hermione, what was all that in Potions today?" Harry asked his friend at supper that evening.

 

"I don't know what you mean," she replied testily.

 

Harry frowned. "Don't be stupid on purpose, Hermione. It doesn't suit you."

 

Shrugging, Hermione grabbed a roll from the basket and began to butter it. "I just didn't want Snape to think I was catching up on homework in his class."

 

"So what were you doing?" Harry prodded, taking a roll for himself.

 

"Like I said," Hermione replied. "I was reworking out the Second Quantization. I can't quite figure out how it's useful and none of my books explain it very clearly."

 

"See, Hermione, I don't know as many words as you, apparently," Harry said sarcastically, grinning at her. "I know you think you answered my question, but--"

 

"All right, all right," she cried. "I'm sorry. Look--it's just something I've been working on out of some Muggle physics textbooks."

 

"Muggle physics?" Harry echoed. "Why are you studying that?"

 

"It's interesting," Hermione said. "And besides, I really think that wizards could use some of the same constructs used in particle physics to investigate the nature of magic. I just need to learn more about the formalism to be completely sure. At first, I thought it might be biochemical, and I still do to some extent. I mean, how would we be able to manipulate the energy otherwise, if it wasn't wired into us genetically somehow?"

 

Harry threw his hands in the air. "You've lost me, Hermione!" he cried as soon as she paused to take a breath. "I'm sure it's all fascinating stuff, though," he said quickly as she glared at him. "I just don't see why it bothered Snape so much that you were working on it during class."

 

"I should be doing Potions in Potions class," Hermione reminded him. "That's all there is to it. And it bothers him to have a student talk back besides."

 

"When's your detention?"

 

"Tonight. In about twenty minutes, in fact," Hermione said, checking her watch.

 

"What's in twenty minutes?" Ron asked from Harry's left, suddenly deciding to join the conversation instead of staring longingly after some nameless sixth year Ravenclaw.

 

"My detention with Snape," she told him gloomily.

 

Ron gave her a compassionate look. "Well, good luck, love," he replied.

 

"Thanks. I'll need it. Actually, I should probably go ahead down to the dungeons--wouldn't want to be late." Exchanging one last look with her friends, Hermione gathered up her books and left the Great Hall, making her way back down to the Potions classroom.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

            An eventful evening---

 

 

Clearly Professor Snape did not trust her. He'd brought a stack of papers for marking down to the classroom and watched her carefully as she obediently scrubbed out the filthy cauldrons he'd indicated to her. Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or amused at the insinuation that she would cheat on her work if his back was turned. Probably a little of both, really.

 

"Do desist with that dreadful whistling, girl," Snape said icily from behind his desk, not even bothering to look up.

 

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione apologized. She hadn't even been aware that she was whistling. Best to be quiet. In an effort to keep her mind busy enough that she didn't start whistling again, Hermione started to mentally recite Shakespeare as she scrubbed. Her Muggle grade school had required students to begin recitations at an obscenely early age, but they were nearly always completely unoriginal Shakespeare passages--two every term.

 

Hermione sighed to herself--you worked with what you had.

 

Sonnets first. Number seventy-one, that one hadn't been so bad. No longer mourn for me...a stubborn stain there...when I am dead...Hermione scrubbed viciously at it.

 

She'd finished the handful of sonnets she knew on the second cauldron. Julius Caesar next. That took up three more cauldrons and by now, Hermione was actually sweating. She pushed her hair out of her face, hating the way it stuck to her forehead, and kept scrubbing, resolutely ignoring Snape and starting on Macbeth.

 

Twenty cauldrons, half of Shakespeare's major tragedies, and an innumerable number of hours later, Hermione threw away her last filthy rag and pronounced the last cauldron clean. "Professor, sir?"

 

Snape grunted, looking up from the paper he was marking.

 

"I'm finished. May I go?"

 

Throwing down his quill rather violently, Snape stood up. "Come--I will escort you back to your common room. Students are not allowed to walk the hallways alone at this hour." He sounded nearly as displeased with this as she felt.

 

They walked side-by-side in silence, neither one willing to begin a conversation. Hermione's hands ached slightly--she knew she'd given her fingers some nasty blisters and they were beginning to cramp besides. Wincing a bit, she tried to flex them, assessing the damage. Unfortunately, one of the larger blisters (on her thumb) popped open in that moment. Hermione gasped sharply, willing away the tears forming in her eyes.

 

Snape actually looked down at her. "What is it?" he snapped.

 

"Nothing, sir," Hermione replied meekly, trying to hide her hand behind her back. The tears began falling down her cheeks and she cursed inwardly.

 

"You've hurt yourself," Snape stated. "Let me see."

 

"I'm fine." Hermione actually managed to glare at him.

 

"Don't be foolish." Snape roughly pulled at her arm, forcing her hand into plain view. "You stupid little girl, why didn't you wear gloves?"

 

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "And let go of my hand."

 

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the corridor marking the entrance to Gryffindor tower. "Five points from Gryffindor. These need treatment," Snape said mildly, refusing to let go of her hand.

 

"I'll go see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow, then," Hermione said in a cold tone. "Professor, I believe we are in front of Gryffindor tower now. Let me--"

 

A crash down the corridor cut her off.

 

Hermione and Snape exchanged curious looks. "Be quiet," Snape said in a low voice, drawing his wand.

 

Nodding once, Hermione pulled out her own wand.

 

Communicating only through looks, she and Snape made their way carefully down the hall, moving as quietly as they possibly could. As they drew nearer, Hermione could make out a lone figure standing in the hallway. Even closer and she could see its face. Harry Potter.

 

Snape relaxed beside her with a nearly inaudible sigh. "Potter," he said irritably. "Do I want to know what you're doing in the hallways after curfew?"

 

But Harry had a strange look on his face and he was holding himself oddly. "I'm not allowed to say, sir," he said quietly, eyes flicking slightly to his left.

 

Snape blinked slowly. "A hundred points from Gryffindor, Potter, and detention with me," he said in an even tone that did not contain his usual glee at Harry-baiting. And then he did something that Hermione considered quite strange. He raised his eyebrows at Harry and wiggled his wand a bit.

 

Harry shook his head slightly. "I don't think that's fair, sir," he replied. "You wouldn't give detention to Malfoy if he were here."

 

And Hermione caught on. Harry wasn't alone and he was probably in considerable danger. Someone was standing to his left--a Malfoy possibly. And most importantly, Harry did not have his wand.

 

"Are you trying for more detentions, boy?" Snape asked in that same even tone. "Three perhaps, or even four?"

 

Harry cleared his throat. "I believe three are sufficient, Professor." His eyes widened, belying his fear.

 

Snape closed his eyes and Hermione felt bile in the back of her throat. Three armed attackers?

 

"Oh, well played, Severus," a voice said smoothly from the shadows. "Well played, indeed." Hermione stifled a small scream as Lucius Malfoy himself slid out of the shadows and pointed his wand firmly at Harry's throat.

 

"Lucius," Snape replied. "Might I inquire as to what you are doing in the hallways of Hogwarts at such an obscene hour?"

 

"You might, friend," Malfoy said silkily. "And if you did, I might say that it is of no concern to you. Ah, ah," he continued, now pointing the wand at Hermione, who had been trying to move away. "Stay still, little Mudblood. Wouldn't want anyone to hear us, now would we? Now, why don't we just put our wands down and have a nice little chat?"

 

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

 

"And what if we don't?" Snape asked, pointing his wand at Malfoy.

 

"Well...I could always kill young Potter," Malfoy drawled. "But no. I'm afraid you would see through that threat--you both know as well as I that my Lord is intent on having Potter for himself. But I have no qualms about killing the little Mudblood here." He smiled coldly at Hermione.

 

"Let them go," Harry said suddenly. "You have me and if you let them go I'll go with you quietly."

 

"Oh no, Harry Potter," Malfoy replied. "I couldn't do that. You see, Severus would go whining right to that old fool as soon as we left. And don't bother protesting, Severus. My Lord and I have been aware for some time that you are not what you seem. Don't worry--you will pay. But not tonight, I think."

 

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he stood eerily still.

 

Hermione blinked as a sudden thought hit her. Harry had said there were three attackers. So far, she'd only seen Malfoy. Where were the other two? Probably not under Invisibility Cloaks--they were too awkward for sudden movements. And she couldn't think of another way to become completely invisible. The only other possibility was...

 

Faster than Malfoy could react, Hermione pointed her wand to the ceiling and shouted, "Reveal!"

 

Two tall men--one with a scar running the length of his face and the other with the broadest shoulders Hermione had ever seen on a human being--shimmered into view on either side of Harry as their Concealment Charms broke, each with a firm hold on one of his shoulders.

 

"Oh," Malfoy said deprecatingly, looking down at Hermione. "What a bright little girl we have here. Such a shame, really. Crucio."

 

And before she could move, Hermione found herself on the ground, feeling as if every bone in her body was being shattered again and again. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

The pain worsened and she could no longer hold it in. She screamed long and loud, electric bursts of pain jolting across every inch of her body.

 

And then it was over.

 

That was it. Excruciating torment to blissful nothingness.

 

Hermione welcomed the looming unconsciousness with open arms.

 

----------

 

Hermione's eyes opened of their own accord. Certainly she would have stayed unconscious if she'd had anything to say about it. Parts of her body that she didn't even know existed were aching. Even her fingernails managed to hurt somehow.

 

"Gah," she muttered, closing her eyes once more.

 

"Ah, good," a gentle voice said from nearby. "You're awake."

 

And it all came back to her in a flash. Detention. The corridor. Cruciatus. Harry. "Harry!" Hermione cried, sitting up straight and gasping at the pain of it.

 

"Miss Granger!" the voice, probably belonging to Madam Pomfrey, cried. "You must calm yourself. The pain is worse if you fight it!"

 

"Got to tell...Harry, the Death Eaters, Malfoy!" Hermione's thoughts were jumbled and hazy through the miasma of pain. With no small amount of effort, she swung her legs off the bed and attempted to stand.

 

Swaying unsteadily, it was only a matter of moments before her legs gave out completely. Much to her surprise, however, a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her roughly out of her fall. "It would do you good, Miss Granger, to obey Madam Pomfrey," Snape hissed in her ear.

 

Blinking with the shock of the realization that she was now standing, clutched in Professor Snape's arms, Hermione allowed herself to be pushed back into the bed without protest.

 

Madam Pomfrey pulled the covers firmly up to Hermione's chin and then rounded on Snape. "And what do you think you're doing out of bed? Go on...back with you!"

 

If she hadn't been in so much pain, Hermione would have started laughing out loud at the pained look on Snape's face as Madam Pomfrey began prodding him and pushing him back into a nearby bed.

 

"Neither of you are in any shape to...I mean, really. I'd say you've both been subjected to some nasty curses..." Still muttering to herself, Pomfrey moved between the two beds, looking into pupils, poking them with her wands, and other such incomprehensible stuff.

 

"Cruciatus," Snape croaked. "Both of us."

 

"That would certainly explain the fact that you're both fairly well concussed. But pray, Severus, where did those awful bruises come from? And all that internal bleeding?" Pomfrey asked him, concern obvious in her voice.

 

"Lestrange threw me against the wall a couple of times," Snape admitted. "Dropped my wand."

 

"Well..." Pomfrey said in what might have otherwise been a conversational tone, save for the look in her eyes. "Here...eat this, both of you." And she thrust large chunks of chocolate at both Hermione and Snape. "You'll feel much better. I've taken care of your heads, so you can sleep as well."

 

Hermione grimaced at her chocolate. The idea of eating right now was about as appealing to her as kissing a Malfoy. But she took a careful bite under Pomfrey's stern glare and chewed reluctantly. "Need to talk to the Headmaster," she said in between bites. "Need to tell him..."

 

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said impatiently. "Severus explained to us that Potter has been taken right before he passed out. I'm sure everything is being taken care of. Eat your chocolate, dear."

 

"But Harry doesn't have a wand," Hermione protested thickly, swallowing. "And Malfoy all but admitted they were taking him to Voldemort! He'll be killed before sunrise."

 

"The Headmaster has contacted the Ministry. Don't worry about it, Miss Granger. You need your rest now." Pomfrey's tone suggested that she wanted to hear no more on the subject. And with that, she swept out of the room, dimming the lamps with a flick of her wand and leaving Hermione alone with Professor Snape.

 

Reluctantly, Hermione finished off her chocolate, feeling her stomach churn in protest. But the pain was indeed abating and her eyes could focus nearly properly again. She looked over at Snape, who seemed to be eating his chocolate as slowly as humanly possible. "What happened?" she asked him hesitantly. "After...well..."

 

"I tried to Stun Malfoy to break the curse and Potter very nearly broke away from Lestrange and Nott. Nott Stunned Potter and Lestrange came after me. When I came to, they were gone. Potter, too." Snape looked down at the chocolate in his hands, his hair falling like a curtain over his face.

 

"Do you know where they might have taken him?" Hermione asked.

 

Snape frowned. "Probably straight to You-Know-Who. He's taken to living in his grandfather's old mansion lately. Fortunately, He's even crazier than before--he won't kill Potter immediately. He'll want to toy with him first. Maybe someone can get there in time."

 

"Who?" Hermione asked bitterly. "The Ministry? Not bloody likely."

 

Snape inclined his head in silent agreement.

 

"Aargh," she growled in frustration. "I hate sitting here being useless like this! I want to go help him."

 

"You'd likely get yourself killed in the process," Snape commented mildly.

 

"Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?" Hermione snapped.

 

He lifted his head to scowl at her. "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

 

She flapped her hand at him. "Oh, take away all the stupid points you want. I don't care. Harry's going to die today; I'm stuck here in a bed while my nerves twitch. Somehow House points don't matter."

 

"How about detention until you graduate, then?" Snape asked dryly.

 

Hermione gaped at him. His eyes were twinkling a bit and there was a slight grin on his face. "Did you just make a joke?" she asked, incredulous.

 

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. I really can give you detention until you graduate."

 

"No...no, that's quite all right, thank you. I just--"

 

"Didn't know your snarky git of a professor was physically capable of making a joke," he finished for her.

 

Hermione's eyes widened. "No...I mean...well, yeah," she finally admitted.

 

"I find that Albus' deluded manner of joking to dispel the tension in a situation often works," Snape said.

 

Flopping back against her pillow with a sigh, Hermione allowed her eyes to close, sleep claiming her before another thought could pass through her mind.

 

----------

 

A slight rustling noise woke Hermione up. Flexing her toes, she realized that most of the pain had finally abated and she could probably walk without assistance. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, straining to see in the dark room.

 

Professor Snape was standing beside his bed, pulling robes across his shoulders.

 

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked drowsily.

 

He did not even turn around. "Go back to sleep, Miss Granger."

 

She sat up. "You're going after Him, aren't you?"

 

"I realized there is a second place Voldemort may have taken the Potter boy. There is no time to notify anyone. Surely Albus is already gone. I must go." Snape finally turned to face her. His face was tense and his eyes glittering with some unidentified emotion.

 

Hermione made up her mind. "Take me with you," she said, crawling out of bed with relatively little effort. She pulled her discarded robes over the hospital gown she was clad in.

 

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

 

"Why not take me along? I'm not useless, you know." Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

 

"You're just a child. And injured, besides." Snape stepped closer to her. She could smell his breath--chocolate and some unknown tang.

 

"If I recall, you've not had a smooth evening yourself, sir," Hermione retorted. "And I'm not just a child. Besides, you shouldn't go alone."

 

Snape rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

 

She grinned at him. "It's decided then. Where are our wands?"

 

"Here," Snape replied, thrusting her wand into her hand. "I stuck them in my pocket when I was bringing you up here."

 

"Shall we be off, then?" Hermione asked brightly. She slipped on the shoes beside her bed and tied them expertly.

 

"One thing first, Miss Granger," Snape said, pointing his wand at her. "Ennervate."

 

A rush surged through Hermione's limbs--she'd never experienced an Ennervate while conscious. She was instantly alert and the last vestiges of pain cleared completely. "Wow!" she muttered. "That was better than a whole case of Jolt cola. I assume you would like the favor returned?"

 

"If you don't mind," Snape replied tersely, lowering his wand.

 

"Ennervate," Hermione said, watching Snape's body stand more firmly.

 

"Right, then," he said. "Let's go."

 

Quickly and quietly, they crept out of the infirmary.

 

"To the forest," he whispered, putting a hand on her arm. "We can Apparate safely once we're off the grounds."

 

The Forbidden Forest was even more sinister looking than usual. Hermione felt as if there were hundreds of eyes watching her every move. She simply put her head down and followed Snape, hoping they reached an Apparition point soon.

 

He stopped abruptly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, maintaining a careful distance between them. "Just Apparate without a destination in mind," he said. "I will guide you, as long as we keep in contact with each other. I am correct in assuming you can Apparate?"

 

Nodding, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on Apparating. Technically, she wasn't allowed to Apparate yet--she didn't have a license or anything. But during her sixth year, she'd taught herself. Not even Ron and Harry knew that she could Apparate.

 

But Apparition with no clear destination was a nauseating experience, she learned. Hermione staggered a bit as they reappeared, sagging against Snape's side. He looked down at her impassively.

 

"Where are we?" she asked once she felt able to talk again.

 

He shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. But Voldemort holds many of his more important meetings here. And it's not nearly as well known as the Riddle mansion."

 

She surveyed her surroundings. Pitch black, of course, and very difficult to make out, but they appeared to be standing in an open field of some sort. There was no indication of actual location. A sheep bleated off in the distance, echoing through the fields. Hermione squinted, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Something caught her eye. "There!" she exclaimed softly.

 

"What is it?" Snape hissed, drawing his wand.

 

"Light. It's faint, but it's there." Hermione also drew her wand, holding it at the ready, willing her hands not to tremble.

 

With a silent jerk of his head, Snape commanded her to follow him as he crept closer to the source of the light. Hermione complied, making her movements just as quiet.

 

As they approached the light, Hermione saw that it indeed came from a house of some sort. Quite a large house, really, to be standing in a field in the middle of nowhere.

 

Putting a finger to his lips, Snape waved her over to a window. Carefully, Hermione peeked in and had to clap a hand over her mouth.

 

Harry Potter was laying still in front of a roaring fireplace and pacing above him was none other than Voldemort himself. His red eyes were narrowed into slits and he was absently twirling a wand through his long fingers.

 

"Now that I have you, Potter," Voldemort hissed in a voice that sent cold shivers down Hermione's spine, "I'm finding that it is much less fun to kill you than I initially thought it would be."

 

Either Harry's reply was too soft for her to hear or he simply didn't answer.

 

"Come, boy, beaten already?" Voldemort asked. "Crucio."

 

Harry's body began to convulse helplessly on the rug and his screams jarred Hermione's ears. She noted with no small degree of horror that blood was streaming from Harry's ears and nose. Catching Snape's eye, Hermione saw a similar expression of horror on his face. What do we do? she mouthed.

 

He frowned at her and pointed at a tree on the horizon. Stealthily, they made their way to it. Hermione was for once thankful for her standard black robes and dark hair, concealing her fairly well from any potential observers.

 

"He can't last much longer," she whispered hoarsely. "We've got to get him out now."

 

"That house is warded to the teeth," Snape replied. "I don't know how we're going to get in. It was hard enough to get to the windows."

 

"What if..." Hermione said slowly. "What if you slipped in under a Concealment Charm? They wouldn't notice you, then."

 

"And I'm sure they'd just open the door if I knocked," he whispered in a sarcastic tone.

 

Hermione grinned. "I'll create a diversion, Professor. Don't worry. The door will be open."

 

His mouth fell open. "I forbid it," he snapped. "You cannot. Miss Granger, these are Death Eaters. That's Voldemort in there, not some pissant seventh year student. If they see you, they will kill you."

 

"Not unless He tells them to," Hermione said. "And He's currently preoccupied, I think. Don't worry, Professor Snape."

 

And with that, she dashed off toward the house again, heedless of potential observers.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

            Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death---

 

 

Severus grit his teeth and bit back a curse. He cast the Concealment Charm over himself, condemning Miss Granger in his thoughts. The stupid girl was going to get herself blasted to bits.

 

But if her sacrifice was to be a meaningful one, it was imperative that he get to that door as it opened. Once through, it was a relatively simple plan--grab Potter and Disapparate. He tried not to think of the fact that Voldemort would be in the room as he tried to implement this plan. Severus took off running after Miss Granger, making his way to the door of the house and crouching beside it.

 

About halfway down the hill, Miss Granger let out a piercing battle cry specifically designed to catch the attention of everyone within five miles. She tossed an unidentified spell at the house, smiling grimly as it alerted the wards. Severus permitted himself a smile at her utterly Gryffindor idea of a diversion.

 

At least it seemed to work. Nearly immediately, the door was flung wide open and three Death Eaters came rushing out--Lestrange, Goyle, and Avery, by the look of it. But Severus did not stay around to look too closely. As soon as they were clear of the door, he slipped through it, willing himself not to look back and see how Miss Granger fared.

 

The house was much larger on the inside than on the outside, but Severus had almost expected that to be the case and was not overly perturbed. Wand drawn and Concealment Charm strong, Severus crept down one hallway after another. The few Death Eaters he passed were masked and evidently heading toward the entrance, toward Miss Granger. Closing his eyes, Severus tried not to think about her, tried to concentrate on his goal.

 

Potter.

 

Potter and Voldemort.

 

Inwardly, Severus sighed. His initial plan of simply grabbing Potter and Disapparating was somewhat stymied by the fact that he was unwilling to leave Miss Granger behind if he could help it.

 

And she was right. The Death Eaters would not kill her without Voldemort's leave. Which meant she would be brought before him. She and Potter would be in the same room. Then Severus could start grabbing people and Disapparating. But first, he had to find the room.

 

So he continued. Up and down corridors, peeking into dark rooms, hoping that his Concealment Charm would hold.

 

And then he heard it. A vaguely male voice, shrieking in agony.

 

Potter. It had to be.

 

Severus allowed himself to move more quickly, neglecting the doorways he passed, following the screams. Closer and louder--he had to be nearly right on top of them.

 

The door was standing wide open. Not even warded. Of course, Severus supposed, with such strong wards on the entrances to the house, internal wards were not completely necessary. And Voldemort was a bit too arrogant to be properly paranoid.

 

His loss, Severus thought as he slipped into the room housing the Boy Who Lived and the wizard trying to kill him.

 

It occurred to Severus nearly immediately that he was not sure whether or not Voldemort would see through his Concealment Charm. Powerful wizards could often break such enchantments. So he quickly moved to the back of the room, to hide in the deep shadows, gazing steadily at the Dark Lord's back.

 

But he could see around Voldemort, see Potter sprawled on the hearth still, coughing. Blood spattered the floor around the boy and more of it came with each cough.

 

"I've thought long and hard about how I would kill you, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. Severus cringed at the sound of that inhuman voice. "At first, I thought a simple Killing Curse would do it, but then I realized my folly. You survived that once and I do not enjoy making the same mistake twice."

 

Potter finally stopped coughing, gasping for air and choking on his own blood.

 

"And then," Voldemort continued--Severus could practically hear the slimy smile on his face. "And then, I decided that I must discard all Unforgivables in dealing with you, my dear boy. Too pedantic. For you, Harry Potter, only the most exotic, humiliating death would suffice."

 

"Do it, then," the boy whispered, doubling up and spitting out yet another mouthful of blood.

 

"Oh, no, Harry Potter," Voldemort replied. "I only obey my own commands. You will die at my leisure. Crucio," he said in an almost off-handed tone.

 

And Potter began to scream again, each tortured wail ringing in Severus' ears. The boy could not hold out much longer. He needed treatment immediately. The Cruciatus madness was probably not far off.

 

Voldemort broke off the curse as he heard a hoarse shout down the corridor. "What?" he snapped irritably.

 

Avery came panting into the room. Severus tensed--this was it. He needed to move closer to Potter. "An intruder..." Avery panted. "Some girl, trying to break the wards."

 

"A girl?" Voldemort asked thoughtfully. "Bring her before me."

 

Lestrange stuck his head in the door, grinning madly. "Can we play with her first?" he asked with enough glee that Severus shuddered. He was fully aware of Lestrange's idea of playing.

 

"You may have her afterward," Voldemort said in a bored tone. "But I am curious--she can't be a Muggle, after all."

 

"She is just a child, my Lord," Avery said.

 

"My, my...curiouser and curiouser," Voldemort said with a wheeze that fifty years ago might have been a chuckle. "Bring the child to me."

 

There was a pause and a loud scuffle and Severus' eyes widened nearly as much as Potter's as a struggling and bound Miss Granger was dragged into the room. Nott pushed her roughly to her knees, but she did not bow down.

 

Her hair, of course, was even more wild than usual and she had a nasty bruise forming on her left cheekbone and a freely bleeding cut on her forehead. Severus was certain her wrists would be bloody as well--if she'd been bound by Nott and Avery, they were brutal at best. Her eyes flashed daggers at everyone in the room.

 

"Well, well," Voldemort said with that same little chuckling wheeze in his voice, "what have we here?"

 

Nott pulled the gag away from her mouth, but Miss Granger remained defiantly silent.

 

Voldemort moved closer to her--she blanched, but to her credit, Miss Granger knelt with perhaps even more dignity--and touched the Gryffindor crest on her tattered robe with one long finger. "A brave little lioness child," he said softly. "What brings you to me on this night?"

 

"Go to hell!" Miss Granger snarled. Severus did not know whether to applaud her bravery or bemoan her stupidity.

 

Fortunately, Voldemort just smiled thinly. "It is a good thing that I find you amusing, little girl," he said. "But I warn you not to test my patience. What are you doing here?" This was said in a sharper voice.

 

"My business here is my own, Lord Voldemort," she spat boldly. Severus took the opportunity to move about three feet closer to Potter. The boy was more alert now, staring at Miss Granger's back--he could tell that Potter hadn't quite realized that she was Miss Granger yet and he hoped that the boy had the sense not to reveal who she was once he figured it out.

 

"Brave words for such a young thing," Voldemort hissed. He ran a finger through the trail of blood trickling from her forehead and touched the finger to his own lips, tongue flickering out serpent-like to taste her blood. "I wonder how brave you really are...Crucio."

 

Miss Granger's hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she did not fall. Small whimpers escaped her lips, but she managed not to scream. Severus wondered idly if it was bravery or simple stubbornness. From what he knew of the girl, it was probably more of the latter.

 

----------

 

Hermione was determined not to allow Voldemort his pleasure. She would not scream if she could help it. She felt the pain crunching through her bones, echoing down every limb of her body, but she could be strong. She would not scream.

 

And then it was over. Voldemort smirked down at her. "Ah," he said, "you are a young lioness, indeed."

 

Hermione remained silent. She saw no need to reveal her purpose to him. As she waited for him to speak, she wondered vaguely where Professor Snape was. Perhaps he was standing in this very room.

 

"I think, my dear," Voldemort said, interrupting her thoughts, "that I may be able to guess your purpose for breaking my wards this night, although I do not know how you knew where to look."

 

"I'm a good guesser," Hermione replied sarcastically, willing herself not to think about Harry, laying prone behind her.

 

"Turn around, my little Gryffindor lioness, and tell me what you see."

 

Hermione did as he obeyed and shuddered when he laid a scaly hand on her shoulder, fingernails rasping against the cloth of her shredded robes. "I see a boy," she answered. Harry's eyes widened as he took in her face.

 

"Do you know this boy?" he whispered in her ear.

 

"Of course I do," Hermione replied impatiently. "Everyone knows this boy. He's your downfall." She quickly mouthed, No, to Harry, praying that he would not reveal who she was.

 

The hand tightened on her shoulder. "You would do well, my dear, to remember who is the prisoner and who is the jailer. So tell me--you are here to free this boy, are you not?"

 

Hermione cleared her expression as best she could and willed her hands not to tremble. "I did not know he was here," she said carefully, wishing she were a better liar.

 

"I find that hard to believe," Voldemort said. "I know of very few Hogwarts students who wander the lonely moors of England on school nights."

 

"I'm an adventurous sort." Hermione could not believe herself--here she was, being fresh with the Dark Lord himself.

 

Voldemort slapped her, of course. His fingernails pierced her bruised cheek and Hermione felt the blood trickle dispassionately. Harry winced at the sound of the impact, but fortunately, Voldemort did not notice. "I am tired of you, I think, my dear. I think I will leave you in the care of my good friend Lestrange, now. Die well, little Gryffindor lioness."

 

And he pushed her into the hands of a gleeful looking Lestrange. Hermione felt more than a little afraid at the madness glinting in Lestrange's eyes--the man had spent nearly fifteen years in Azkaban and his expression reflected that. Although, she had a sneaking suspicion that he did not go into Azkaban entirely sane.

 

Lestrange pulled Hermione out of the little room and her heart nearly broke as Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry once more. Oh please, oh please, let Professor Snape save him, Hermione prayed.

 

"Well, now...we've got us a little Gryffindor toy," a broad Death Eater hissed, tugging painfully on Hermione's hair. "What should we do with her?"

 

"Playtime," Lestrange said simply, mad eyes still shining. He pulled a Muggle knife out of his pocket, of all things, and advanced on her.

 

Still bound, there was little Hermione could do. She opened her mouth to scream, but another Death Eater--the huge one she recalled from the hallway in Hogwarts--quickly stuffed a gag in her mouth. "Now, now," he chuckled. "There'll be plenty of time for that later."

 

Lestrange grinned and closed in. A few expert flicks of his knife and the remnants of Hermione's clothing were on the ground. Clad only in her underclothes and the ropes binding her hands behind her, Hermione tried desperately not to shake. She was sure her fear shone in her eyes.

 

"Oh yes," Lestrange whispered as he pushed the knife between her breasts, "be afraid for me. Be afraid, little one."

 

And the knife pierced the skin and the knife hurt. Rolling her eyes back in her head, Hermione hissed with pain as he dragged it down her torso, watching the blood well up. It was not a deep cut, but she had a feeling that it was not meant to be.

 

His wrist flicked once, twice, and more blood was trickling down her upper arms, pooling under her shoulders. "Bleed for me," Lestrange muttered. "Beautiful, beautiful..."

 

"Don't let her bleed out, Lestrange," a fourth Death Eater called out--Hermione could not see his face. "They're no fun once they're dead!"

 

"Yeah!" the huge one cried. "Give us a go!"

 

And two more Death Eaters were upon her, with fists and boots and Hermione could no longer contain her cries. Muffled by the gag, she shrieked and tears ran down her cheeks. One Death Eater punched her in the face as she began to sniffle.

 

All of a sudden, an angry rush flowed through Hermione's veins. Well, was she Gryffindor or wasn't she? If she was going to die here today, she wasn't going to do it as a naked, bloody pile of pathetic bones tortured without protest.

 

Disregarding the fact that she was wandless and her hands were currently tied behind her back so tightly that her fingers were numb, Hermione began to struggle. She twisted away from the angry hands and feet, ignoring the fact that Lestrange's knife was slipping deeper and deeper under her skin. She kicked and fought as best she could.

 

"Oh, look," someone chuckled, "this one has a bit of a temper."

 

"I know how to calm her down," the huge one replied. And then large hands were shoving her to the rough ground--pulling on her underclothes, ripping.

 

Hermione lashed out with her feet, catching a surprised Death Eater in the face. He fell to the ground and she smiled grimly through her gag. Lestrange hesitated for a moment, drawing his knife away from her.

 

And she took the opportunity to twist over on her side, propping herself up with her elbow so that her bound wrists were as close to the knife as she could get them. As Lestrange swept thoughtlessly back down, then, the knife caught in the ropes and her hands were free.

 

Adrenaline and fury pumping through her system, Hermione immediately flung herself at Lestrange, knowing instinctively that he was the most dangerous one in the room.

 

Spitting her gag in his face, she came at him with fists and feet and teeth, scrabbling to get the knife out of his fingers. As she came crashing down on him, he fell back into the wall, surprised, and cracked his head loudly on the stones behind him.

 

With a growl, he fell unconscious just as his hand wrapped around her neck, blood trickling a bit from his nose.

 

Hermione snatched up his knife as soon as it fell from his grip, hardly knowing what she was about. Eyeing the other two Death Eaters closing in around her apprehensively, Hermione steeled herself to die, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grip.

 

But all heads swiveled to look down the hallway as an angry cry that could only belong to Voldemort echoed through the corridor. Exchanging a glance, the Death Eaters dashed down the hall, wands at the ready.

 

Clutching her knife and wincing as movement irritated her numerous wounds, Hermione followed them quietly.

 

----------

 

Severus watched with mixed anger and fear as Miss Granger was dragged out of the room by Lestrange. He didn't know what to do.

 

Hovering anxiously--he was only about three feet from Potter--Severus' mind raced. He just couldn't bring himself to abandon Miss Granger. No matter what he thought of her personally (although that was improving by the minute, really), he could not leave a student--anyone, really--in the clutches of the Death Eaters.

 

He had no idea how long he stood there, trying desperately to think of a plan. Voldemort continued to taunt Potter and throw the occasional curse the boy's way.

 

And then Severus' Concealment Charm sputtered, flickered, and gave out completely.

 

Severus froze as the Dark Lord's focus came upon his figure.

 

"Severus Snape..." Voldemort said in a casual tone. "How...surprising that you've dropped in. Goodbye. Avada Kedavra!"

 

But Severus was prepared for that. He dropped flat to the floor, wincing as the curse flew over his head.

 

Voldemort swore and threw another Killing Curse at him.

 

Rolling quickly, Severus leapt to his feet and jumped behind a large chair on the far side of the room. The curse shattered against the floor, missing Potter by only eighteen inches. The boy didn't even move.

 

Severus cursed--he'd managed to lose his wand in the confusion. Peeking out from behind the chair, he saw it, right beside Potter's hand, half hidden in the ruins of the boy's clothes. Too far away to be of any use to him.

 

Avery and Goyle came bursting into the room scant seconds after the last Killing Curse, wands raised for battle. "Stupefy!" they cried in unison.

 

But they didn't know exactly where Severus was, so the curses bounced harmlessly off to his right.

 

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort shouted again, leveling his wand at the chair. The impact blew off the back of the chair and Severus went skittering through the room, out of places to hide, dodging the smaller curses Avery and Goyle were sending his way.

 

Voldemort lifted his wand again. "Avada Kedav--"

 

But a loud, definitely female cry echoed through the room and Voldemort's curse was broken off in mid-word as Hermione Granger threw herself at him.

 

Severus blinked, ducking the Stunner Avery aimed at his head. Mostly naked and covered in blood and bruises, Miss Granger looked as terrible as an Amazon queen as she tackled the Dark Lord. Something shiny glinted in her right hand.

 

But his attention was torn away as he started dodging spells once more. He cried out several times as unidentified hexes hit home but did his best to keep on his feet. Avery and Goyle were closing in, wands nearly at his throat. He couldn't see Miss Granger any more.

 

"You will die a traitor's death," Avery spat in his face.

 

Severus closed his eyes and waited.

 

"Stupefy," a soft voice called from a long way away. "Petrificus Totalus!"

 

And nothing. Severus opened his eyes to see Avery passed out on the floor and Goyle petrified with a look of surprise on his face.

 

A barely conscious Harry Potter was clutching Severus' wand tightly and smiling a bit. "There," he whispered, spitting out yet more blood, "now I don't feel guilty about knocking you out all those years ago."

 

Suddenly, someone screamed. Starting, Severus turned around--he'd nearly forgotten about Miss Granger and Voldemort in the rush of things.

 

Voldemort had his hands around Miss Granger's throat, but he was the one screaming. Miss Granger's hand flashed once again and Severus realized dimly that she must be holding a weapon of some sort. Her hand was covered in blood as well now--drenched in bright red blood that dripped down her wrist. All of a sudden, Voldemort's hands seemed to weaken and slip from her neck.

 

Wrenching herself free, Miss Granger limped over to Potter. "Harry," she whispered, dropping to her knees. "Harry, we've got to get out of here. And neither Professor Snape nor I can Apparate you--we're not strong enough right now."

 

Severus put a hand to his side--it felt as if someone was burning his gut from the inside out. He breathed in sharply and Miss Granger looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing you can fix," Severus retorted shortly.

 

"Portkey," Potter whispered. "The--Death Eaters had a Portkey. Somewhere around here..." He broke off, coughing violently and retching.

 

"What did it look like?" Miss Granger asked, rolling Potter over on his side so he did not choke.

 

"Book," Potter gasped between coughs. "Blue leather. Take us to Hogwarts."

 

Severus looked around the room frantically. They all needed pretty much immediate medical attention.

 

Miss Granger wiped the blood out of her eyes and patted Potter's shoulder. "Just lay still, Harry. We'll find the book." She stood painfully and some of the wounds on her body broke open again. "Do you see it?" she asked him.

 

Severus shook his head. "I don't think...wait! Look there, over on that table!" A small book, bound in blue, laid on a dusty table in a dark corner. "Don't touch it!" he snapped as Miss Granger drew closer to it.

 

She glared at him. "I'm not a fool," she said.

 

"Says the girl who attacked You-Know-Who single-handedly without a wand," Severus retorted dryly.

 

Miss Granger rolled her eyes. "As much as I would like to stand here in a Death Eater lair and trade insults, Professor, I think we should leave before one or all of us bleeds to death. Help me with Harry? I don't think he can walk over to the book."

 

Walking back over to Potter, Severus frowned. "He's unconscious." Severus bent down and retrieved his wand.

 

Miss Granger put her arms under Potter's shoulders and carefully pushed him to a sitting position. With Severus' help, they soon had the unconscious boy more or less standing between them, arms draped limply over their shoulders. Miss Granger winced as Potter's arm scraped over some of her deeper wounds. Together, they dragged him over to the table with the book. Miss Granger took one of Potter's hands in her own and guided it toward the book, looking toward Severus to make sure he was also going to touch it.

 

"On my signal," Severus said. "Now!"

 

And they laid their fingers on the book, Miss Granger careful that Potter's fingers touched the Portkey the same instant hers did.

 

Severus felt a familiar and very welcome tug behind his navel and everything went blissfully dark for a moment.

 

But he was thrown onto a cold stone floor. Opening his eyes grudgingly, he saw that they were sprawled in the middle of the Great Hall. "Ah, good," he said faintly, looking at Miss Granger. "We're back."

 

And then he passed out.

 

----------

 

Hermione welcomed the cool stones under her back, soothing the burning cuts. Idly, she noticed that she was still clutching her bloody knife in her right hand.

 

And now Snape was unconscious as well as Harry. She felt the dark tugging at her--the pull of sleep--but steeled herself against it.

 

"Help!" Hermione shouted weakly. "We're in the Great Hall! Someone? Help us!"

 

She realized that she could not move as soon as she tried to stand. With a gasp of intense pain, Hermione laid back on the floor as a dizzy wave swept through her head. Blood loss, she thought deliriously.

 

"Help!" she cried again.

 

She fancied, right before she passed out, that she felt a set of warm hands on her face and heard a worried voice in her ear, but she was probably just dreaming about that.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

            Broken heroes are rarely useful---

 

 

Hermione's first thought was that she felt deliciously warm. Her second was that she was suspiciously without pain. "Am I dead?" she asked quietly, not opening her eyes.

 

"Ah, Miss Granger," a voice replied. "You're awake. I can assure you, my dear, that you are still amongst the living."

 

And Hermione did open her eyes at that. Albus Dumbledore looked gravely down at her. "What happened?" she asked. "I remember the Portkey and the floor and then..."

 

"Professor McGonagall found you three," Dumbledore told her. "In the Great Hall. Any later and you probably would have died. She, of course, brought Madam Pomfrey immediately and between them, they saved your life."

 

"Harry?" Hermione inquired fearfully. "Professor Snape?"

 

"Both alive," Dumbledore replied with a small smile. "Although neither of them have woken up yet. Miss Granger, I am afraid that I have a great number of questions for you."

 

She sat up a bit and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Staring down at her lap, Hermione wondered what the Headmaster must be thinking. "Yes," she said carefully. "I suppose that you should."

 

"Imagine my surprise," he said, "to be called away from the rather abandoned looking Riddle manor to be told that the child I was searching for had been returned in a rather bad state with two individuals who had been bedridden the evening before, according to Poppy."

 

Hermione coughed a bit. "Professor Snape remembered another place that Harry might have been taken. But don't blame him, sir, I made him take me along. He was going to go alone!" she said quickly.

 

"And it never occurred to you, Miss Granger, to tell another professor?" Dumbledore asked gently.

 

"There was no time," Hermione very nearly wailed. "And when we got there, Voldemort was torturing Harry so badly! We had to do something."

 

Dumbledore's face hardened even further. "What did you do, Miss Granger?"

 

She shrugged. "I created a diversion, Professor Snape slipped under the wards with a Concealment Charm, and we brought Harry back, sir."

 

"Miss Granger, there is a small matter of a knife that was discovered on your person. I would please like you to explain that. In addition to the fact that Severus was hit with a very bad Burning Charm that very nearly killed him."

 

Hermione sighed. "Well, I had to let the Death Eaters catch me, didn't I? If they weren't to notice Professor Snape. And Voldemort handed me over to Lestrange, so I--"

 

Her stammering explanation was cut off as a loud groan came from the bed to her right. "Urgh," someone said.

 

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly, turning away from Hermione. "Good to see you awake."

 

"I feel like I've recently been roasted," Snape mumbled.

 

"You very nearly were, my boy," Dumbledore replied. "Someone hit you with a powerful curse."

 

"Damned Avery," Snape said in a hoarse voice. "I wish Potter had more than Stunned the bastard."

 

"Potter?" Dumbledore asked with raised eyebrows. "This is a complicated story, indeed."

 

"Is Potter all right?" Snape continued in what would have been a bored voice if it hadn't been so weak. "I'd hate to think we went to all that trouble..."

 

"Mr. Potter is stable," Dumbledore told him. "Although he hasn't woken up yet. But that's not too surprising--he took a series of hard blows. Although Poppy said that his was the least exotic case. Cruciatus, mostly. But it took her a while to figure you out, Severus. And she never did quite ascertain what happened to Miss Granger, here."

 

"They prefer Muggle torture methods, I think," Hermione said softly. "No spells. Just a good old-fashioned beating. And stabbing. And...other things, maybe. I'm glad I kicked that big bastard in the face. I hope I broke his nose. And I know I knocked Lestrange out when we crashed into that wall--otherwise I would have never gotten his knife away from him."

 

"So that's what you were doing," Snape said from his bed. "I wondered what you were holding when you came howling into the room like a banshee."

 

Hermione shrugged. "I was hoping maybe Voldemort had enough human left in him to be hurt by non-magical methods. It worked, I suppose."

 

Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. "Are you telling me, Miss Granger, that you attacked Voldemort with a knife?"

 

"I was particularly amused when she told him to go to hell," Snape said dryly, recovering some of his typical sneer. "And I admit, it was very startling when she came running into the room, half-undressed and dripping blood, and tackled him."

 

"Severus, Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, "this narrative would be much easier to follow if it were presented at all in a linear fashion."

 

Hermione had to bite back a giggle as she heard Professor Snape murmur something along the lines of, "Now you know what it feels like..."

 

"I believe, Miss Granger, that you were telling me about a diversion of some sort right before Severus decided to grace us with his cheerful presence." Dumbledore looked at her expectantly.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. "I just made a lot of noise outside of the house. All we needed was for them to open the door so that Professor Snape could slip through."

 

"My Concealment Charm allowed me to go inside and find the room where You-Know-Who was holding Potter," Snape said, picking up the tale. "I was intending to grab Potter and Disapparate with him."

 

"And I was just going to Disapparate out of there myself, once I was sure Professor Snape was in," Hermione said. "But there were too many Death Eaters. Four came at me. They caught me, tied me up, snapped my wand, and took me to Voldemort so he could decide what to do with me. I rather think we had a good little talk. I swore at him, he hexed me."

 

"Don't forget about your new pet name, little Gryffindor lioness," Snape inserted dryly.

 

Hermione shivered. "Please don't ever call me that again, Professor. Anyway, Headmaster, sir, Voldemort gave me to Lestrange to ‘play with,’ as he so eloquently put it, so that he could go back to working on Harry."

 

"I was in the shadows, still under my Charm, waiting for the right moment to lay hands on Potter and Miss Granger to escape," Snape continued. "But Lestrange took her from the room too quickly."

 

"He's stark raving mad, that one is." Hermione said sharply. "He pulled out a knife and just started slicing me up a bit at a time. I would almost prefer the Cruciatus."

 

"Lestrange was unstable even before he and his wife were sent to Azkaban. I shudder to think of what he is capable of now," Snape muttered.

 

"Three others came in. One of them I recognized from the hallway here when they were taking Harry. That big one."

 

"Nott," Snape supplied. "And Avery and Goyle, I suppose."

 

"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug. "But they wanted to join in as well. And when that big one--when Nott started ripping..." She trailed off for a moment, face shuttered. "Anyway, I kicked him in the face. Lucky blow, really. And in all the confusion and struggle, I managed to get close enough to Lestrange's knife for him to accidentally cut my ropes. I don't know what the other two were doing, but I knocked Lestrange into a wall, knocked him unconscious. That's when Voldemort started yelling down the hall."

 

"My Charm wore off," Snape continued. "I was just standing in the middle of the room, trying to figure out what to do, and it just died. Stupid--I dropped my wand when I ducked his first Killing Curse. And that's when Avery and Goyle came skidding in the room, throwing hexes. My wand managed to land inches from Potter, who I actually thought was out cold."

 

"I followed the other two Death Eaters down the hall when the row started--I didn't want to be there when Lestrange woke up," Hermione told the solemn looking Headmaster. "And when I stuck my head around the corner and saw Professor Snape there, ducking curses from all three of them, and poor Harry passed out on the hearth...well...I guess I got mad."

 

"Mad?" Snape asked her incredulously, chuckling a bit. "Is that how you would describe it? Albus, she came running into this room, dripping blood and bellowing like a blinded bull. I don't even think the girl hesitated when she threw herself at Voldemort."

 

"I wasn't really thinking. All I knew was I had a weapon and that Voldemort has to bleed, right? Although, I don't think he's dead, quite. I don't know all that much about killing people, sir."

 

"I don't think that particular approach has ever been attempted before, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said tactfully.

 

"And somewhere in the middle of all this, Potter woke up, grabbed my wand, and Stunned Avery and Goyle. They hit me with a few curses first, of course, but nothing immediately fatal. Potter managed to tell us about the Portkey Malfoy used to abduct him in the first place before he passed out again, and Voldemort graciously stopped attempting to strangle Miss Granger long enough for us to escape," Snape finished, obviously trying to be flip in an effort to cover the gravity of the situation.

 

"That is certainly a most...interesting...tale, Severus, Miss Granger. And, of course, it must stay between us," Dumbledore told them sternly.

 

"Of course, sir," Hermione said. "Yes, Albus, certainly," Snape said at the same time.

 

"I ought to have you expelled," he said to Hermione, "and you fired," he told Snape. It slowly dawned on Hermione that Dumbledore was furious with them underneath his fading exterior of calm. "This is the most reckless, mindless stunt I have ever witnessed. You both could have died. And Mr. Potter, as well."

 

Hermione's eyes went round. "Oh, please, sir, we just wanted to help Harry!"

 

"Consider yourselves both on probation. Miss Granger, I think two weeks' of detention should suffice. I won't take any points from Gryffindor, but nor will I award them. Admittedly, wanting to save a friend is a good and noble thing, Miss Granger, but rushing headlong into danger is quite another. Severus, I cannot believe that you would put a student in such a position," Dumbledore said, as angry as Hermione had ever seen him. "You will administer Miss Granger's detentions and you will also serve double patrols for the next two weeks as well. I am grounding you, boy!" he snapped.

 

Snape bowed his head. "Yes, Headmaster," he said gravely.

 

"This is a difficult enough time without people actively trying to get killed. Do I make myself clear?" Dumbledore asked, eyes flashing.

 

Hermione felt tears at the corners of her eyes--she'd never been particularly close to the Headmaster, but she had the feeling that she'd somehow disappointed him gravely. "Yes, sir," she whispered, swiping quickly at her cheeks.

 

All of a sudden, Dumbledore softened, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek. "Oh, child, don't cry," he said quietly. "It is not as bad as all that. You did save young Mr. Potter's life today. And you probably caused a great deal of damage to Voldemort. If circumstances were different, I might be proud of you."

 

Hermione sniffled. That tenderness was all she needed to be pushed over the edge. In the past forty-eight hours, she'd been subjected to more pain than in the rest of her life put together. She managed to look up at Dumbledore and give him a soft little smile as he swept out of the room, but then she put her head on her knees and positively howled, the fear and the anger and the hurt all pouring out at once.

 

So when a pair of arms wrapped hesitantly around her shoulders, Hermione twisted so that she could embrace whoever it was and sobbed into an unidentified chest. A hand touched her hair.

 

"Come, now, Miss Granger," Snape muttered, "it can't all be that bad." Even his attempts at comfort were biting and sarcastic.

 

Hermione recoiled a bit--she was blubbering all over her hated Potions Master? "I--I'm sorry, sir," she said, rubbing at her eyes, "it's just..."

 

"It's been a very long day, Miss Granger. For both of us. But for you in particular, I think. I have heard that stress affects people strangely." Snape gave her arm one last pat and moved to a sitting position more on the edge of her bed.

 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Hermione asked suddenly, unable to contain her wonder at the fact that Snape had been fairly polite to her for nearly an entire day.

 

He studied his hands, placed firmly on his knees. "Miss Granger, you saved my life. I believe that entitles you to some civility. Besides, we will be serving our detentions together for the next two weeks." Was that a smile on his face?

 

"I was under the impression that you would be supervising my detentions," Hermione said with a lifted eyebrow.

 

Yes, definitely a smile. It widened to a noticeable expression. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger. The Headmaster has given me detention as well. Just more tactfully. I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up to deliver some odious task into our hands next week."

 

"As long as there are no toothbrushes and toilets involved," Hermione grumbled, remembering a particularly nasty detention she'd had to serve with Filch during her sixth year.

 

Snape actually snorted. She couldn't believe it. First a smile, then laughter? What was the world coming to?

 

Hermione and Snape both started at a loud groan coming from the bed across from hers. "Harry?" she asked cautiously. "Are you awake?"

 

"My headache has a headache," Harry complained crossly as he stirred. "Where are my glasses?"

 

"Haven't the foggiest," Hermione replied, elated that he was awake. "Madam Pomfrey probably has them stashed somewhere so you won't try to sneak out again."

 

Harry sighed and tried to sit up, wincing. "Boy, you sneak out of the infirmary once nearly two years ago, and suddenly you're not to be trusted."

 

"You're sounding awfully exuberant for someone who wasn't too far off from dead a few hours ago," she told him.

 

Yawning a bit, Harry shoved his hair out of his eyes and squinted at her and Snape. "What happened?" he asked faintly. "I remember...well, I remember Malfoy and you...and Snape! And then, then..."

 

"Malfoy took you to the Dark Lord," Snape said flatly. "Miss Granger and I took it upon ourselves to, ahem, liberate you."

 

Harry frowned a bit, trying to remember. "It's all fuzzy. I remember lots of blood. And screams. But not mine...and something, something with a wand? And you again, Professor Snape."

 

"Very good, Potter," he replied. "You retrieved my wand and hexed two Death Eaters with it. The screams you recall were probably Voldemort's--Miss Granger decided to play Amazon princess with a knife."

 

Harry's jaw dropped and Hermione glared fiercely at Snape. "I did not," she retorted. "And you, Professor, seem far too fascinated with my part of the evening."

 

"It's not every day, Miss Granger, that one sees a wandless young woman wound the most evil wizard of our Age badly enough to render him unconscious. I confess, I was rather surprised to see him bleed red." Snape offered her a smirk.

 

With a groan, Harry let his head drop back on his pillow. "I think I'm going back to sleep," he moaned.

 

"Good idea," Hermione said in a nearly cheerful tone. "The sooner you're back up to scratch, the sooner we can start plotting our escape."

 

"Might I remind you, Miss Granger," Snape said acidly, "that the Headmaster personally threatened you with expulsion this very evening? Now might not be the best time to stir up unnecessary trouble."

 

Harry's eyes shot open again and he pulled himself upright in bed, blankets falling to his waist. "What?" he cried. "Expelled? What on Earth for?"

 

Hermione suddenly found the quilt covering her bed to be intensely fascinating. "I...um...Professor Snape and I went off to fetch you without letting anyone know. But I'm not expelled, Harry. Just on probation and I've got a fair amount of detention. He didn't even take points off."

 

Flopping back, Harry sighed. "Thank God," he said.

 

"What, about the expulsion or the points?" she asked, teasing him.

 

Harry flushed. "I didn't mean--"

 

"I know, Harry. Go back to sleep," she told him fondly. "Probably I ought to be napping a bit myself," she said, looking at Professor Snape. "The more sleep we have, the more quickly Madam Pomfrey will let us out of the infirmary."

 

Nodding, Snape stood and made his way slowly back to his own bed. He appeared to fall asleep almost before his head touched the pillow.

 

----------

 

Forty-eight painful hours later, Hermione, Harry, and Professor Snape were all given a clean bill of health and turned smartly out of the infirmary. Hermione would be happy if she never had to taste chocolate ever again.

 

Of course, Madam Pomfrey hadn’t completely mended Hermione’s wounds--she claimed that the body did a much better job if left alone with things like scratches and bruises. So Hermione had to walk around the castle looking as if she’d been on the receiving end of a fistfight. Perversely, she was rather proud of the black eye and bruise marks around her neck left from Voldemort’s assault. And Pomfrey had healed the wounds from Lestrange’s knife so that Hermione could move around comfortably while her body knitted itself back together. The scabs itched.

 

Resisting the urge to scratch at her arm, Hermione turned to the other two and smiled a bit. “So, Professor, detention tonight?”

 

He nodded. “Eight, in my office, I suppose.”

 

Harry shuffled his feet a bit, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Before we have to go back and everything, I suppose I should thank you both again for saving my life.”

 

“Likewise, Potter,” Snape said in a level voice. “Although I will ask you to attempt not to wind up in Malfoy’s clutches again.”

 

Grinning, Harry grabbed at Hermione’s hand. “’Course, Professor. Come on, ‘Mione! We can still get breakfast.”

 

Hermione allowed Harry to tug her down to the Great Hall. Snape gave her one last bemused glance and swept off in the opposite direction, toward his office. “Good Lord, Harry,” Hermione cried, “we don’t have to run.”

 

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, but he let go of her hand.

 

“I just...can’t run very well, all right?” she replied, exasperated. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t heal my cuts fully, remember? She was afraid the scarring would be worse if she did.”

 

Harry’s face dropped. “Oh. I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t realize how badly you’d been cut.”

 

Sighing, she pulled back the collar of her jumper to reveal a long gash across her right shoulder. “Lestrange got me from head to foot basically. One really bad one on my side and another one running all the way down my front. I don’t want them to pull open.”

 

Eyes widening, Harry withdrew his hands immediately. “Good Lord,” he breathed. “I’d no idea...”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’ll heal,” she replied. “Although I bet I look a fright right now.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Like someone beat the living hell out of you.”

 

She fingered one of the finger-bruises on her neck gently and with something akin to pride. “I’ll just have to say that I look better in the pair of us. Shame I can’t tell anyone where I got these.”

 

Returning her grin, he tapped her nose playfully. “You’d be the talk of the castle for the next twenty years, you know. The girl who attacked You-Know-Who with a kitchen knife and lived to tell the tale!”

 

“We ought to get to breakfast,” Hermione replied, dropping the subject. “Class starts soon and I bet we’re supposed to attend since Pomfrey let us go.”

 

Harry sighed but he began walking toward the Great Hall again. “What is today, anyway?”

 

“Thursday, I think. Transfiguration first, then Charms, and double Divination for you in the afternoon. I’ve got Arithmancy, of course, instead.” She followed him and if she was walking more slowly than usual, he did not comment.

 

The Great Hall was still fairly crowded by the time Harry and Hermione arrived. They sat quickly at one end of the Gryffindor table--Hermione had reminded Harry on the way that they still had to go back up to the tower and grab their textbooks. Harry immediately began piling his plate with eggs and bacon while Hermione just grabbed an apple and bit into it thoughtfully.

 

“Oi, Harry! Hermione!” Ron Weasley shouted from the middle of the table. “You’re back!”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. Hermione just nodded, her mouth full of apple.

 

Jumping up from his original place, Ron slid into the seat beside Harry and gave his two friends a wide smile. “Boy, it was weird with you two being gone. Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let anyone in to see either of you and when we asked McGonagall about it, she told us to leave you alone. What was wrong? Are you better?”

 

Hermione smiled at Ron’s chatter. She’d almost missed it. Almost. “We’re better,” she replied, taking another huge bite of apple. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have been let out.”

 

Ron swiveled in his chair to get a clear look at her. “Great Merlin, Hermione, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been thrashed.”

 

Exchanging a highly amused look with Harry, she gave Ron an indulgent grin. “Oh, I was,” she said by way of response. “But don’t worry, Ron, I came off better than the person I was fighting.”

 

“Who was it?” Ron asked excitedly. “It couldn’t have been Malfoy--I saw him in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday.”

 

Again, she smiled at his exuberance. “No one you know, Ron. Don’t worry about it.”

 

He harrumphed a bit. “Don’t see why you wouldn’t say.”

 

“Dumbledore said I couldn’t,” she replied, struck with a sudden idea. “He even gave me two weeks of detention with Snape.”

 

As she’d thought, Ron’s eyes widened to the size of small dinner plates. “Hot damn, Hermione! You must have slugged a prefect or something!”

 

She permitted herself a final smile but said nothing, choosing instead to finish her apple.

 

Harry finished the last of his eggs with a noisy gulp and swigged the dregs of his pumpkin juice. “Hey, Hermione, how about I go back to the tower and grab your books for you. You can just go ahead to Transfiguration.” His eyes flickered nearly imperceptibly to her shoulder, to the scabbing gash she’d shown him.

 

Hermione told herself to stop picking at the scab itching her belly as she caught Harry’s meaning. “Thanks, Harry,” she said gratefully.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

            Not quite back to normal, after all---

 

 

Hermione could not tell whether or not the entire staff had been enlightened as to the events of three nights past. McGonagall’s already thin mouth tightened upon seeing her ragged appearance and Flitwick had sent her a concerned look but said nothing. All in all, this was not indicative of anything. Either they had been told and were behaving accordingly or they had not and had drawn the worst conclusions possible.

 

All she knew was that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to scratch at her healing wounds. Nearly every scab on her body itched fiercely and Hermione had already caught herself countless times digging at various places. Once in the safety of her dormitory after classes, she threw off her robes and blouse with a grateful sigh, the itching lessening as the cool air hit her skin. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that she had two very curious roommates.

 

It was Lavender who stumbled across her first. Forgoing supper, Hermione was laying across her bed, absorbed in a physics textbook, scribbling on a bit of stray parchment. She didn’t even notice Lavender until she heard a low whistle echo through the room.

 

“What did you do to yourself, Hermione?” Lavender asked once she’d caught the girl’s attention.

 

Hermione recalled her shirtless torso with a slight blush. She generally did not make a habit of walking around only half clothed. “Uh...” she managed.

 

Crossing the room, Lavender laid a surprisingly gentle finger on the scab running down Hermione’s left forearm. “What happened to you?”

 

Mind working as quickly as it could, she spat out the first thing that came to mind. “It was an accident,” she grunted.

 

Lavender’s eyebrows rose. “What sort of accident?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“Broken glass,” Hermione managed to stammer. “Fell.”

 

Cocking her head, Lavender studied Hermione for a long moment with a shrewdness that she normally hid under Divination gushing and boy babble. “Right,” she eventually said.

 

Hermione could play this game. She waited Lavender out.

 

With a final little sigh, Lavender dropped her hand to her side and walked back through the doorway. “Fine,” she tossed back, but there was no anger behind it.

 

Sighing in kind, Hermione returned to her textbook, flicking her eyes to the clock over the door on occasion. She had to be in Snape’s office by eight o’clock and it would not do to be late. In fact, she only had thirty minutes left. Perhaps she ought to go ahead and walk down to the dungeons now, just in case.

 

It had been a good idea, she later reflected, leaving early for her detention. Somewhere in the second floor corridor, she had been caught up for nearly ten minutes--Peeves had thought it would be amusing to flood the bathrooms and it took a good deal of time to wade through the waist-deep water. As it was, she knocked smartly on Snape’s door with barely four minutes to spare.

 

“Enter,” Snape called from within.

 

She pushed open the door and walked in. “Good evening, Professor,” she said, giving him a slight smile. Snape was sitting at his desk, scratching on a piece of parchment nearly absently.

 

He did not exactly return her smile, but he didn’t glare at her either, so she figured the evening had started as well as it was going to. “Good evening, Miss Granger,” he replied in a neutral tone. “I hesitate to assign you some sort of task, as I highly suspect that Albus will turn up in the next five minutes. You may have a seat, if you’d like.”

 

Somewhat surprised, Hermione sat down in one of the sparse wooden chairs in front of his desk. “Thank you, sir,” she said, once seated.

 

He nodded silently and went back to his parchment, brow furrowed with concentration and hair hanging in his eyes. She absently noted that he’d smeared ink on his right cheek and wondered how on Earth she would mention it to him. In the end, she decided that if he didn’t notice it, she could ignore it.

 

Snape was apparently working on something complicated--he frowned at the parchment and scratched something out. After staring at his work for a moment, he shoved the parchment to his side and picked up a fresh sheet.

 

She couldn’t help it--her curiosity was almost killing her. Hermione let her eyes slowly wander across his desk and over the discarded piece of parchment.

 

He was working equations! The same equations, in fact, that she’d been fiddling with lately. Well...mostly.

 

“I think that should be psi-star,” she said absently, reflectively, completely forgetting who she was talking to. “Complex conjugate, since you’re using the dagger operator.”

 

Snape’s head snapped up and she couldn’t tell whether he was staring at her with shock or disdain (she was, after all, unfamiliar with his array of emotions beyond rage and frustration). “What?” he asked.

 

Tapping the symbol in question, Hermione plucked the quill out of his fingers with her other hand and began writing. “Psi-star. Here. See--that’s why you were hitting a wall. Of course that wouldn’t commute. But it wouldn’t make sense if it didn’t cancel out.” Her hand flew across the parchment but came to an abrupt stop as her mind suddenly screamed, You’re correcting Snape here!

 

Hermione dropped the quill with a start and stared up at him fearfully. “Uh...I mean...that is...”

 

“Pray, continue, Miss Granger,” Snape said, looking slightly cross, but not nearly as furious as she’d anticipated. “I’m beginning to see what you mean. That might actually have a closed-form solution.”

 

Too dumbfounded to ponder what was occurring too deeply, Hermione resumed her scribblings. “Well...” she said skeptically. “I don’t think so. It looks simple and everything, but it’s highly nonlinear. And I can’t see anything of a harmonic or radial solution in any of this. I wouldn’t bet on a closed form existing. Although if you change the gauge...Professor?” she asked suddenly. “Why are you working on this? I mean...” Hermione blushed as she realized how her question must have sounded.

 

Snape looked unperturbed. “I might as well ask you why you know so much about it, Miss Granger,” he replied without rancor. “I’m just fiddling with a few theories I’ve read about. I think the author might have been missing some important point but I keep getting tangled up in the math.”

 

She paused long enough to wonder why he was admitting all of this to her but then realized that it was her theories he was criticizing. “Why do you think there’s something I--uh, the author has missed?” Her tone was slightly injured.

 

If he caught her slip, he did not comment. “Just a feeling,” he said. “Although I don’t think it would alter the overall thesis.”

 

Hermione relaxed imperceptibly. And then it tumbled out. “Why are you telling me all this?” She clapped both of her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in horror at her words.

 

Snape just snorted a bit--the same laugh she dimly remembered from that awful night in the Infirmary. “Miss Granger, three nights ago we more or less saved each other’s lives. I would think that that makes us comrades of a sort. Not to mention the fact that, as I have mentioned before, we’ve been punished by the headmaster to serve our detentions together.”

 

“I’m glad you’re so perceptive, Severus,” an unmistakable voice said from the doorway.

 

Both Snape and Hermione turned toward the source of the sound, Hermione dropping the quill and Snape’s cheeks reddening slightly. “Albus,” he said. To his credit, his voice did not waver.

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Come, Severus. If I did not get angry at you when you referred to me as a ‘sanctimonious old bastard’ to Minerva two weeks ago, I’m not going to be angry at you for telling the truth. In fact, I’m somewhat pleased that you’ve discerned that you have detention as well.”

 

Snape muttered something under his breath that Hermione did not catch. And then, “Well, what do you have for us to do, then?” he asked impatiently.

 

“Funny you should mention,” Dumbledore replied with an innocent tone in his voice. “I do recall Hagrid mentioning at supper this evening that his stables were in great need of mucking out and I also recall volunteering the two of you for the job.”

 

Hermione sighed a little and Snape groaned out right. “Really, Albus,” he said, all wounded dignity.

 

“I’ve even remembered to bring more appropriate clothing with me,” Dumbledore said, depositing a sack Hermione hadn’t noticed he was carrying on the floor of Snape’s office. “Well, have fun, then.” With a jaunty smile that led her to believe that he was very much enjoying their discomfort, Dumbledore closed the office door.

 

As soon as the lock snicked, Snape gave the door a heavy glare and growled. “That old codger,” he spat, giving the bag of clothing a vicious nudge.

 

Picking up the bag gingerly, Hermione opened it and surveyed the contents dismally. “I suppose we ought to get started,” she said.

 

He continued to glare at the door but nodded a bit.

 

She shuffled through the bag, pulling out the smaller pair of dungarees, the somewhat smaller, ripped t-shirt proclaiming “Beware of the Leopard” and the smaller pair of work boots. “Uh...” she began, holding the clothes helplessly in her hands.

 

Not even looking in her direction, Snape flapped his hand at another door on the other side of his office. “You can change in my supply closet. I trust you won’t disturb anything?”

 

She didn’t feel like that needed a response and she made sure to close the closet door quite firmly.

 

The clothes were too big, of course. The hem of the t-shirt very nearly reached her knees. Tucking it into the jeans, Hermione grimaced as she saw the jeans hems hanging about four inches off her socked feet. She rolled them up with a little sigh and shoved her feet into the boots. At least they fit. Now her only problem was that the dungarees were at least two sizes too big and threatening to slide off her hips completely. Maybe Snape had something she could hold them up with. Knowing she looked ridiculous but realizing her night would only get worse, Hermione tapped gingerly on the closet door. “Professor?” she called through the wood. “Can I come out now?”

 

“If you want,” came the dull reply.

 

She opened the door with her right hand, holding her robes in her left. “Do you...gracious,” she unthinkingly exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the clothing Dumbledore had brought Snape.

 

He was also wearing dungarees, although his fit slightly better (not much, though, she reflected), and his boots were identical to hers. It was his shirt that made her stop and goggle soundlessly at him. The sight of stern, evil Professor Snape engulfed in a huge red t-shirt informing her that he’d “Gone crazy. Be back shortly.” with a large tear right across his stomach was very nearly enough to make her faint.

 

“Not a word,” he snapped, plucking at the shirt. “I’m going to kill him.”

 

“Would...would you, um, like to switch shirts?” she asked in a near-whisper.

 

“Not particularly, Miss Granger. Somehow ‘Beware of the Leopard’ isn’t much better,” he said dryly. “Here!”

 

She caught the object he threw at her mostly by reflex. Upon further examination it turned out to be a hat.

 

“You’ll want to cover your hair,” he said in reply to her confused look. Snape picked up a similar hat and swiftly tucked his hair into it. She copied his motions sloppily. “Ready to go?” he asked with absolutely no expression in his voice.

 

“Would it matter if I said no?”

 

“No.” He walked over to the door, raised eyebrow clearly indicating for her to follow.

 

----------

 

Mucking out stalls was possibly the worst detention she’d ever had. Hermione doubted that she’d ever get truly clean. “I’d kill for a toothbrush and a toilet right about now,” she said through gritted teeth, swiping at something unspeakable smeared across her forehead.

 

“Albus always did come up with the worst detentions,” Snape said from the stall across the way, carrying a load of something awful on his shovel.

 

“At least with bathrooms you know exactly what sort of filth you’re wiping up. This stuff is a bit more...ubiquitous,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know what Hagrid’s been keeping out here.”

 

“Or what he’s been feeding it,” he replied, coming back through the door with a relatively clean shovel.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione retorted sarcastically, scraping the last bit of muck out from her stall. “There! Only two more to go, right?”

 

He let out a deep breath, squatting and holding his shovel between his knees. “Yes,” he said, hissing. “After which I will go try to find a potion that causes someone to shed their skin. Twice.”

 

Hermione hitched her trousers up yet again--she’d found a length of rope in the stable to tie them up with, but they still crept down her hips an uncountable number of times during the night. “What time is it?” she asked, using Snape’s lethargy to take a break herself.

 

“Haven’t a clue. Late, I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow night Albus won’t make us stay out so late,” Snape replied. “I wonder how angry he would get if I burned these clothes.” He plucked at his shirt for the umpteenth time.

 

“Where on Earth did he find these things?” she asked, swinging her shovel over her shoulder in preparation of tackling her last stall.

 

Snape stood with a sigh and walked over to his. “I think he goes to the lost and found booths in the London Underground sometimes. Oh, God,” he sighed upon seeing the contents of the stall. “I don’t think this place has been cleaned for a decade at least.”

 

They’d discovered within their first five minutes that someone--Dumbledore, probably--had placed a charm that prohibited them from using Cleaning Charms anywhere in the vicinity of the stables. Snape spent at least an hour moaning over that, but he'd paced Hermione in cleaning out stalls. They’d worked even faster once he’d fallen silent.

 

Silence reigned again as they went back to work. The only sounds were soft grunts as someone hefted a particularly heavy load and the scraping noises of the shovels. An indeterminate eternity later, they were done and stumbling out of the stables covered in unidentifiable stains.

 

“I don’t care how filthy I am,” Hermione said. “I’m going to sit down and cool off before I go back in the castle.”

 

He gave her a sideways glare. “You can’t go off alone, Miss Granger,” he said testily. “It’s long after curfew. Besides, your robes are still locked in my office.”

 

“Again, Professor, I don’t care. I’m hot and my scabs itch. And I know at least one of them broke open.” Not wanting to argue any more, Hermione simply plopped herself down on the ground and stretched out beneath a tree, closing her eyes as a cool breeze kissed her cheeks.

 

His next words sounded concerned, but that was highly unlikely as she was talking with Professor Snape. “Broke open?”

 

She flapped a hand. “It doesn’t hurt and I checked, it’s not bleeding much.”

 

“Miss Granger,” Snape said sternly, “you’ve just exposed an open wound to an extreme level of bacteria.”

 

Ignoring the warning in his tone, Hermione kept her eyes shut. “Ten minutes and then I’ll go straight to the Infirmary.”

 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of personal concern,” he replied.

 

She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. “As I told you three days ago, Professor, you can take a thousand points for all I care. Ten minutes.”

 

“I’ll drag you there myself,” he threatened. “I’ll catch ten shades of hell from Albus and Poppy if I let you catch an infection.”

 

“It’s none of your concern, sir.” She did not budge.

 

And then Hermione let out a shriek that was part surprise and part anger as she found herself slung in a fireman’s carry over Snape’s shoulder.

 

“Put me down!” she cried.

 

“I warned you,” he retorted mildly. “I’m taking you to the Infirmary and I advise you not to struggle--it will only open your wounds further.”

 

Realizing firstly that he was not going to let her go and secondly that he was right, Hermione stopped struggling and settled for the occasional dig in his ribs with her feet. “I said I would go to the Infirmary,” she said, irritated at his presumption.

 

He did not put her down.

 

“I can walk, you know,” she continued.

 

Snape pushed open the door and walked into the castle. Hermione realized how badly they smelled as the warm, good air filled her nostrils. “Good Lord, we stink,” she said conversationally.

 

“I’m not going to put you down, Miss Granger,” Snape retorted. “I don’t trust you.”

 

“I hate you,” she said contemptuously.

 

“Good,” he said. “I would hate to think that all my efforts have been wasted.”

 

They remained silent as he strode down the hall until after one particularly vicious jab in his ribs with her right boot, Snape gave her kneecaps a warning squeeze. “I’m not interested in matching bruises, Miss Granger.”

 

“You could put me down.”

 

“No,” he said and quickened his pace.

 

Madam Pomfrey was amazingly awake when Snape strode into the Infirmary with Hermione slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “What on Earth...?” she asked, taking in their filthy clothing and the mutual irritation.

 

“Miss Granger’s wounds need to be reexamined and cleaned,” Snape said, depositing Hermione on her feet finally. “I’ll bring her robes by. I expect you’ll want to keep her for the night.”

 

“Yes...of course,” Pomfrey said absently, eyeing Hermione. “May I ask what you’ve been doing?”

 

Hermione yanked off her hat and threw it on the floor. “Mucking out Hagrid’s stalls,” she replied. “For detention.”

 

Much to Hermione’s glee, Pomfrey gave Snape a sly sort of smile. “Both of you, eh?” she said, appraising Snape’s similarly soiled clothing.

 

“Not a word, Poppy,” Snape said icily. “I will return shortly with Miss Granger’s clothing.” He spun on a booted heel and strode purposefully from the Infirmary.

 

Pomfrey clucked a bit as she looked her patient over. “I suppose the first thing we ought to do is get you out of those clothes and cleaned up. Where did you find those things, anyway?”

 

“The headmaster,” she replied with a grimace, shedding the shirt and kicking off her boots. “Professor Snape is of the opinion that they ought to be burned.”

 

Frowning, the mediwitch gazed at Hermione’s newly oozing scabs. “I’ll have to disinfect those, dear, if you’ve been mucking out stalls. And give you an antibiotic as well. Just in case. And I’ll make sure to have a word with Albus about the nature of your detentions from now on. I highly doubt, Miss Granger, that it was Severus’ choice to clean out stalls for the evening,” she said to Hermione’s surprised look. “Sounds more like the detentions Albus used to give out when he was still teaching.”

 

With a conspiratorial look, Pomfrey guided her back into the Infirmary and all but pushed her into a very medicinal smelling shower.

 

An hour later and feeling infinitely cleaner, Hermione was snuggled in between crisp sheets, lightly dozing. Her wounds were newly bandaged and stinging from the cleansing Pomfrey had given them. She was in that place between sleep and wakefulness when she heard another voice in the room.

 

“How is she?” a man asked.

 

“Fine,” Pomfrey answered, hushed. “She’s asleep now. But it’s a good thing you brought her in as quickly as you did, Severus. Who knows what she was exposed to out in that stable. Shame on Albus for asking that of her.”

 

“I don’t think the headmaster knew that she was still healing,” the man--Snape--replied. “At least, I hope not. I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have assigned that detention if he’d known. I brought her robes, by the way.”

 

“I assumed,” Pomfrey said. “At least, I didn’t think you’ve taken to suddenly bringing me clothes for no reason.”

 

Hermione heard a few rustling noises that her drowsy mind refused to identify and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. A pleasant scent tickled her nostrils and she sank closer to sleep, sighing a little. The hand moved to her hair and then withdrew.

 

There were a few more words exchanged across the dark room, but Hermione was falling into sleep and did not understand them.

 

----------

 

The next day at breakfast, Hermione was very tired. Pomfrey had roused her at seven and informed her that she was able to attend classes and sent her off with another warning about her scabs that she mostly ignored. She’d put on the same clothes she was wearing the day before, uncaring, and stumbled back to Gryffindor tower, grabbing her books for her classes idly, longing only for a cup of tea.

 

“Great Merlin, Hermione, didja go for ten more rounds with your mysterious attacker?” Ron asked as Hermione seated herself at the table and began buttering a piece of toast.

 

“Detention was...unnecessarily rigorous,” she said, stuffing the entire slice in her mouth and chewing mightily.

 

Ron nodded knowingly. “Well, Snape’s a prat. What more could you expect from someone like him? I bet he enjoyed watching you suffer. That’s how he gets his jollies, you know, torturing us. He probably sits around after a particularly nasty class and just laughs and laughs. If he’s even capable of laughter.”

 

As soon as she swallowed the toast, she immediately buried her nose in her teacup, unwilling to discuss the matter with him. He didn’t know the entire situation and she was not in a position to enlighten him--it was better for everyone if she just let Ron chatter until he forgot the matter. She was startled from such musings, however, by a large hand wrapping itself around her shoulder. Jumping in her chair a little, Hermione turned around to look up into Dumbledore’s mildly concerned eyes.

 

“I received a tongue lashing from Poppy Pomfrey this morning, Miss Granger, and I must apologize about last night. If I’d known the full extent of your injuries I would never have given you such a task.”

 

Hermione shrugged a little, taking another sip of tea. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t want to heal my cuts fully with magic--she said that it would make the scarring worse with such deep injuries. Don’t worry about it, sir.”

 

He gave her another look of compassion. “If it’s not too much trouble, may I...?”

 

She sat her teacup down hastily. “Sure.” Pulling back her collar to show him the same gash she’d shown Harry the day before, she tried to smile self-deprecatingly. “Madam Pomfrey said they should be completely closed up in the next three weeks or so and she said that if I come back to her bleeding again she’d make sure to use the antiseptic without the cooling gels.”

 

Dumbledore winced a bit. “Again, I’m sorry, Miss Granger.”

 

She let go of her robes and picked up her cup again, draining it and giving him a little shrug.

 

“Tonight, I think it might be better if we found something less...physical for you to do. Perhaps you and Severus could offer your services to Madam Pince for the night? I know she has a lot of re-shelving and cleaning that she could use a hand with.”

 

Apologies and gentleness aside, Hermione knew a command when she heard one. “Yes, headmaster,” she replied, head bowed.

 

With one final pat on her shoulder, Dumbledore ambled away toward the professors’ table.

 

Ron gave her a goggle-eyed look. “What was that all about?”

 

Inwardly she sighed--she just wasn’t up to evasiveness this early in the morning. “Dumbledore's handing out the tasks for my detentions. And he’s more devious than Filch--last night I had to muck out the stalls in Hagrid’s stables. Without magic. But some of my cuts re-opened and Professor Snape dragged me to the Infirmary--Madam Pomfrey was furious.” Hermione grinned a little at the recollection.

 

“Just how badly did you get hurt, Hermione?” he asked, giving her that same shrewd look Lavender gave her wounds yesterday.

 

Again, she shrugged a little. “He had a knife. I got cut badly a few times and Madam Pomfrey was worried about the scars so she’s letting my body heal itself.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “There’s something incredibly important you’re not telling me.”

 

She flicked her hair behind her shoulders. “Obviously. Now...I’ve got to get to Potions. Don’t want more detentions.” And Hermione left Ron still staring behind her.

 

----------

 

Severus wanted nothing more than to drag his sorry body back to bed and spend the next day there, motionless. He hadn’t gone to sleep until nearly four in the morning and some sadistic bastard (read, Albus Dumbledore) decreed that the first classes started at eight. That gave him about three hours of sleep and an hour of drinking coffee and attempting to focus on his lesson plans. The ink kept blurring together in front of his tired eyes.

 

He was now thoroughly convinced that Dumbledore had been a Slytherin in school--no one else could have come up with such a horrific detention. Of course, no one really knew what House Dumbledore had been in. Not for sure. Most suspected that he was a Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall included, but during his stint as Transfigurations professor, Dumbledore was not a Head of House and if any of the students ever asked about his old House, he just smiled vacantly and offered them whatever sweet of the week he was exploring. Severus knew, of course, that his doddering old man impression was just that--an impression--but he often questioned his employer’s sanity.

 

The only thing he was absolutely currently sure about was that Dumbledore truly hadn’t known how badly Miss Granger had been injured. Dumbledore was many things, but he would never try to deliberately hurt a student. Physically, that was, Severus mentally added with a bit of a smirk.

 

The clock chimed quarter until eight--nearly time for his awful seventh year Gryffindor-Slytherin class. Maybe Longbottom would refrain from setting a fire this morning. Probably too much to hope for, but Severus had long since abandoned hope of that particular group of students ever getting along. It would be a good day if no one hexed anyone and he only had to subtract a hundred points from each House. The only bright spot was that since Lucius (and Voldemort, his rebellious mind whispered) told him that they knew of his duplicity, he didn’t have to treat that little prick Draco as the Heir Apparent any more. Severus tried to take pleasure from the small things.

 

He strode into the classroom early, somewhat surprised to see a relatively healthy looking Miss Granger regarding him neutrally. “Professor Snape,” she said with a slight nod.

 

Returning the nod, Severus turned to his class notes and began scanning them. “Miss Granger. I trust you are better?”

 

“Enough,” she said in that same even tone. “I spoke with the headmaster at breakfast.”

 

He raised his eyebrow and stared at her. Was she attempting small talk?

 

“He wanted to inform me that we are to spend our evening with Madam Pince,” she continued.

 

Ah...apparently Miss Granger was intelligent enough to know not to try to chat with him. This was shop talk after all. “The library, then,” he said by way of clarification.

 

“Re-shelving and cleaning,” she elaborated with a small grimace. “I think Madam Pomfrey had a word with him this morning about my...uh...re-injuring myself.”

 

He put his notes down and began copying ingredients on the board behind him. “Very well, Miss Granger. Eight o’clock in the library, then?”

 

She did not reply and Severus heard the small noises marking students shuffling in and finding their seats. A few little conversations sprung up that he ignored with great effort. Miss Granger began her usual banter with Longbottom and Parkinson tried unsuccessfully to flirt with a very bored sounding Malfoy. He let the chatter continue longer than he might have otherwise if he weren’t dozing on his feet.

 

“Enough,” Severus finally said sharply. “The ingredients are on the board. You must brew this potion successfully and properly identify it at the end of the period. Begin!” he barked, relishing the clatter of vials and cauldrons.

 

Longbottom looked a little more relaxed than he usually did. Severus was not an idiot--he knew the boy was properly terrified of him and tried neither to encourage nor discourage that fear. Although he dimly wondered why the boy had decided to continue in Potions after his OWLs. His scores had proven barely sufficient for Severus to extend an invitation and he clearly hated the subject. The only reason Severus could come up with was that Longbottom was planning to enter the Aurory like Potter and Weasley. In fact, those three boys and Miss Granger were the only Gryffindors left in the classroom of seventh years. Of course the most volatile Gryffindors would stay, he reflected miserably.

 

Severus caught his eyelids drooping and berated himself for it. He’d just handed his students the list of ingredients for a simple Healing potion they’d brewed during their fourth year, but there were a few places where a miscalculation could be disastrous--he needed to be alert.

 

Longbottom was progressing very slowly but, for once, carefully as well, and Severus allowed his eye to slide past the boy without comment. Miss Granger, of course, was working adroitly and quickly. She had almost a surly look on her face, as if Severus was somehow insulting her by asking her to brew such a simple potion. He made a mental note to take points off her some time this period, even though she swore up and down it didn’t bother her. Potter and Weasley were both brewing with characteristic sloppiness--he could predict that Weasley’s cauldron would over boil within the next half-hour and Potter’s final product would be entirely too orange. He would enjoy taking those points off.

 

And then on to the Slytherins. Malfoy’s potion was very nearly as correct as Miss Granger’s, but Severus knew that the boy wouldn’t know what he was brewing. He could follow directions competently but had no eye for inspiration. If Malfoy pursued a career in Potions, he would wind up in a factory somewhere, happily mass-producing potions without an original thought in his brain. That was the difference between competence and brilliance.

 

Parkinson’s potion would wind up too orange, like Potter’s. She was too busy complimenting her ‘dear Draco’ to produce anything noteworthy herself. And Blaise Zabini was well posed for an explosion in the next little bit--if he’d added too much...

 

BOOM!

 

Zabini’s cauldron went up as soon as Severus bent over it, as if on cue. The boy blanched as Severus gave him a drippy-faced glare.

 

“Why thank you, Mr. Zabini,” Severus said dryly. “I note that in addition to your brew’s...explosive capabilities, it is also a bright shade of yellow. There is not a single stage in the brewing of this solution that is yellow, if done correctly. I suggest you begin again. And that will be thirty points from Slytherin. Yes, Mr. Zabini, from my own House.” Mopping off his face, Severus moved on to Millicent Bulstrode’s passable potion.

 

On his way, he happened to see one Draco Malfoy smirking mightily at a red-faced Zabini. Inwardly, Severus grinned and shouted with glee. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said in the silkiest set of tones he possessed. “Pray, what do you find so amusing?”

 

The boy was caught--his face blanked. “Sir?” Malfoy asked insolently.

 

And Severus pounced, grateful for the chance. “Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. The idea of having Houses is for you to support your peers, not ridicule them.”

 

Malfoy’s mouth dropped. In the brat’s six and a half years at Hogwarts, Severus had not ever taken a single point from the boy. Far from it--he’d shown such disgusting favoritism that Malfoy had come to consider himself above the system. “But...but...” the boy stammered, grasping for a reply.

 

“Another word, Mr. Malfoy, and it will be twenty. Shut your mouth,” Severus replied, biting back a wide grin. After six years, Malfoy was finally getting a bit of what he deserved. Miserable whelp.

 

The entire classroom was silent--even the inestimable Miss Granger was giving her Potions professor a quizzical look and Weasley had the stupidest look on his face Severus had ever seen.

 

“Get back to work!” he barked. “All of you!”

 

Miss Granger raised an eyebrow at him, but returned to her potion along with the other students.

 

----------

 

Severus wanted to die and that’s all there was to it. The second year Hufflepuff and Slytherin class that afternoon had been one disaster after another winding up with at least a dozen students in the Infirmary and the loss of about a hundred and fifty points from each House. Not even the unadulterated joy of subtracting points from young brat Malfoy could compensate for that. He’d had to work through the evening meal, cleaning up the classroom. Somehow one of the exploded cauldrons contained a rubbery substance that defied all magical cleaners and required deep, elbow-wrenching scrubbing. Of course this substance covered about two-thirds of the floor and fifteen workbenches.

 

Swearing under his breath and muttering about ‘idiot children,’ Severus dropped the brush resolutely into the bucket filled with filthy water and glared at the clean classroom. No supper in sight and now he had to go to the library with Miss Granger and help Madam Pince with whatever new devilry she had been dreaming up with Albus. Maybe he had time to slip down to the kitchens and get some food from the house-elves. His pocket watch read seven--just enough time to go to the kitchens, eat, and then make it to the library, if he ran most of the way.

 

The house-elves were delighted to see him and provided him with a huge ham sandwich. Severus tore into it gleefully, sticking an apple into his pocket for good measure as he ambled toward the library, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t run into any students on the way.

 

He’d long since finished the sandwich and was making short work of the sweet apple when he very nearly knocked over Miss Granger about five hundred feet from the library door. “Sorry,” he garbled through a mouthful of food, not realizing who he’d run into.

 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he heard a distinctly female voice reply.

 

“Oh, Miss Granger,” Severus said, swallowing quickly. “Good evening.” He coughed a bit as she stared at the apple in his hand. “I missed supper,” he continued, wondering why he felt the need to continually justify his behavior around her. He didn’t feel that urge around anyone else for certain.

 

The girl simply nodded. “I do that a lot myself,” she said. “It’s nearly eight, anyway. Madam Pince will be expecting us. And I bet ten Galleons that the headmaster comes in to make sure we both showed up.”

 

Severus gave her an amazed look. Whether he was surprised that she could discern so much about Dumbledore or that she would choose to share her insight with him, he was unsure. “As long as he doesn’t come in with awful clothing to foist upon us...” he mumbled.

 

Miss Granger let out a surprised laugh. “I keep forgetting that you have a sense of humor,” she said, blushing a bit at her forwardness.

 

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger. So do I.” Severus finished his apple thoughtfully and regarded the core as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Shall we go in?”

 

Shrugging, the girl reached for the doorknob. “Best to get it over with.”

 

Madam Pince was practically waiting at the doorway for their entrance, a faintly smiling Dumbledore at her side. She frowned at Severus’ apple core but let him deposit it in a nearby trashcan without comment. “The headmaster told me to expect you two,” she said with a nod in Dumbledore's direction. “And I must confess, I’m grateful for the help."

 

"Severus, Miss Granger," the headmaster said, smile widening. "I'm glad to see you both present."

 

“What do you need?” Severus replied curtly--he wasn't in the mood to deal with a smug Dumbledore.

 

Her frown deepened, but then again, to his knowledge, Severus had never actually seen the stern librarian smile. “You can start with today’s re-shelving, Miss Granger. And you, Professor Snape, I have something in the Restricted Section that requires your attention.” She waved Miss Granger toward an enormous stack of books and took Severus by the arm, dragging him into the bowels of the Restricted Section. Dumbledore made his exit with a polite nod in Severus' direction.

 

He felt unduly nervous. “What’s the matter, Madam Pince?” he asked formally.

 

“One of the chained books broke free last night and I haven’t been able to catch it,” she said by way of explanation. “It won’t respond to a Summoning Charm and it’s one of the Darker texts we have.”

 

Severus inwardly sighed. Last night, covered in unspeakable filth, tonight, chasing evil books. Dumbledore had a devious streak a mile wide. He was beginning to worry about what the headmaster would decide they would do tomorrow.

 

Hours passed. Long seconds ticking into eternal minutes ticking into infinite hours. Severus had managed to catch about three glimpses of the rogue text and each time had made a total fool of himself throwing himself eagerly at it.

 

After the last time, Severus simply sat down in the middle of the Restricted Section on the floor, glaring at the empty space the book had left.

 

“What on Earth are you doing?” an incredulous voice asked behind him.

 

“So you’re finished shelving books, then,” Severus replied tiredly, not even turning around.

 

Miss Granger sat down beside him. “Yes...Madam Pince said that you might need my help, but I confess, you seem to be managing to sit without any aid on my part.”

 

He looked down at her. “She didn’t tell you, then?”

 

“Tell me what?” Miss Granger was all innocence. “She didn’t have to. I saw that last attempt, Professor. I assume a book got loose.”

 

Severus sighed. So she’d seen him topple over a stack of biting books and then wrestle himself free. “If you tell anyone what you saw, Miss Granger, I promise to take away a thousand points from Gryffindor. And yes, a book got loose. Last night, according to Madam Pince.”

 

“I also assume that a Summoning Charm doesn’t work.”

 

He gave her the fiercest glare he could manage. “No, a Summoning Charm doesn’t work,” he said mockingly. “And it’s a Dark text, besides. I don’t think Madam Pince knows exactly which one it is--she doesn’t keep as thorough catalog of those books since we don’t let students near them. Even you.” But that last was not as biting as it could have been.

 

“Could we lure it?” she asked, brow furrowed.

 

“With what? Perhaps you know what books like to eat, Miss Granger, but I don’t.”

 

She gave him a long-suffering look that under other circumstances would have earned her a detention and twenty points from her House. “If it’s a Dark text, Professor, wouldn’t it be drawn to other Dark Arts?” He chose not to comment on the unspoken you idiot at the end of her question.

 

“Are you suggesting that I lure an evil textbook with an Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger?” Severus found himself asking with a sarcastic grin.

 

She grinned back at him. “Well, maybe not quite an Unforgivable,” she said in what Severus highly suspected was a teasing tone (but that wasn’t possible, his mind told him). “Maybe one of us could use...oh, I don’t know...a Willful Summoning Hex on a quill or something.”

 

He regarded her suspiciously. “You know an awful lot about this, Miss Granger.”

 

Her grin widened. “Didn’t Professor McGonagall ever tell you about my fifth year? When we held our own Defense Against the Dark Arts classes?”

 

“Oh, yes,” he said distastefully. “You had young Potter as your instructor.”

 

“Well,” Miss Granger continued, “as soon as she found out, she gave me a year-long pass to the Restricted Section for ‘research purposes.’”

 

Severus felt something in his jaw loosen. “So you’ve read the entire Restricted Section as well.” It was not a question.

 

“The parts open to students,” she said. “Obviously not all of it. There are books in here that I don’t think Dumbledore himself would dare to read.”

 

Sighing, Severus raised his wand. “Very well,” he said. “Come to me,” he whispered, feeling the shadows lace his voice as he pictured the quill on Madam Pince’s desk and urged it to approach him.

 

Miss Granger’s eyes were dinner plates.

 

He dropped his wand. “What?” he asked irritably.

 

“It’s just...I’ve never seen anyone actually use that hex,” she muttered. “It’s...strange.”

 

Severus gave her a careful look. “You can say it, Miss Granger. It’s creepy. Ah, here we go.” He plucked the quill out of the air and tucked it carefully in his pocket. “Let’s see if our damned book responds.”

 

They waited in silence for nearly ten minutes. Suddenly, Miss Granger tapped his forearm lightly. “There,” she whispered.

 

“Where?” he replied equally quietly.

 

“By that stack of Potions texts. It’s fluttering like. Don’t move.”

 

Severus immediately wanted to shift his position but resisted upon seeing the book hovering in mid-air. “What now, Miss Granger? It is your plan after all.”

 

She glared at him and again he let it pass. “On three?”

 

“How about on ‘now?’” he retorted. “I hesitate to give it three.”

 

Miss Granger nodded and tensed to spring. “Ready...now!”

 

Her cry was quiet, designed to reach Severus’ ears only, and together they threw themselves at the book.

 

For one glorious moment, Severus felt his fingers brush the front cover of the floating text. But then the precariously balanced potions books came tumbling about their ears. Fortunately, these books were relatively inanimate and Severus and Miss Granger untangled themselves with ease. “Chase it!” Severus heard himself cry. “Don’t let it get away!”

 

The book had not vanished as it had before. Instead, it was fluttering out of the Restricted Section. It wanted to play, Severus realized with a flash of insight.

 

He and Miss Granger both dashed after the text, every now and again one of them making a calculated leap as they got close enough to try.

 

“This isn’t working,” Miss Granger said, picking herself up off the floor for a fifth time. “And I think I’m going to rip something open again if I keep at it.”

 

“Heaven forbid,” he replied tartly. “Maybe if we get on either side of it. Corner it.”

 

Miss Granger nodded and slipped down one wall, trying to get on the other side of the textbook. They were in a relatively open part of the library, thankfully empty, and soon, Severus and Miss Granger stood on either side of the book, looking at each other steadily. He met her eyes, saw the question in them, and nodded slightly.

 

In an odd sort of synch that Severus would not have believed them capable of, they rushed the book, leaping in the air simultaneously and falling over the book, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

 

“Ouch,” he heard Miss Granger say from beneath him. “Come here, you horrible little bugger.” He heard her hands scrabbling around on the floor and recovered enough of his senses to roll away and join her in the fray.

 

The book was threatening to escape her hands but once Severus wrapped his fingers around the book as well, they were able to more or less force it to the floor. “Madam Pince,” Severus immediately shouted, realizing with a start that he didn’t know the woman’s first name. “We’ve got it!”

 

There was a slight rustle among the stacks and Madam Pince came bursting into the clear area with the closest thing to a smile on her face Severus had ever seen. “Excellent,” she said. “Just hold it while I go find some more chain.”

 

Swearing a bit, Severus tightened his grip on the struggling text. Miss Granger bit her lip and he saw her knuckles whiten.

 

After what seemed like three eternities at least, Madam Pince returned with a long length of chain. Miss Granger helped the librarian bind the book tightly. “Well,” Madam Pince said, holding the book on its new leash. “I think you two have done enough for this evening. You may go. Thank you, again.”

 

Once clear of the library, Severus let his shoulders slump. “Evil books and dragon dung,” he muttered. “What’s that horrible old codger going to do next?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

            The unlikelihood of change--

 

 

Only one more night of detention. One more night of bending to Albus’ bizarre whims and then he and Miss Granger were free. At least, until she did something stupid and wound up in his detention again. Quite frankly, Severus had lost count through the years of the number of detentions he’d given Miss Granger. Although he’d noticed a certain exponential growth trend through the years. She went from a student terrified of a simple reprimand from a professor to one who barely batted an eyelid at being threatened with the removal of an obscene number of House points. If it hadn’t been such a gradual transition, he would have tested her for Polyjuice.

 

Severus recalled that first night of detention, when they’d spent five minutes arguing over some physics equations and wondered dimly if he would ever be able to have such a conversation with her again. She’d actually given him quite an insight into his work in those few moments--he realized how sloppily he’d been treating the math. A missed star symbol made the difference between the improbable and the all-out impossible. Damned Muggles and their obsessive notation, he thought sourly, doodling in the margins of the parchment he was contemplating.

 

A quiet knock at the door signaled Miss Granger’s arrival. “Come in, Miss Granger,” he called, not taking his eyes off the parchment.

 

She stuck her head through the doorway. Two weeks spent in each other’s company and she still treated him as if she went in mortal terror of him. Except for the rare moments where she actually forgot he was her professor and treated him as the comrade he sort of thought they’d become. After all, she’d saved his life and he’d comforted her (if awkwardly) in the aftermath. Together they’d scrubbed out stables, stalked evil textbooks, helped the house-elves do the laundry, restored an entire hallway worth of portraits under Filch’s glaring eye, polished all of Sinistra’s filthy and rusty telescopes, and waxed Trelawney’s crystal balls (Severus still hadn’t gotten the reek of incense out of his hair), among the other devious tasks Albus had devised. And tonight would indubitably be among the worst of them.

 

He waved his hand at an empty chair. “He’s farmed us out to Minerva this evening,” he said without preamble.

 

Miss Granger’s features brightened a bit. Of course she would like a night of McGonagall, Severus reflected dismally. The Transfigurations teacher all but sang Miss Granger’s praises at every turn. She’d tried to make the girl a prefect back during her fifth year, but Dumbledore had actually put his foot down. “Maybe that won’t be so bad,” she said gingerly.

 

“Oh, it will be,” Severus replied. “We’ll be helping her fix the Transfiguration equipment. A whole night of reversing whatever awful botched effects you brats have caused. It makes my head ache just to consider it.” He forced himself to put his quill down with considerable effort. “She expects us in the Transfiguration classroom at half past the hour. We have about ten minutes, Miss Granger.”

 

The girl’s brow furrowed in thought. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I have a bit of work I can do.”

 

Severus mentally sighed. It was now or never. “Actually, Miss Granger, I was hoping you could take a look at something I’ve been working on. More of those infernal equations.”

 

She actually smiled at him--Severus was taken back; she’d never given him a genuine, full smile before. “Really?” she asked hopefully. “May I?”

 

“Oh, by all means,” he replied, shoving the parchment at her. “I find I’ve reached another block in my calculations. That final result is quite frankly nonsensical and I simply cannot find my mistake.”

 

Miss Granger frowned at the parchment, considering. “Actually, Professor, I’ve reached the same wall in my own work. It just doesn’t seem possible to describe magical energy as a field. The mathematics have not been devised yet--Muggle math seems incapable of capturing it. It’s easy to theorize that there must exist a smallest magical unit and in some sense to talk about it in a wave function sense, but it just doesn’t conform to any quantum mechanical standard.” She sounded even more frustrated about this fact than he was.

 

“Maybe it’s the organic component?” Severus offered, mind working furiously.

 

She shook her head a bit. “If our bodies can be described, at least theoretically, with this formalism, then it can encompass all organic structures. Although, I confess, magic seems to only thrive properly in living beings, above and beyond an organic matrix. Maybe that’s got something to do with...holy buggered apeshit!” Miss Granger suddenly yelped, crumpling the parchment in her hands.

 

Severus was startled--he’d never heard her use quite that level of profanity before. Not even in dealing with Malfoy. “Miss Granger?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Living beings...” Miss Granger said thoughtfully. “And most particularly animals! Plants and inorganic matter aren’t magical unless infused with it by another living being. Don’t you see?” She gave Severus a pleading look. “It’s in our blood, Professor! It’s all biochemical! Magic isn’t a field in the air, it’s in us!” Eagerly, she snatched up a clean sheet of parchment and began scrawling on it.

 

Severus felt his mouth fall open. “Like...cellular material?” he asked in a tone halfway between curiosity and excitement.

 

The girl was nearly shaking with the impact of her insight. “And that’s why blood is so powerful. It’s the closest thing to raw magic we have! Unicorn’s blood, dragon’s blood, even the blood of your enemy. That’s where the magic is. And that’s why Harry Potter didn’t die when You-Know-Who hexed him. All that blather about his mother’s love is nonsense--it was her blood that saved him. A blood sacrifice.” Her hand continued to fly across the parchment, covering it mostly with words but a few biochemical scrawlings as well. “I bet our cellular structure is slightly altered. Random fluctuations. Oh, Professor, don’t you understand? We can find out where magic originated!”

 

Severus began to catch on. “Magic came about through perfectly normal fluctuations in human structure during evolution. And that we can trace. If we can tack down the actual magical component in our blood, we can track it back to the source. Like mitochondrial evolution!” He found himself becoming excited as well.

 

She was shaking her head over the paper. “It’s so much more complicated than I’d ever envisioned.”

 

He leaned across the desk and put both his hands on her shoulders. “Miss Granger, you must publish this as soon as you can get a paper together. This might be the most important discovery in magical theory to date!”

 

She nodded. “I’ll owl Edoras immediately and ask him what issue he’s got room in.”

 

Severus froze in place, gripping her shoulders more tightly. “How on Earth can you be on a first-name basis with Edoras Griffiths?” He was baffled as to how Miss Granger knew the all-important first editor of MRL.

 

Something hardened in Miss Granger’s face. “Uh...Professor...you see...well, think about it.”

 

And think about it he did. How could Hermione Granger have come in contact with...oh...he had it now. Severus felt incredibly stupid--he'd been staring the solution in the face all along. “Hermione Granger,” he said out loud. “H.G. Not a particularly original pseudonym...You’re the new mystery theorist?” he asked her incredulously. “That means...”

 

Miss Granger nodded. “I published my first article when I was sixteen years old. I submitted under a pseudonym because I knew no one would take a sixth year student seriously. But I didn’t think much about my pseudonym because I didn’t think I would be accepted.”

 

Severus regarded the girl with a renewed sense of awe. “Hogwarts stopped teaching you anything somewhere during your second year, didn’t it?”

 

She grinned self-deprecatingly. “Well...I didn’t finish the library until fifth year,” she said. “And I have the characteristic social issues to work through, of course.”

 

Still staring at her, Severus willed himself to shut his mouth. And then he happened to let his eyes flick up to read the clock. “Oh, Merlin’s beard,” he said. “We were supposed to be in Minerva’s classroom fifteen minutes ago. Have your cuts healed enough to run for it?”

 

Miss Granger shrugged a bit. “We’ll find out, now won’t we?” And with that, she leapt out of her chair and took off for the Transfiguration classroom at a dead run, Severus dogging her heels, not even caring whether or not any students saw him. If they were too late, Dumbledore would likely give them another night’s worth of work.

 

Minerva McGonagall was sitting primly in the middle of her classroom surrounded by boxes of disfigured beetles, broken buttons, and other half-Transfigured debris. She simply looked down her nose at Severus and Miss Granger, both staggering in her doorway, gasping for air.

 

“I was wondering when you two would show up,” she said. “Miss Granger, I’ve got a handful of poor half-slippered rabbits you can try your hand at. Severus, how are you at music box parrots these days?”

 

“We’ll see,” he panted, flinging himself gracelessly into a nearby chair and pulling out his wand. Miss Granger followed suit, prodding a hapless rabbit thoughtfully.

 

“Professor Snape?” the girl asked into the silence of the classroom as the strange trio worked.

 

He grunted, mind struggling to remember what the exact words used to turn a parrot into a music box were.

 

“Does Hogwarts have any microscopes laying around?” she asked, that excitement still making her cheeks flush.

 

“Micro-whats?” McGonagall asked, startled from her box of buttons.

 

“Does that answer your question, Miss Granger?” Severus replied with a smirk. “Strictly a Muggle instrument, a microscope is.”

 

She sighed. “It would be nice to get a hold of a uni quality one. For, you know, experiments.” Miss Granger gave him a knowing look and he immediately understood what she was talking about.

 

“You’re certainly in a strange mood this evening, Miss Granger,” McGonagall commented, putting down a box of newly restored beetles and turning to the box filled with beetles caught halfway to buttons.

 

“I just, um, had an interesting idea, Professor,” Miss Granger replied evasively, eyes flicking back to Severus for a moment.

 

He gazed back at her reflectively. They shared a secret now and it felt good. Severus hadn’t felt this sort of camaraderie in years...decades, really. And when she was in the middle of a thought, when she was practically sparkling with a new idea, she very nearly looked beautiful.

 

Startled, Severus dropped the parrot he’d been poking on the floor where the bird landed with a pitiful squawk. Beautiful? Where did that come from? She was a student. A snarly Gryffindor with an overblown sense of honor and the most unruly hair he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

But her eyes were warm and her smile was somehow intriguing. She would never be a true beauty. Actually, not many would even consider her very pretty. But there was something about her that snagged his attention. More and more, lately.

 

Severus suppressed a mental snort and picked up his poor bird, finally completing its awkward transformation back into complete parrot and setting it in a prepared cage. As if he had any room to talk. He was entirely too thin for his frame and his nose more than outsized the rest of his face. He knew he wasn’t exactly ugly, per se, but there was a reason he’d never actually been in a meaningful relationship.

 

As if he was standing in front of a mirror, Severus conjured up a mental image of himself in his mind’s eye, giving it a critical once-over. He needed to gain about twenty pounds of muscle and he could stand to go out in the sun once in a while. His teeth were an absolute wreck--he cleaned them dutifully these days (after hearing one of the Weasley twins refer to him as a ‘yellow-toothed bat’ some four years ago), but they were still as crooked as ever. The nose was better unmentioned--Lucius Malfoy had broken it some twenty years ago and it hadn’t been a particularly attractive feature even before that. And his hair. If he didn’t spend the day in a dungeon full of potion fumes, it was tolerable, although a bit too fine for his tastes, but that was a rare day indeed. Most of the time it was a horrible, greasy, lanky mop. Severus had actually debated shaving his head on more than one occasion but in the end refrained, deciding he looked bad enough already. There was no need to add a milk-white, blue-veined scalp into the equation.

 

He turned the next music box/parrot back into its original form with little effort--the Transfiguration had gone mostly correctly and there were few mistakes to unravel. The next one, however, proved to be quite a puzzler--it outwardly looked like a parrot, save a suspiciously wind-key shaped set of tail feathers, but instead of emitting an avian squawk, it sang the first bar of “The Blue Danube” whenever it opened its mouth.

 

“You may just want to leave that one, Severus,” McGonagall said, glancing up from her beetles. “I think the only thing that will reverse that is time.”

 

“Bloody students,” Severus grumbled, shoving the parrot into a cage, where it gazed forlornly back at him, blinking every now and then.

 

“Come, Severus, it wasn’t as if you were any better,” McGonagall chided.

 

He sent her a glare of pure venom and noted out of the corner of his eye that Miss Granger was smirking at him.

 

“In fact,” McGonagall continued, ignoring him entirely, “I recall one particularly disastrous day in your sixth year when you managed to produce a living mouse that coughed up salt from your salt cellar. I kept him, you know. Could never figure out what you did. And I suppose I ought to let you know that he lived to a healthy old age and learned to enjoy salted cheese.”

 

Severus felt the blush spread across his cheeks. He hadn’t been a particularly good Transfigurations student--he couldn’t focus enough for it. Potions and Charm work required a mind good at multi-tasking; Transfigurations asked for the complete opposite. As a student, Severus had blown a great number of transformations by simply being distracted from his task by something trivial. That was why Gryffindors were usually quite good at it, he considered with an evil sort of internal grin, they were generally unhealthily single-minded.

 

Miss Granger was regarding him with near devilish glee. “Foolish wand-waving, eh?” she asked teasingly.

 

“A thousand points, Miss Granger,” he shot back, grabbing his next music box so tightly it squawked in protest.

 

She just rolled her eyes at him and sat her newly restored rabbit on the floor, giving its ears a gentle pat.

 

McGonagall’s jaw dropped. “A thousand...Severus, really,” she cried.

 

It was his turn to roll his eyes at the indignant Gryffindor. “I wasn’t serious, Minerva,” he drawled. “Contrary to popular belief, I do happen to possess a sense of humor. It’s just not puerile enough for you bloody single-minded Gryffindors to appreciate.”

 

Miss Granger snorted through her nose and attempted to hide it with a smothered cough. McGonagall appeared not to hear her, but Severus gave the girl a rather sly look.

 

“I suppose, Miss Granger,” he said in a dulcet voice that usually signaled he was about to be particularly verbally abusive, “that you excel at Transfigurations.”

 

“I find the subject a useful exercise in maintaining concentration,” she replied with a sugary sweet smile. “Although it does not come to me as naturally as, say Charms, I enjoy the rather meditative qualities that Transfiguration encourages. Perhaps you would benefit from such study, Professor.”

 

He winced. Touché, Miss Granger.

 

McGonagall looked back and forth between the pair. “I believe, Miss Granger, that you have been spending entirely too much time around Severus. And Severus, what's gotten into you? I would think Miss Granger would have lost at least seventy points by now and been given a handful of detentions besides.”

 

Shrugging, Severus turned away from Miss Granger. “I’ve tried. It doesn’t bother that one at all and I absolutely refuse to hand her any more detentions after the past two weeks.”

 

“The past two weeks?” McGonagall echoed, confusion apparent in her features.

 

Severus was incredulous. Probably Miss Granger was as well, although she masked it well. “You mean, Albus didn’t tell anyone what happened? Not even you?”

 

“The headmaster doesn’t tell the staff everything, Severus. Surely you’ve realized that by now.” She gave him a sideways look.

 

“Two weeks ago, Miss Granger and I...um...disappointed Albus severely and he assigned us detention for the duration. Tonight is the last night.” He picked up the last parrot in the box and began turning it over in his hands.

 

“What in Merlin’s name did you two do? Albus hasn’t personally assigned detention to my knowledge since he was still teaching. Oh, wait,” she said shrewdly, “this has to do with the reason that the both of you disappeared for two days. If I’m not mistaken, young Harry Potter was gone as well. Why isn’t he here?”

 

Miss Granger coughed a bit, fidgeting in her seat. Severus decided he could tell her the truth. Well, bits of it at any rate. “Potter was taken, Minerva,” he said. “And Miss Granger and I took it upon ourselves to liberate him.”

 

Surprise and confusion were the predominate emotions in McGonagall’s eyes. “Why?” she asked blankly. “Why didn’t Albus go?”

 

“Oh, he did,” Miss Granger said, surprising both professors. “But there was another place that Professor Snape didn’t remember until it was too late to alert anyone. Don’t worry, though, Professor. Everything’s all right now.”

 

Realization dawned in McGonagall’s eyes and she put the box of completely restored beetles to her side. “That’s how you were injured,” she breathed, looking at the girl with new respect.

 

“Madam Pomfrey says that in another two weeks I’ll be completely healed,” Miss Granger replied with some satisfaction in her voice. “And most of the scars will disappear. Except for the worst ones.”

 

“Scars?”

 

Severus gave Miss Granger a vicious look--of course McGonagall didn’t know about the girl’s real injuries.

 

Widened eyes told him that she’d just realized this as well. “Someone had a knife,” Miss Granger replied, unwilling to elaborate further.

 

“Oh, my dear girl!” McGonagall cried, wringing her hands.

 

“Like I said, Professor,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m nearly healed. And I’m done with the rabbits. Is there anything else?” she asked in a clear attempt to abandon the subject.

 

McGonagall glanced around the room and saw two dozen content rabbits, a cluster of parrots dozing happily in their cages (one was still humming “The Blue Danube,” but there was nothing Severus could do about that), and her seething box of beetles. Still looking slightly dazed, she shook her head. “No, dear, I think you two can go for this evening. Thank you--you’ve saved me about five hours worth of work.”

 

Severus and Miss Granger escaped the room as quickly as they could, tucking wands back into robes. He put a hand up to his aching forehead ruefully--Transfiguration always did give him a headache. Perhaps he had something in his office to take care of it.

 

“Professor, sir?” Miss Granger was asking hesitantly.

 

He grunted.

 

“Can I please retrieve my papers from your office? I’d like to continue to work on the theory.” She was looking down at her feet as she said this.

 

“Of course, Miss Granger,” he replied impatiently. Another thought struck him. “You may, if you wish, continue to work in my office. I’m certain it’s more quiet than your dormitory,” he said, deliberately inserting an off-handed tone into the offer.

 

She looked up at him sharply, narrowing her eyes as she regarded him. “Really?” she asked. “Although,” the girl continued, practically talking to herself, “I suppose we ought to work on it together. If you like, of course, sir,” she said, looking startled as she realized he was still there.

 

He was flabbergasted--she was willing to share the credit for her discovery with him? And more to the point, she wanted to continue to work with him? Severus smothered his grin with considerable effort, trying to hide it under his best scowl. “That would be...acceptable, Miss Granger. Although I confess that it has been many years since I have accomplished any noteworthy research.” Severus began walking toward his office, eyebrow indicating that she should follow him.

 

She began chattering again, her speech rapid and fluttery as she thought aloud. “I just wish we could get our hands on a microscope. And maybe a centrifuge. It would be so much easier to do proper research with...I guess the theory should be fleshed out first, though. Wouldn’t do to begin experimentation without a proper thesis...it’s just...”

 

“You do realize, of course, Miss Granger, that any sort of Muggle equipment you use would have to be modified to handle the magical environment?” Severus asked, doing a fair amount of thinking out loud himself.

 

She flapped her hand absently at him and picked up her pace as they walked down the corridor. “That shouldn't be a big deal,” she said. “A lot of the equipment we’d need wouldn’t be electric anyway. And the centrifuge could be charmed, I think...they can’t be that complex and once we take it apart...”

 

“Yes,” Severus continued her train of thought, "we might be able to construct a magical device that simulated the motor, as long as it was not a complicated one. We’d have to obtain some tools, as well, though.”

 

They were standing in front of his locked office. Severus dropped the wards with a wand flick and opened the door, letting Miss Granger walk in under his arm without a thought. “I wonder, though,” Miss Granger continued, “if it is a separate component in the blood or actually infused into the cellular structure.” She sat down in the same chair she’d previously occupied.

 

Severus sat behind his desk and leaned over it, reading the parchment she’d been working on. “Separate component, I’d think. How would it be infused into the cells, Miss Granger?”

 

She was shaking her head, pulling out a quill. “That seems unnecessarily complex, Professor. Besides, we don’t know its manifestation. Just because it defies a proper quantum mechanical description doesn’t mean we aren’t discussing structures of atomic size.”

 

“Like, what, ten Angstroms? A hundred nanometers?” He tapped his fingers on the wood impatiently. “Although if we’re to consider all the possibilities, we might as well posit another natural element, present only in hemoglobic systems.”

 

“Only if we can isolate it,” she retorted. “And I’d hesitate to call it an element yet. It may not be structured that way. Maybe more of a protein. Or something to do with junk DNA.”

 

“You sound like a Muggle science fiction novel, Miss Granger,” he said with a smirk. “Although that’s as good as anything I’ve got. But look here...” He plucked the quill out of her ink-stained fingers and scrawled out a line full of symbols.

 

She snatched the quill back and crossed out one of the symbols. “No...that goes somewhere else. Maybe...”

 

----------

 

They’d gone back and forth for the entire night, working through an entire stack of parchment. At one point, Hermione actually crawled up on Snape’s desk and she’d stayed there, cross-legged and bent over their growing list of equations. “It doesn’t balance!” she cried, nearly snapping her quill with frustration.

 

“Everything’s mostly water and empty space anyway,” Snape retorted placidly. “Good Lord, Miss Granger, do you realize it’s six in the morning?”

 

Hermione swore under her breath. “Class in less than two hours,” she muttered, scratching her head and shoving curls out of her eyes. “But look, Professor, all of this is a moot point if the unit is present in a pre-existing structure,” she continued, tapping a set of equations he’d been working on.

 

“But it doesn’t make sense any other way,” he protested

 

“Why not?” she argued. “We share ninety eight percent of our DNA structure with the rest of the animal kingdom. That much in common means that you don’t have to have an independent unit to share between magical beings. It might as well be in an already developed matrix. Simple rules, complex behavior, sir.”

 

“How would identical units evolve simultaneously in that many creatures, Miss Granger? The odds are not that great--you’re talking about a statistical probability so close to zero it doesn’t bear consideration. And besides, Miss Granger, I have to sit through three hours of yapping Ravenclaw and Slytherin third years, beginning in the next two hours, and I’d rather do it with at least a cup of coffee in my system. No more of this nonsense--you can persist in being incorrect later.” He gave her a pointed look that was part condescension and part humor.

 

She glared in reply. “I hate you,” she spat as she stalked out of his office.

 

“Good,” he retorted as she vigorously slammed the door.

 

“Arrogant bastard,” she hissed at the closed door.

 

“Careful, Miss Granger,” Snape warned through the same door, making her jump with fright. She hadn’t known he could hear her.

 

Hermione proceeded through her shower and her breakfast as mechanically as she could, mind still busily working over the possibilities of their new theory. She was so distracted, in fact, that Harry had to actually shake her shoulder before she noticed him. “I’m sorry, Harry, were you saying something?” she asked breathlessly.

 

He gave her an odd look. “I’ve only called you about a dozen times, Hermione.”

 

“So...what do you need?” She absently shunted her cold eggs from one edge of her plate to the other.

 

“I was going to ask you how your detention went last night. It was your last one, wasn’t it? Must have gone late--didn’t notice you in the Common Room.” Shoving his glasses up his nose, Harry smiled sympathetically at her.

 

“McGonagall was in charge,” she said with a shrug. “We helped her straighten out the mis-transformed equipment. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.” And then she drifted off again, immersed in her thoughts.

 

Her classes passed in the same fashion--she barely noticed that anyone was speaking. Hagrid had actually taken off five points when she failed to respond to his question the third time he put it to her.

 

“Good Lord, Hermione, you’re acting like Ron when he’s got a new crush,” Harry whispered in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Who are you mooning over?”

 

She blinked once or twice. In love? Yes...Hermione was certainly in love. Just not with a person.