A/N: A long overdue giftfic for the wonderful, nurturing and completely inspiring Story, Please. My writing has grown in leaps and bounds in the few months I had a chance know and work with you; and to think, I was writing to help you? Ha!

It has suddenly become a multi-chapter fic, so here is the first installment based on a few prompts from the guru herself.

Prompts include:

Animagus transformation

Someone has a bad reaction to a potion ingredient

Thar be dragons

Christmas/ Winter theme

The Eyes of the Dragon

Has this ever happened before when using Polyjuice potion? He cocked an eyebrow to emphasize his growing annoyance. He already had another crisis on his hands at the moment, and this was not easing his anxiety one iota.

"It's been a few years since I've needed to use Polyjuice potion, Severus," Minerva answered, in a huff. "It's not like I regularly wander around the castle pretending to be someone else!" She turned her back on him, settling into a warm, sunny spot on her desk and began to groom her ears.

"I think you've been trying to make do with inferior ingredients again," she purred. "I would check on your Lacewing stores to make sure they aren't rancid."

Severus Snape had no choice but to wait her out. Minerva could be catty sometimes, but this took the cake. It frustrated him no end to look upon her backside, (no matter how adorably furry) but he was going to have to live with it for the moment. He needed her assistance, pride be damned. This went well beyond her questioning the quality of his potions stores.

He would have cleared his throat, had it been physically possible.

One of the drawbacks of having one's throat ripped out by a snake. he mused to himself.

"What was that?" she asked, peering up at him from beneath her own back leg.

Severus cringed. He'd forgotten to close off his mind. Again. He was getting very sloppy with that now that it was his primary means of communication. His mind had gone from being a steel trap to an open book in little less than ten years. It made him feel vulnerable.

You know very well that I personally collect most of my stores now that I no longer teach. I can vouch for the vast majority of my ingredients as being of the highest quality.

Minerva paused in her cleaning to look back over her shoulder at him and rolled her large, green eyes.

"Well, something was wrong with the potion. You see the state I'm in!"

She got up onto all fours and arched her back, turning around to face him again. She stretched, languidly, before curling herself back up on the desk, all the while making sure her back was being warmed by the late winter sun pouring through the window.

That begs the question, Minerva; what were you using the Polyjuice for, anyway?

Her eyes got big and round as she slowly retracted her leg and sat upright in a distinctly Minerva way. "As Headmistress of Hogwarts, it is well within my purview to review the standards and upkeep of potions throughout the school!"

Severus imagined he could see her straightening her robes as she spoke. So thoroughly Minerva.

By all means, of course; but that doesn't usually mean testing them out on one self.

If Minerva had had lips to purse, now would have been the time; as it was, she was sitting as erect as one might imagine a feline likely to and had narrowed her eyes to nothing but tense, narrow, lime-green slits.

Severus cocked an eyebrow.

"I assume you came here for something else besides my random potions sampling?" she asked, dismissing the previous topic altogether.

He had almost forgotten. Almost.

Why yes. I did. He pulled a what looked like a Remembrall out of his pocket and motioned towards the curtains with a questioning look. Minerva nodded tightly and he quickly closed them with a casual flick of his wand.

Severus pulled up a seat next to Minerva's desk. Considering her current predicament, most importantly her lack of opposable thumbs, he held the glass up to her eye level and motioned over it with his wand.

The normal clouds of white mist gave way to images moving across the small field of vision. Severus had modified this Remembrall to show images from his own memory, much like a

Pensieve. It had some advantages — like being portable — but it also had detriments; namely, it could only show so much at once. It was a work in progress; surprisingly little research had been done on communication with mutes. So, while the device spared him needing to try and explain everything via Legilimency, it also, sometimes, created more confusion because of the context that might be left out.

Minerva feared this might be one of those times.

"Dragons?" she asked. "Here?!"

Evidently He stood up and smoothed down the front of this robes; then he looked at Minerva.

"This is going to require some expertise, and a little backup," she said. She finished her grooming and then took a haughty stance, looking up at him expectantly.

Really? he asked, keeping is arms firmly crossed in front of his body.

Minerva managed to cock an eyebrow of her own and smirk in a uniquely feline way. Severus felt his shoulder slump in defeat.

"Really," she replied, and she leapt into his arms.

XXXXX

I'm still not sure what we need Hagrid for. Severus complained.

Minerva was certain that if she could see his face, he'd be pouting. Tucked up as she was into Hagrid's warm flannel vest, Minerva could peek out and see where they were headed, but preferred to stay comfortably stowed away against the sharp winter wind coming off the lake as the motley crew made their way toward the Forbidden Forest.

It was most definitely out of character for Severus to be so emotionally invested in anything, but this case might be somewhat different. She was almost smug in her certainty, but she kept her Cheshire Cat's smile to herself.

'Not that Severus would ever admit to being so committed,' she thought. 'He never even managed to admit to Lily until it was far too late.' Minerva's tail twitched.

Does this mean you are not going to answer me? Severus broke into Minerva's thoughts, prodding her again.

Shall I answer aloud so that Hagrid can hear that you would rather he not be here? Or should I continue to talk to you this way so that it is obvious to our third party that we are purposefully not including him?

Severus stuffed him hands down deeper in his pockets and silently huffed. Minerva could only tell he'd done so from the puff of mist that crystallized in front of his face.

In the decade since the end of the last war, Minerva had never quite gotten used to not being able to hear the voice of Severus Snape. He had always moved with the grace of a cat, pun intended, but now, without his distinctive voice, he had become more silent than a House Ghost floating along the corridors. Granted, in her mind, his voice was the same as it had been in life, but to see him trudge through the snow without hearing him make so much as a sigh against the cold was unnerving still.

'What would I do if I were suddenly a mute?' Minerva was not certain that she would have handled it with as much aplomb as Severus had.

"You should really be wearing a hat," she said aloud, without preface. It was a habit of her dotage that she considered an expression of her latent maternal streak. When her words failed her, she moved to take physical care of those she loved. It was a weak substitute, she knew, but it was sometimes all she had.

"I ha'e an extra in mah pocket, if yer wannit?" Hagrid offered, amiably. Severus made a show of pulling up his hood and hiding his face from them both with no reply, verbal or otherwise.

"Do you know where we're headed, Hagrid?" She turned to her warm, burly companion.

"Shuld'na be far afore we're thinkin' ta stop and regroup," Hagrid answered, oblivious to the snub intended by Severus' cold shoulder. "You said you werna sure o'where she is?"

"That's right," Minerva answer for herself and her brooding companion. "We only got the one message via her Patronus. And she was whispering as as not to wake up the mother."

"Caw…dragons...right here in me own backyeard," he mused, the smile growing bigger on his face.

Make sure our Gameskeeper doesn't get too excited about this one. We certainly can't keep it!

Minerva made no outward answer choosing rather to leer over at the hooded figure instead, trying as she might to stare daggers at him through the heavy velvet cloth that obscured his visage from her glare.

"Wait!" Minerva called out, suddenly. Her head bobbed up and down as she peered out into the gloom, her pupils wide. There were some advantages to being stuck in her Animagus form; enhanced eyesight was one of them.

"There," she whispered using her paw to point just off to the right of where she and Hagrid stood on the forest track. Big as he was, Severus was forced to step in close to the burly groundskeeper so as to see around his bulky form at what had caught Minerva's attention.

Faintly, they could see light; bluish in colour, it stood out for its unnaturalness.

Like a will o'the wisp.

Hermione's distinct otter patronus swam its way toward them, taking what could only be described as a circuitous route.

Any thoughts on her commanding her Patronus to not come to us directly? Severus asked a question Minerva was quite sure he could answer for himself.

You know as well as I do, it is likely she is trying not to draw attention to us. Or herself, for that matter.

And that would be because…"

Because she is in trouble. Big trouble.

XXXXX

Hermione had managed to, ever so slowly, cover her lower half with leaves and pine needles for warmth. At this point, she needed the extra warmth. She had dressed for a less eventful walk through the Forbidden Forest; one in which she had not anticipating having to spend hours creeping and hiding along the almost frozen ground. Her hair was a tussle of knots and debris, despite her own cloak having been pulled up and over her form so as to not attract too much attention. Her knees were worn through her woolen tights to bare skin, scraped and bruised and in almost as bad a shape as the palms of her hands that had spent all these hours scrabbling in the dirt.

I haven't been in this bad a shape since the war, she sighed.

She laid still and watched as her Patronus had lazily floated off into the gloaming, hoping against hope that Severus had received her first message.

It had to be Severus.

She had meant to run into him in the forest, so she assumed he was either here already, or on his way when she sent out her first message.

Rallying the troops is where the real time went, she reminded herself as she fought off shivers that threatened to rack her whole body. She was getting too cold to wait much longer without fearing for her life.

Well, fearing any more for my life.

Rather than dwell on her almost-certain demise, she tucked her chin down into her cloak and took another peek at her biggest little problem.

The smallest dragonlet she had ever seen continued to sleep happily snuggled between her sweater and blouse; just at the crux of her breasts. Had she been wearing a chain, the little thing might've looked like an oversized pendant. A mottle of grays and greens, when curled up, it almost could be passed over as a stone or clump of moss. Within the protection of Hermione's black woolen cloak, it was hardly more than a shadow.

As if it knew, the dragonlet emitted a small sigh of contentment, raising its head ever so slightly to look at Hermione with its blazing amethyst eyes. She had never felt a spell as powerful as looking into the eyes of a dragon. She was enthralled, all the while knowing she was trapped in the most dangerous position of her life.

And, just like that, the dragonlet closed its eyes and tucked its head back down into her cleavage. Hermione shook herself back into reality; even though she had only had the baby dragon for an hour or so, she found that with each meeting of their eyes — their minds — she was being entangled more and more into its very essence. As if she and the little creature on her chest were becoming one.

Hermione burrowed down further into her foxhole, and hoped the cavalry was on its way. Then again, if it meant having to explain this to Severus, she wasn't sure if freezing to death might be the better option.

XXXXX

Hermione Jean Granger fared better than most of the students who returned to Hogwarts to finish their educations after the war. Granted, many decided that life had taught them quite enough and moved on to careers without issue, but Hermione had wanted to return if only to gain some sense of normalcy back for herself. After years of struggling to get together, it took only months for she and Ron to fall apart. He chose not to return to school and they would row constantly about the time she dedicated to her studies, keeping them apart. When all was said and done, they didn't even manage to make it to the New Year.

Naively, Hermione had thought they might try again once she was done with school. She was already aware that Ron did not value a formal education as much as she did, but with all their history together, she was certain they would find their way back once there was more time.

That all disintegrated on her train ride back to London following a successful final year and glowing NEWTs. She overheard a Fifth Year girl talking about it; a lovely, but hasty wedding of a friend of hers to one of the Weasley boys.

"You remember Sage?" she asked her companion.

"Barely," the other girl replied. "Sister to someone who died, right?"

"Great Merlin, Laura! Could you be more insensitive?" the girl who started the conversation kicked her friend in the shin, getting a loud yelp in return.

"Sage is Lavender Brown's sister! Lav died fighting Voldemort. Have some respect!"

"Alright, alright….oooo…" Laura moaned, rubbing her leg gingerly before asking. "That really hurt, you witch!"

"You were being a right—"

"So?!" Her companion broke in, rebuffing the coming insult. "What of it?"

"Weeelllll, the rumor is that one Ronald Weasley came around over the winter— wanting to pay his respects to the family—he dated Lav for a while you know— and, well, the rest, as they say, is history."

The girls tittered on, but Hermione had long since stopped listening. She felt paralyzed; like she'd been hexed into a stiff, silent place where the world could no longer reach her.

All her plans…

All the ways she had thought things might come back around were laid bare in their ridiculousness; as substantial as wisps of memory floating in a Pensieve. Her arrival in London only made it more obvious that life, and her expectations for it, had changed while she was away. Only Harry waited on the platform to meet her, and it became obvious by his rushed demeanor that is was only out of pity for her lack of family.

"Okay, so there's an extra key here, on the counter," he said, rushing about the kitchenette of his small flat before Hermione could even get her coat off. "Milk in the fridge, tea in the cupboard." He threw a book and a few pieces of clothing in a bag and zipped it up.

"Really good market just a few doors down if you need anything more substantial." He picked up his bag and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? I just got here," she asked, confused.

"Yeah," he stopped at the door, his free hand rising to rub his neck. His eyes never met hers. "Timing is bad, is all," he said. "Gotta get back to the Burrow. Big to-do out there right now…"

"Right," was all she said. She felt her shoulders slump. She should have realized, especially after what she'd overheard on the way home.

Harry looked visibly relieved that she didn't press him.

"I'm back in two, three days max, yeah? Make yourself at home," he said over his shoulder as he bustled out the door.

And she was alone again; an outcast; an oddity. She thought she'd left that behind when she'd found Harry and Ron. Thought it was over with when she'd survived the war and returned to school a hero.

Turns out, you can always be cast out, no matter who you are.

By the time Harry returned on the following Monday, Hermione was gone.

XXXXX

Waking up was the most unexpected part; at first.

Severus had never planned on living. Had never planned on having to confront the results of his ill-fortuned life. He only wanted the sweet relief that death was sure to bring.

Except he didn't get it.

He opened his eyes to the harsh fluorescent lighting above his bed in a darkened hospital ward at St. Mungo's; or at least he hoped that was where he'd ended up. Truly, he was in no position to make an assessment.

As was made plain quite quickly, he was also under close and constant monitoring.

"Well, well, Mr. Snape. Welcome back to the land of the living." A pleasantly plump mediwitch bustled around his bed, checking vitals and making notes all while waving a wand here and there.

"I don't think we expected to see you conscious for another week or so," she said without a hint of irony in her voice.

Sorry to disappoint.

He had expected his voice to be soft, hoarse, maybe even cracked. But he didn't hear a thing. And, as evidenced from the nurse's soft humming to herself, she didn't hear him either.

He tried to clear his throat. His muscles were beyond stiff and sore; he didn't feel like he could move them at all. Instinctively, his hand clutched at this throat.

"Oh, my, yes, my dear," his attendant replied, quickly coming to his side and grasping his hand away from the extensive bandaging around his neck. "You're going to want to give yourself some time."

Time? Time for what? He knew he should have been speaking. Why wasn't he hearing anything? Not even a croak?

"Your doctor will be here in a few hours," she cooed at him, pouring a cool glass of water beside his bed. "Here you go. Drink."

Severus took the first sip tepidly, but the soothing coolness only enhanced his thirst. Before he knew it, he was struggling to sit up in order to gulp down more.

"Easy does it," she said, gently taking the glass away. "Not too much at once. You'll make yourself sick."

How much sicker can I get? You already can't hear me when I'm speaking to you."

The hand that was reaching to take the glass back changed directions and was now headed towards his own throat. Severus tilted his chin upwards towards the ceiling, allowing his long, bone-thin fingers to fumble with the gauze, all the while, he never took his eyes from the mediwitch. She stood, gaping, but never moved to stop him.

His initial contact with skin revealed what he expected; the bumpiness of scar tissue that seemed to be everywhere along the length and breadth of his throat. Considering that he was certain, at the time, that he was going to die, it did not come as a surprise.

It was only after he had run his fingers along his neck a second, and then a third time, that he started to realize the extent of the damage. The hollowness of his throat was more than that of a very sick man who'd lost some weight. The lack of structure to his neck; the fact that his Adam's apple could not be detected by touch—

His eyes widened in comprehension. Bring me a mirror.

The mediwitch broke her gaze and filled his glass again, leaving it to rest on his side table. "Healer Smethwyck will be here in a few hours and should be able to address all your questions."

She got up and walked away from him abruptly, continuing to avoid looking at him directly. Severus could feel the strain on his face as he struggled to get her attention, but it was evident within moments that she was not going to allow that to happen. The mediwitch checked one more item on his charts and layered another blanket over his feet before turning off the light and leaving without a word.

Severus fell back against his pillows, his gaze turning toward the windows and the imminent sunrise of the new day, and began to realize that there were fates worse than death.

XXXXX

Hermione came to discover that life had many more twists and turns in store for her. Working at the Ministry was the second thing that didn't go to plan.

She certainly had the ability and acumen to make a skilled Auror. Actually, her first manager was thrilled to have her, conceding that the last round of recruits ended up being mostly mediocre and almost all had washed out.

"Someone of your caliber and work ethic will most definitely acclimate much more quickly and adeptly to the work here in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," tittered Samuel Devine. "You will be a star in no time, I am certain!"

Hermione could clearly see the pride of his face; he expected that her success would reflect well on him. It made her wonder if her teachers had felt the same way.

Did they only tolerate me because my aptitude made them look good?

She thought back to that moniker she'd earned: "Brightest Witch of Her Age" and it made her feel ill.

She tried to shrug it off, but she couldn't help to think back to the one person who had gone out of his way to make sure he didn't fawn over her academic prowess. If anything, he humbled her at every opportunity.

Maybe Snape had been right.

She supposed that she'd never really know.

Weeks turned into months and even years, but Hermione never felt content. Superiors came and went; promotions, too, but life never really felt fulfilling. Friends were few and far between as life took Harry and Ginny increasingly into their own family life, and Ron? Well, it was too difficult, at first, to even think about being in his orbit with his young, beautiful wife and their children (of course, he would have twins right out of the gate!). By the time Hermione was at a place emotionally where she might've been able to handle having Ron back in her life, they had lost the importance to each other that, at one time, might've been of value.

Her love life was even more pathetic, if truth be told. She dated, sure. She was something of a novelty at the Ministry, at first, and had more than a few suitors and a number of messy, drunken tumbles in her first year. Novelty waned, though, and her interest in those who were only looking to get seen with her, a hero of the last war against the Dark, waned even faster than the awkward offers. Before her second anniversary in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the word had gotten out that Hermione Granger was a cold fish.

It was only by chance (at least she thought it had been chance) that she ran into one Minerva McGonagall while out running errands on her lunch break in the Mayfair.

"Ms. Granger! How lovely to see you!" Minerva called out from some distance away, shaking Hermione out of her reverie as she stared into a shop window. She was debating the cost of a new winter coat on a particularly chilly December afternoon against her savings for a vacation to Majorca. To say she was surprised would have been an understatement.

"Professor?!" She gaped. "My apologies, Headmistress."

"No need for formality, Hermione," the older woman smiled, reaching out to hug her former student. "I'm so glad I caught you."

"Oh? What would bring you to London in the middle of school year? And why were you looking for me?"

"Because whenever I have a special project, I've grown very accustomed to having a certain, savvy young woman at my disposal with whom to work," she said. "And it just so happens, I have something very special I am going to need some help with."

XXXXX

Severus Snape was no one's project, least of all Hermione Granger's, and he took especial affront to her return to Hogwarts.

"Of all people, Severus," Minerva scolded, "you should know what it feels like to experience loss and rejection."

Severus crossed his arms and scowled.

"She has thrived here before; I think she can again. The larger world is not to her liking, at least not at the moment. And I think we could all benefit from her taking on even a temporary tenure here." Minerva was tempted to cross her own arms, but resisted the urge. She didn't want this to escalate into a confrontation. She needed him to feel like he was lending his assistance to her; Minerva bit back a smile. She didn't want to give the game away.

I am still uncertain as to what it has to do with me.

"You can be obtuse when you choose to," Minerva sighed. "I would like for her to study with you a bit so she can take over a teaching position."

You mean to give her Potions?

"Can you say you are happy with the current occupant of said position?" she asked, pointedly. It wasn't that Blaise wasn't competent; but perhaps maybe not as diligent as he could be.

He does not respect the artistry of potions…

"We can agree on that."

It will take time. And she will have to prove equal to the task.

"I have offered her a position in the Library, for now. She will be inventorying the Restricted Section and making recommendations for updates to the collection while also assisting Madam Pince with the regular needs of the students. She seemed quite keen on it when we spoke."

Is she aware that you have more in-store for her than just Library Sciences?

Minerva smiled in that way that she had, and Severus knew for sure that Hermione Granger was completely ignorant of what truly in store for her. He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth—a habit of his old life when he needed to measure what he was to say—and hid his smirk behind his long, delicate digits.

Minerva glanced down, coquettishly, and stirred cream into her tea, hiding a growing smile of her own. She knew he would mistake her silence for agreement, and she let him. After all their years of friendship, it still surprised her how easy he was to read; and deceive.

'And you, my friend. The joke is most definitely on you, too.'

XXXXX

Hermione was awakened by a small peep and a nudge from the beak-like end of the dragonlet's muzzle. As she opened her eyes, she saw that her scaled companion had crawled up to peek her face out at something beside them. The glass ball was nestled in close enough to Hermione's curled up form that her scaled companion was able to tap at it with her snout.

'Severus' SeeAll. Where did that come from?' Hermione tilted her head up slowly to see, but was only greeted by the dusky grey of the forest just before nightfall. If someone was out there, trying to get to her, now would be the best time to do it. She couldn't see a thing, and from all the indications she was getting from her nervous companion, neither could the dragon.

She tapped the memory keeper and was greeted with a quick sequence of images: the Potions lab, she and Severus, making Felix Felicis for the thousandth time, a closet full of glittering golden ampules fading to black as the device expended its last image.

"Luck," she mouthed. We're all going to need it.

XXXXX

Your stirring has improved quite a bit, Ms. Granger. At this rate, we will be ready for higher order potions in a few weeks.

Hermione, please, Severus. I'm not going back to calling you Snape. Not after all this time. And good. I'm getting quite bored with golden Felix here. I have all the luck I could possibly use for a lifetime!

Severus could only roll his eyes in return. He struggled at times working so closely with a former student, and yet, no one could have made it easier than Hermione Granger. She slipped into Legilimency so easily (certainly more easily than Mr. Potter ever did) that their conversations became natural inside of weeks. And her aptitude for learning had not waned in her intervening years at the Ministry. If anything, Severus was willing to say she was even more eager.

If that's even possible.

I can still hear you.

Even after only a few months of intensive study, it was easy to see that Hermione was going to be a natural at the art of potions. She had a delicate touch and more than enough attention to detail. She also valued getting things correct the first time, so she took her time with preparing her ingredients, as well as maintaining her equipment. Severus could not help but notice how she was careful to dry her silver cutting knife thoroughly so as to prevent rusting. Or how she was diligent in sharpening the same knife prior to every use. She was as precise with all of his tools, if not more so, than he was. He trusted her to the point that he stopped thinking of all the apparti as his, and started to refer to it as ours.

It did not go unnoticed, by either Hermione or Minerva, but only one of them had the grace not to bring it up.

"So, how is your little project going with our wunderkind?" Minerva asked as they sat, enjoying a hot pot of tea and some Battenburgh in the solarium of her offices. It was a winter ritual she had come to enjoy company for.

Almost as well as can be expected, considering the subject.

"Oh, you really can be exasperating, Severus!" Minerva groaned. "The only person in this whole castle who doesn't know you are completely over-the-moon with her is you!"

Minerva stopped and put a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but now that she'd said it aloud…

Severus' face had curdled. He looked as if she'd tried to feed him snake meat for lunch.

"Severus, really, I—"

Is THAT what this was about?! He pushed back from the table and stood up abruptly.

Until this point in time, Minerva didn't know that yelling was possible via Legilimency. Lo, and behold, it was. She bit her lip. "Truly, you know I would never—"

ENOUGH! And he stalked out of her offices in a cloud of black wool crepe and wounded pride.

'Unless my eyes deceive me, your cheeks were as red as a summer rose. Like it or not, Severus, I've hit a nerve. And a sensitive one, at that.'

Minerva could almost purr.

XXXXX

By the time Hermione started inviting herself along on Severus' forest treks as he scoured the woods for ingredients, Minerva's inference had fevered his brain. He could hardly tell the girl (alright, young woman) not to come, as it was his job to mentor her, but he found himself increasingly flustered around her person. And it was only getting worse.

Weren't we supposed to be looking for these coniferous pods for the extraction of sap, Severus? she asked, holding up an elongated seed of a muted violet color. It sparkled with sticky liquid collected on its scales like small jewels.

Hmmm? Um...yes, why?

Because you are stepping in a pile of them?

He looked down to find she was right; she was always right. And he found himself squatting down not to look at the cones as much as to hide his absolute delight in her.

The effort it took for her to suppress a giggle was enrapturing. She did it for him, so as not to embarass him, but it only made him admire her all the more. Her pink cheeks puffing away in the cold as they harvested mushrooms. Or the way her hair snuck out from beneath her woolen hat in riotous curls that almost always made there way around to her face and, inevitably, in her mouth.

"Pffftttth! Stupid hair!" It was one of the few things she said aloud when they were alone together.

He was most enamoured of how normal he felt around her, relatively speaking. Normal had never come easy for Severus, and then, after he'd made the most calamitous decision of his adult life...well, let's just say, Severus Tobias Snape was fairly sure "normal" was not something the was ever going to have to worry about.

So surviving what should have been his own death was not the only shock he had to confront. Coming back to a world without Voldemort, or Death Eaters or the sorts of prejudice they peddled; returning without a role to play or a mask to wear. He was going to get a second shot at...something. A life; perhaps not exactly normal, but it would be more than he had ever thought possible.

And here, in the watery, winter sunlight of a cold December day, feeling at ease with a person who had become more than a student, but also a friend, he felt conflicted. Odd. In unfamiliar territory. Here he was, at complete ease with another person. They both enjoyed silence and didn't clutter up a perfectly enjoyable hike with extraneous chatter, in whatever form that might take. She made "talking" easy again; and she proved to be as good a listener.

He found himself shaking his head in disbelief, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Severus? Are you okay? She had silently crept beside him, placing her hand ever so gently upon his shoulder. Her face showed mild concern and a certain openness that he had come to expect from her. She was all genuineness; nothing contrived.

Yes. Perfectly well. His own hand reached over to hers, grasping it lightly as he lifted it off his arm and turned to look into her eyes. His mouth curved slightly upward into the vaguest hint of a smile as he squeezed her fingers slightly before releasing them.

Maybe even better than that.

Hermione didn't have to tell him that he was still speaking aloud.

XXXXX

Is he saying that a dragonlet is IMPRINTED on her?! Minerva was getting used to Severus yelling in her mind. She wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing.

"No, Severus. He's saying that it's possible."

"Aye, it's what I a'ready said," Hagrid agreed as he sized up a dragon print left in the mud. "Whew, she's a biggun."

Is there anything that can be done, you big buffoon?

Severus! Enough. I won't have you taking out your anxiety on Hagrid.

She was right. He was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He just felt stretched to his limit by this whole thing. How? How could she have gone off and been so foolish?

You mean curious? Eager? Confident? Sounds like Hermione Granger up and down.

Severus could feel the migraine creeping around edges of his eyes like a looming predator. He would pay for this excitement with a few days in bed.

A screech in the gloom took them all away from their thoughts.

Minerva ducked down into Hagrid's vest, pressing her ears back and suppressing the instinct to hiss.

"I am not intending to end up a nighttime snack," she said, eyeballing Charlie's large and ominously hungry-looking horned owl.

"Nah worries, 'eadmistress. You're safe 'ere." Hagrid absentmindedly patted her a bit too hard on the head with his overlarge hands, and she retreated further down into the quilting.

After depositing its message the owl choose to perch a ways off. It was lost under the cover of dark, but the reflection of his eyes could be seen by the light of the moon. Severus unrolled the parchment, reading it yet again, and rolled it back up. This scenario had already played itself out several times and Minerva was beginning to wonder if even her master of Dark Arts was in over his head.

For his part, Severus looked like he'd just taken a large swig of sour milk.

"Well, Severus? What do you think?" Minerva prompted, impatiently.

I think, I wish I'd never been born.

"And today, I wish I had opposable thumbs, Severus. But I do not! So do be a good boy and read us a story," she retorted, sourly.

The summary is this; we need to cover Hermione and her companion both in a strong animal scent in an attempt to disguise them among the myriad of other smells in the forest. That might work long enough to get them away without having to engage a wild, adult dragon. Charlie is on his way to examine the dragonlet, should we get them both out alive, but he is not — shall we say — optimistic.

"Ok, then. So what do we do now?" Minerva asked, casually glossing over the inherent implication of failure in Charlie's reply.

I thought you'd never ask, Minerva.

And there was nothing good about the look on his face.

XXXXX

"Are ye sure 'bout this?" Hagrid asked, wringing his hands. Minerva had truly not seen the big man so squeamish before.

"It is what will need to be done if we are to retrieve a whole, healthy Hermione Granger, and not just a charred corpse," Minerva said as calmly as she could manage. "Just head back to your hut and retrieve Fang, as Severus requested. And please, be quick."

Hagrid gave one last look into the night-shrouded trees from whence Hermione's Patronus had come hours ago. He sighed and began his journey back.

"Ahem!" Minerva perked up, putting her claws, ever so gently into the flesh of Hagrid's arm.

"Oy! Right," he replied. He stopped and slowly lowered the cat onto the ground below before continuing on towards his hut.

Minerva moved briskly to Severus' side and peered up at him.

No.

It's partially your fault I'm in this state, Severus. The least you could do is keep me warm.

I am in no way responsible for your state as I never suggested you test the potions on your own person.

But the potion was faulty.

I beg to differ. I believe if the potion was faulty, it was not one of ours.

Oh! It's ours now, is it?

Jog on, Minerva.

Minerva reared up and swiped him, claws fully extended, across the thigh. Instinctively, he reached down to grasp at his leg and she leapt upon his shoulder. Severus gritted his teeth as she made her way inside his cloak.

You should have just taken me from Hagrid.

...

Are you sure this is going to work, Severus?

Aside from attempting to engage a full-grown dragon, we have few other options. It is cold out. And dark. She will freeze if don't do something. And soon.

Minerva found herself, unwittingly, moving closer to his body heat. Even she was chilled; and she had the benefit of fur, at the moment.

Hermione must be nickel-plated by now. Minerva arched her neck back over Severus' shoulder to see if her acute feline vision could find the Gameskeeper. She saw him rumbling over a hill not far off.

He's on his way.

Once I've set up the spell, its all up to you, Minerva. Are you ready? Beneath fur and ears and cat eyes, it was still Minerva McGonagall; and she was always ready.

XXXXX

"This is not what I signed up for!"

Nor did I. Nor did Hagrid, but here we are, Minerva. And for the life of me, if there was ever a time when it was absolutely necessary that you be stuck in your Animagus form—well, THIS is definitely it!

Hagrid was sympathetic, and awkward, but resolute in his determination to help no matter what. "I's nah easier fer me, either."

"You're just taking Fang for a 'walk'," Minerva grumbled back. "I'm the one doing the 'walking' in this case!"

You can say it aloud, Minerva. Urinating. We're all grown ups here. And we all—.

"Don't."

At the moment, she wanted to 'eliminate' on Severus' precious, shiny dragon-hide boot. At at time like this, he still managed to find a little moment of smug triumph in her humiliation.

She wanted to claw the look right off of his face.

Later.

Speaking or not, your feline features give away your thoughts, Minerva. And despite my anxious feelings about our situation, I can still allow myself a little grim satisfaction at your discomfort.

Now you know how it feels.

She could hardly argue with that.

It had all been with the best of intentions on her part. She loved Severus; maybe not like a son, he was far too prickly for that. But he had not had the easiest life, and she regretted the way she had participated in using him to her own ends—the ends of good, of course—knowing full well it would likely cost him his life. When he, miraculously, survived his injuries, she did everything she could to make up for it. She housed him; nursed him; gave him purpose and focus.

And now? Now she was nudging—no, pushing—him toward something she had never even asked him if he wanted. And yet, she couldn't stop herself.

I have very few regrets in life, she thought. I'm not about to start second guessing myself now! Not when I feel so right about this.

She jumped out of Severus' cloak to the ground with grace, stuck her tail in the air and turned her back on them both.

"A little privacy, if you please."

The two men silently agreed to retreat.

Severus had concocted something that could only be described as a bomb. It was small, to be sure, and comprised of mostly things he had scrounged from their immediate surroundings: pine cones, needles, tree bark. His premise was that if they could cover Hermione, and her stowaway, in animal scents, they might walk out of the forest unscathed. And now it was Minvera's turn to add her "contribution" to the device. Hagrid had already cajoled Fang into playing a part; he even retrieved a sample from Buckbeak although no one was quite sure how. Some questions were better left unasked.

According to Severus' many readings of Charlie's owl and the briefest of messages from Hermione herself, the mother dragon was alerted by overt magical usage. Spells and charms utilized too much magic to go unnoticed, so hiding Hermione with spellwork was not an option.

It was the reason that Hermione's otter patronus had swum a leisurely backstroke to them despite her urgent need. It had to be subtle and small to fly under the dragon's radar.

Minerva was quick to realize that, even in her human form, the three of them would be no match for an adult dragon; much less a mother who is searching for a missing babe. They lacked strength and expertise. So, subterfuge would be their weapons. She had to wonder if her unfortunately "accident" with the potion wasn't more than it seemed. She was certainly more useful in her animagus form in this scenario. There wasn't much time to ponder it, but it most definitely niggled at the back of her brain.

Her concerns were what they would do if this failed. The potential consequences gave Minerva a shiver that went deeper than the winter's chill. There could be no mistakes.

XXXXX

There won't be much room for error. I will need Hagrid to be prepared to take Hermione and run as fast as he is able back toward the castle. Only the innate magic of Hogwart's walls can protect us from a fully rampaging dragon.

Minerva nodded curtly. "We are all standing by to do our utmost!"

Hagrid's shaggy head bobbed in agreement. "T'weren't ever a gal I'd cared for mahself more! We're here fer 'ermione!"

Snape was never one for easy smiles, but he found his lips pressed together and turned up, ever so slightly, just then. Hermione Granger inspired love wherever she went and even in the most unexpected of places. It was a magic all her own. He had to turn his eyes away from his companions for fear of letting his own deepening emotions show too plainly.

"What will you be doing while we're whisking Hermione away?" Minerva asked pointedly. Snape knew she must have surmised by now, but she was going to force him to say the words.

Fighting a dragon, I imagine.

"Alone? With not near enough expertise and certainly not enough power?" she protested. "Ten years on and your M.O. is ever the same, Severus Snape!"

I don't take your meaning, Minerva. Snape bided his time, squatting low and mapping out a path through the gloaming toward where they suspected Hermione was, never once looking back at the (yet again!) exasperated Minerva.

"Dying. You are always trying to find a way to kill yourself!" She could not cross her arms as she might've wished to; but Minerva sat still and regal, her long, feline neck curved elegantly to her head that sat with its chin cocked up in his direction. Defiant. Angry. Disappointed.

She went on, not waiting on an answer.

"You might think about facing your ultimate fear; living.

"Some of us love you, Severus."

He slowly turned his face back and pulled the curtain of hair away so he could look at her, and she at him. She held her rigid posture allowing him to take her in; fierce and vulnerable all at once.

"Not all of those things that are most feared lurk in the unending darkness of death. Some of the scariest are right here, in the land of the living, where people count on you; and love you.

"Don't be so quick to throw yourself at the dragon to prove you are a knight in shining armour. Some princesses would rather find out what it means to live with their knights."

Minerva crossed the leaf-strewn path between them and pressed her small, warm body up against his arm. "I'm not your mother; and you are not my son," she continued, "but I could not have chosen a child better suited to me if I had had one of my own. And I'm fairly sure I am not done raising you yet."

She rubbed her head, briefly, against his arm and then turned, abruptly, to walk back towards Hagrid. When she got herself into position, she nodded at him.

"We're ready," she said, looking up at Hagrid who smiled in agreement.

Well, then. Let's rescue ourselves a Princess.

XXXXX

The initial "bomb", if one could call it that, was overwhelming. It was all Severus could do to see through his watering eyes as he crawled the last few yards towards his target. He could only hope that the potency of it's smell was sufficient to cover his tracks. Something about what Minerva said to him stung. Was he afraid to live? He could not tell if she had hit a nerve or if he just wanted to prove the old battle axe wrong. Either way, he could barely contain his anger at himself; once again, he was dancing to Minerva's tune.

He set off a second one as he approached the all-to-still form in the darkness, but before reaching in to press his fingers to her throat. The pulse he felt was faint, but distinctly alive; and for that, he was grateful.

He was less than thankful, however, for the hiss that greeted him when he reached beneath her shoulders to begin to heave her out of her hiding place. The eyes, which was truly all Severus could see in the darkness, glowed with an inner light that was absolutely captivating. Severus forgot everything he was doing; the impending dragon attack, the rescue of Hermione, his own imminent danger. Everything was lost except for the eyes that stared at him now as if with their own life force.

You are known.

Did it speak to me?

Hermione moaned, and all thought of the dragonlet was forgotten.

It is alright now. I am here.

...

She had managed what little sound she had left in that last gasp. Her weight was dead against his efforts and, despite her slightness, was almost impossible for him to manage from that awkward vantage. The plan had been for him to dislodge her and drag her back to a safe distance where Hagrid would take over, but here, now, he was not sure that he could manage.

He would have to test the veracity of his plan. If he was going to be able to save Hermione, he was going to have to use magic to get her out and hope that he understood Charlie's all-too-brief message.

He cast the charm. And the roar that followed seemed to cleave the forest in two.

Severus' head jerked around, his eyes suddenly blinded by a streak of flame that passed close enough that it felt it's heat on his skin. It was all he could do to keep levitating Hermione's body; he had not expected that much fear to overtake him.

He was most definitely not the same since the war.

He gripped his wand tight and tried to renew his focus on his primary task. Fumbling in his pocket as he did, he found another scent bomb and threw it just beneath his feet, watching the thin mist drift over his own form and that of his precious cargo. The deep purple eyes beneath Hermione's cloak blinked twice before squeezing themselves shut against the fumes. Severus could only hope the use of alternative animal scent was working at creating enough confusion for the dragon.

The sound breaking branches nearby, and getting closer, told him otherwise.

Ready or not…

He gingerly pulled Hermione's form free from her hiding place. Selfishly, she gathered her up in his arms under the auspices of warming her, but deep down, he knew it was more visceral than that. He could feel her unwelcome companion squirming against him as well, slowly making its way up towards the opening in her cloak. As he strode quickly towards the waiting Hagrid, Hermione limp in his arms, her head flopping against his shoulder, he could also feel the dry, rough beak of the dragonlet, slipping its way between them—touching them both.

It had the nerve, in the midst of it all, to give off a sense of contentment.

A loud boom, and the crack of a large, old tree trunk, exploding, roused a panic in Severus. The branches swept down across him as the tree fell, and he hunched, curling into himself trying to protect them all. He was never going to make it.

Dammit all, come get her!

He managed to push out of the imprisoning net of needles and branches in time to see Hagrid's bulk lumbering towards him at a faster pace than he would have thought possible for the half-giant. Severus practically launched his cargo at him.

Get her out of here! NOW!

Hermione flopped like a sack of potatoes over Hagrid's shoulder, still unconscious and unresponsive. Severus felt like screaming at the man for his carelessness, but he understood that Hagrid was preparing to run and needed use of his arms. He watched as Minvera found herself unceremoniously stuffed into a pocket before the Gamekeeper turned and took off.

The last Severus saw of them all were the piercing, purple eyes peeking out at him from the collar of Hermione's cloak, the black head bouncing, it's neck extended as if to look at him, Severus, for just a few more moments.

He could not help but wonder how something so small had created such a big problem.

I only hope I get to find out.

His dramatic swirl of robes was abruptly thwarted in a tangle of tree branches as he whipped back around to face his, as yet unseen, foe. As he raised his wand, his mind went blank except for one, small but insistent thought.

Fight fire with fire.

Severus started small, with multiple Incendio spells, first as a protective ring around himself, and subsequently, as a means to progress towards the dragon. Great gouts of flame flew from his wand. He even built a long, high wall of fire down and around the valley in which they had found Hermione. He thought it might help to contain the beast, although, he had no way to be sure. Even with all of Hagrid's idle prattle, little and less was known of the true natures of dragons. It was the reason they reached out the Charlie Weasley in the first place; he was an expert in a field that had a dearth of dedicated devotees.

But Dr. Weasley hadn't arrived yet. Severus would have to do the best he could.

The initial brightness of the magical fire only succeeded in causing him night-blindness, but he noted that could hear no further progress from the large, magical beast. He was certain he could not have killed her. No one killed a dragon by "accident". Like as not, his death would be the accident. He proceeded cautiously in the direction he thought he might find her, hoping with every step she would be gone.

Instead, he found the She-Dragon moved into a protective stance; wings splayed and rounded around her body, her eyes alert and facial-plates pressed forward in a fierce display. Severus would have gulped, had he had any of the anatomical structures left to do so. And yet, he observed, she made no move to attack. He was utterly vulnerable, and in her direct sights. He wasn't even certain that his improvised "stink bombs" were still working. He was sure that even if he could not be seen, he was sensed in other ways. Still, she remained perched, interested only in protecting herself and her brood.

Has she mistaken me for her equal because I raised fire?

Severus had no stomach for destruction; not of flora or fauna. Not any more. He had stubbornly stuck to a smaller, less invasive incendiary spell rather than unleash complete destruction on the whole of the forest and its inhabitants. This place was sacred and healing; for him as much as for the beasts that lived here. He did not want devastation if he could avoid it. It only briefly crossed his mind that, on account of his desire to preserve this place alone, he might still be pursuing his own demise. It was a habit he'd thought he'd given up.

He stood there, still, unsure what to do next. The Dragon showed no signs of softening her stance. She kept her eyes hard on him without even a flicker of fatigue. His bones already ached from the damp cold that was surrounding him. The loam of the woods was still releasing its last gasps of life before the hard hand of winter fell. Moisture filled the air with fog like a chilled breath; the kind of cold that seeps into your body and threatens to freeze it down to your marrow. He did not even dare to shiver.

He needed to ensure that Hermione would be safe; that the pursuit was over. Would the dragon just move on now? Would he be able to just walk away?

He found himself, involuntarily, backing away. Slowly. He never heard him coming.

"Well, hullo there, Severus. Looks like you've caught yourself a dragon! And she's a bute."