Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good: Everything belongs to JKR, I'm just causing havoc with it.

Note: Just a warning that I won't be able to update for a few days, so I thought I'd leave you with a longer chapter to make up for it. Hope you enjoy, and thank you all so much for your fabulous reviews. I almost felt bad for ending it where I did... almost. ;)


If you follow reason far enough it always leads to conclusions that are contrary to reason.

Samuel Butler


When Severus was nine, the local school he attended had hosted a camping trip. By that time he knew he was a wizard just as he knew his father was a bastard. So it had come as a shock when his mother had strung together what little extra grocery money there had been, and signed him up to go. Being bullied in a tent after traipsing through mud for two days turned out to have been better than being bullied at home. He had smugly used his magic to keep his feet warm and his socks dry. He failed, however, to protect himself from ticks.

It took him a full three days to notice the swelling itching lump on the back of his thigh, and he found himself both nauseated and oddly intrigued by the swelling blood bag buried in the taut, inflamed flesh. It was the first time his mother had ever hurt him, applying a freshly blown out match to the spot, before slowly and steadily pulling at the parasite with a pair of rusty tweezers. His father had looked on from his ratty armchair, nursing a bottle of grog and daring him to cry out, or protest at the painful muggle method.

He kept silent as his mother brought the bloody dot before his eyes. She'd explained the toxins and garbage that would have seeped into his bloodstream had she removed the offensive lodger hastily. The method of extraction was more painful than the actual bite. Severus had found the subtle cruelty of it all intriguing.

Hermione Granger was, for all intents and purposes, a Tick.

She'd been feeding off him, quietly and painlessly for long enough. Now the itch was starting to kick in. It was as if his mind was enflamed. He couldn't work, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't sit or read or drink without thinking of how she had torn through his life yet again.

Oh, he had tried to leave it alone, to let the swelling die down, but he knew that if he let this fester any longer the wounds would become toxic. He had a new life now. All he wanted was peace.

And so it was that Severus Snape stood before his wardrobe, staring down dispassionately at his old teaching robes. The carefully constructed iron maiden that he'd spent the last 20 years trapped within. He generally wore loose trousers and plain white shirts, favouring the light cotton over the worst of his neck and throat.

Mind carefully blank, he pulled on the heavy black wool and went about doing up the endless rows of buttons. He didn't especially want to do this. To set foot in the burrow, to be ogled at and face the red-haired army who would, no doubt, rush to sainted Granger's defence. He had an unpleasant suspicion that Potter would be there too, thereby completing the nightmare.

Still, the extraction of a tick was the most painful part. He would bring out her shameful deed; no doubt ruining her triumph amongst the Weasley clan. It was no more than brandishing about a deadened match. It should make it easier to draw out the formal recognition of his work later on. And he was determined on that score. He wanted acknowledgment and once he got it, he was sure this endless nagging feeling would abandon him at last. He could go back to his small life and small pleasures. He would be content again.

Sweeping through the sparse lounge room, Severus flung a handful of powder in to the burgeoning green flames. He stood staring at the glowing hearth before realizing he had no idea where Granger actually lived. Surely, she and that red headed menace were an item now, and he couldn't imagine the hormonal couple still living in the cramped family home. More likely they had some cramped flat instead.

Growling quietly at this unforeseen complication, Severus threw yet another handful of powder into the grate.

"Headmistress' Office, Hogwarts." He grumbled.


Kingsley had dropped the documents off at 4 in the morning. She had been one of the first he'd confided in and Minerva was lucky for the early warning. There were a full 27 students, a mix of Muggle-borns and first generation Half-bloods, who would be coming of age this year and affected by the law. Scanning the list, the faces of her charges swam through her mind, many of whom she had taught since they were children. This law would turn Hogwarts on its head.

It had taken her a full hour and a half to calm down once Kingsley had left. The walls still bore scorch marks. How dare they. How dare the Ministry tear apart their newly won peace with their insidious, interfering laws? She was furious. Once she was level headed enough to sit without exploding magic, she had left the figures on her desk, and set about completing the day's tasks.

It was only now, a little past 8 in the evening that she sat down, composed enough to finally go through the figures. Two pages into the notes and the true scale of the damage became clear. The amount of potential that would be squandered in catering to the ministry's baby-boom demand was sickening. While Muggle-borns were a minority amongst the Wizarding population, the percentage of wizards and witches with one non-magical parent and the other muggle-born were surprisingly high. Muggle-borns often felt divided between the two separate societies, and for every Muggle-born that married a witch or wizard, another married a muggle. The figures were not looking good.

Fighting the urge to lay her head on the desk, or worse incinerate it, Minerva grimly looked up to see the fireplace flaring green. More bad news. Then again, perhaps it was only Kingsley checking to see that she hadn't suffered another stroke from sheer rage.

When instead the lank, oily hair and impassive, sallow face of Severus Snape swam into focus, Minerva thought she could feel the muscles of her heart give a groan of protest. It was far too many shocks for a woman of her age, particularly after the Umbridge-stunning incident.

"Severus! To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, her brogue accident betraying her shock somewhat. He never, ever floo'd her. All contact in their relationship was limited to her periodically checking in on him to make sure he hadn't drowned himself in fire whisky and done something foolish.

"Pleasure was always a terrible euphemism for surprise." The man drawled up at her.

"Yes, well, you can't deny it's not out of the blue. When was the last time you called."

"I'm offended. We converse regularly via the floo." While his face remained impassive, the tone was all but saturated in irony.

She bristled at this; Severus was always able to get a rise out of her.

"Severus Tobias Snape, what do you want?"

He merely raised an eyebrow at her irritated outburst, the corner of his mouth rising slightly.

"I need to know where Miss Granger currently resides." He drawled, seemingly bored.

Minerva's chest thumped again. It seemed the world was conspiring against her weak heart today. Why on earth would the dour man need to know that? Perhaps… No. Her thoughts were running away with her.

Minerva gave the younger man a shrewd look, but his face, though expectant gave nothing else away. She was sure Kingsley would have no reason to broach the news of the law to Severus. He was a near recluse, and had severed all ties to those in the Order.

In any case, it had been some time since Hermione had given her a missive to pass onto Severus. Minerva doubted the two had any established correspondence; she could see the same growing pile of unopened mail every time she floo'd him. Besides, Hermione was settled with Ronald now and Severus was well aware of the fact. Or he ought to be if he knew what was best for him.

Her lips had pursed into a thin line while she pondered the implications of the request. She knew better than to simply ask Severus Snape 'why'. Still, she trusted that whatever this was about, Severus meant no harm. Not to mention Hermione was more than bright enough to sort the infuriating wizard out; should it come to that.

Severus' head hovered unflinching in the grate as he allowed the silence to continue uninterrupted. His face still gave nothing away.

"She's staying at the Burrow. She and Ronald Weasley have settled there, much to Molly's triumph."

Severus only nodded, departing from the grate with a brief thank you. Minerva was left staring at the empty hearth, still wondering what on earth had happened.


The Burrow's kitchen was full when he entered, and clustered with noise. How incredibly typical of the Weasley clan, he thought cynically.

Molly stood standing at the window, futilely drying a dish with a thoroughly sodden tea towel and completely oblivious to Severus' entrance at the grate. At the long kitchen table, the rest of the red headed clan sat almost soberly. Sure enough, Potter was there, clutching the hand of Miss Weasley and throwing far from furtive glances out the window. Fluer Delacour and, somewhat surprisingly, Oliver Wood were the only other breaks in a sea of ginger. It was Arthur Weasley who spotted Severus first, his eyebrows shooting up his face while his every emotion was broadcasted to the world. Not even age could subdue a Gryffindor.

"Severus! Come in, come in! What brings you here?"

For all his Gryffindor traits and appalling offspring, Severus had always admired Arthur's gentility. The man had never once antagonised him during the often-heated Order meetings, and once or twice had fended Molly off before he was smothered to death.

At the Weasley Patriarch's greeting, all eyes in the crowded kitchen flew to Severus, and he met the stares with a carefully constructed sneer, offering no words of greeting or small talk. Steeping through the Floo, he addressed the room at large.

"I need an audience with Miss Granger."

Every jaw dropped and a shocked silence filled the room.

Severus doubted he could have produced such a reaction by apparating in wearing his full death eater garb. Honestly, he knew he'd been away for a year but this sort of reception was rather over the top. Even for Gryffindors. Mr Weasley's mouth opened and shut over and over again, much like a fish. Mrs Weasley had let the copper plate clatter to the floor unheeded, staring at him before letting her eyes flit to the window, as though running through a series of complex calculations.

Of course, it was Potter who broke the silence.

"You want what?" Ahh. He should have factored in for Potter's overwhelming protective streak.

"Eloquent as ever Mr Potter. I need to speak to Miss Granger regarding her article."

If Severus had not been used to Potter's look of utter confusion, he may have found his reaction funny. As it was, the same look of bewilderment was mirrored throughout the room. This wasn't what Severus had expected. He had prepared himself for an onslaught of deafening cries, each loudly protesting Granger's innocence.

Interesting.

Molly had evidently recovered from her shock, or perhaps horror, and was now eyeing him suspiciously.

"What article?" She asked warily, arms firmly crossed.

Severus slowly raised an eyebrow, hiding his true surprise in the laconic expression as he surveyed the room once more. There were no signs of recognition. It seemed they were all truly ignorant.

Smoothly extracting the somewhat wrinkled article from his robes, Severus handed it to the Weasley Matriarch. He stood expressionless as her eyes flit over the page, her face draining of colour.

"Right. Right. Well then. She's just outside with Ron." Her lips had thinned dramatically as she handed over the article to her husband. Arthur's reaction was far less dramatic than his wife, but he still handled the worn paper gingerly, as though it was extremely volatile material.

Then again, Severus inwardly smirked, perhaps that was the case after-all. It seemed Miss Granger was far less of a Gryffindor than he had first acknowledged. Still maintaining his blank mask, he followed Mrs Weasley out of the back door and down the side passage, catching, out of the corner of his eye, the younger Weasley's scuffle to snatch the article from their father. Moving along the shadowed side of the house and down the sloping lawn, Severus stopped dead at the sight that befell him.

Miss Granger was staring down at a kneeling, obviously distressed, Ronald Weasley. Even wearing the dumpy lime green St Mungo's robes, it was clear the little know-it-all had matured. As far as he could make out, the youngest Mr Weasley hadn't changed at all. His face was pained with a dawning comprehension and burgeoning horror. Severus could only suppose he had unwittingly walked in on a proposal, and an unsuccessful one at that.

Curiouser and curiouser

"Hermione, Severus here said he needed a word with you. Something about your research."


Hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think :) I couldn't resist the tick analogy, I hope it wasn't too much of an Aussie bush problem and that you could still relate to it.