A/N: Here we are again... enjoy! I'm really really proud of how this chapter developed. Please review if you get a chance and let me know what you think of it. Thanks!

Chapter Twelve
Changing Winds

"Good morning, dear."

"Good morning, Madam Pomfrey."

Amber eyes averted from the nurse's steel green gaze—Poppy knew this look well: it was the expression one wore when they were trying very hard not to reveal something they desperately wanted to share. Miss Granger, being the lioness that she was, had discovered something she should not have and it was now weighing heavily on her mind… and she had come to Poppy for advice. But the Gryffindor courage seemed to disappear once she stepped through the door of the hospital and she now hung in the threshold looking quite unable to make the final leap completely within.

Regretfully, while Poppy sympathized with the girl's curiosity, it was in neither of their best interests to get involved in the headmaster's affairs. Albus, as much as his aloofness annoyed her, was prepared for every possible outcome of every possible situation—or so she had come to believe in the past decades she had worked under him. Trying to pry information out of him was impossible and infuriating—she had learned long ago it was best if she left him to his own devices and, thus far, he had come out the other end unscathed many a time.

Be that as it may, the news she had received yesterday on his return was unsettling and had led her immediately to his door. Being locked in her infirmary by castle wards she could not dispel was not something she was used to—and being released not long after with a half-explanation by a house elf was equally as unusual.

But Albus had welcomed her into his office without so much as a twitch or a frown and had lucidly thanked her to checking on him so promptly after his arrival. He explained that he had suffered a minor complication—a curse—but that Severus had done what he could to mend him.

She could tell from looking at him that he was worse off than he led on, but she had refrained from pressing farther than demanding that he rest and take the day off from business. He would, hopefully, come to her when she was needed and if he felt it was necessary.

After all, there was not much more she could say to the most powerful wizard in the country. He would do what he wished to do, and she could not stop him—that, she had accepted long ago. Thankfully, he was more courteous to her medical advice then Severus, and she hoped he had at least taken her advice for a few hours.

But Poppy, as a nurse, knew dying was the way of life, and that he could not live forever, as much as many would hope he would, simply so they could live their lives a little easier. While there were precious many things depending on that man—the hundreds of children who studied at Hogwarts chief among the lot—and who relied on his steadfast, wise nature, it was a fate that even he could not escape. She reasoned that he was an old man and that this was bound to happen sometime and someway, but she also knew his death would be difficult given the time frame. Thankfully, it was not yet upon them, or so she naively could believe.

With a wry smile, she gestured for the hovering patient to enter the hospital wing completely… time was against them and she had much to do to prepare herself and this young witch for its trials.

Once the young witch was no longer hovering in the threshold, she began to speak again, "It's been a few days since you were released—how are you feeling?"

"I am well, thank you."

"And you have received your potions this morning?"

She nodded, then glanced to her feet. It was unlike her to be timid, but she seemed decidedly unsure… almost afraid. Was it that frightening? Was it something worse... had she had another episode? Had she finally realized what a mistake it was to scar herself so permanently?

"Is there something you wish to talk about?" The nurse offered nervously.

Hermione snapped her gaze to hers, then looked hurriedly away. She considered the thought for a long time, before she rounded her shoulders and shook her head.

"I take it you've discovered something about the headmaster," Poppy interjected, hoping that it was nothing more than curiosity which hung over the girl's head.

The girl straightened slightly, her chin perking upwards defiantly, prepared to defend her actions—

Ah.

The nurse shook her head to ward off any protest she could offer and muttered loudly, "Gryffindors."

After she realized she would not be chastised further, Hermione asked, "Is he… is he alive?"

Poppy softened slightly, "I have seen him just last night—he's very much alive. He is slightly disfigured... but he is not in any intense pain, that I can tell. It was merely a curse, banished with the help of Professor Snape."

"Oh..." the witch answered, but she seemed unconvinced. She knew the effects that curses could have, both large and small. She had experienced it herself.

As her mind whirled within her bushy head, Poppy looked her up and down with a trained eye—her skin, normally golden and olive, was paler and she looked as if she had not slept… her hair was tangled up into a wild pony-tail and her amber eyes were shadowed. While the news about the headmaster would have shaken her, surely, the girl was a Gryffindor—she knew much more than she should.

"It's just that… well, Professor Snape was very upset," the girl murmured, before she looked away, slightly bashful, "I feared the worst."

No doubt, she was also afraid the wizard himself would rise up from the floor and berate her for speaking of him when he was not present. Still, alarms began to ring in the back of the nurse's mind...

Why, Poppy noted, was Severus upset enough that Miss Granger would be concerned?

"Don't worry about the headmaster," the nurse advised shrewdly, although she herself was struggling with taking her own advice, "That is my and Professor Snape's job."

Surprisingly, Hermione nodded in an accepting sort of way. Still, she seemed slightly downtrodden and when she drifted towards the window, she was round of shoulders and glum of face.

Likely, her unhealthy appearance was an effect of the aggravated effects of her loss of magic mixed with anxiety over yesterday's bizarre events. Although her patient had been in relatively high spirits since the incident, this condition would always be an uphill battle for her. She would have to push herself harder and farther than she ever had, especially when faced with situations like Albus'. There would be many injuries and deaths to come—many obstacles she would have to face, and as was her wish, she would face them alone.

Thankfully, the best cure for depression, the nurse always found, was a nice distraction, and if Hermione Granger was anything, she was a devoted worker. Distractions would come easily for her.

"Have you a lesson today?"

"Not that I know of—I doubt it."

She did raise a brow, "Your sessions with Professor Snape are not frequent?"

At that, the girl picked at the hem of her shirt and stared down at her feet. She shrugged when Poppy raised a brow, then said, "Daily, sometimes not. The sessions are very short in length, considering my magical stamina is… hindered. I can inflect, but… it's just that we haven't progressed very far, so I'm no very hopeful for a full recovery."

"Ah…" the nurse noted with a sympathizing grimace, "Small steps will cross the same distances as large leaps, my dear, given the time and patience needed to take them."

"Of course, you're right," but her voice did not hint that she believed a single word.

The nurse clucked her tongue. She would have to speak to Severus… he might not want to be near her for long periods of time, but the girl needed his help and she was obviously determined to get better. She could devote entire days to Occlumency if needed… then again, the potions master was already in a mood these days and if what she said was true—that her magical stamina would not allow it—then she trusted Severus was doing the right thing.

Of course, the decision to keep her working with potions was a sound one, she believed, and there was no better time than the present to begin—magic or not, "Do you know much about Blood-Replenishing potions, Hermione?"

The young witch snapped her gaze to the nurse's and gaped slightly. The excitement, however, to assist in the brewing of such an advanced potion was dulled when she glanced at her empty hands—still wandless. She could do nothing more but assist in the preparation of ingredients and most of the brewing, but… the final element would be wasted on her.

"I won't be much help… I haven't earned my wand back yet."

Earned… gods, that man could irk her sometimes. Poppy held her tongue, however, remembering her promise to try her hardest to be kind to him, even when he pushed her to the point of madness.

"Nonsense," the nurse argued with an encouraging, "Potions require much more than just magic and I've heard you have just the stuff I need. Besides, you will need to observe the first few batches, for safety reasons."

Hermione pondered her proposition pensively. Before she could disagree, Poppy began to speak again, "Firstly, I need you to look over this recipe."

She procured the necessary text and provided it to the younger witch. Her amber eyes trailed over the pages carefully, then briskly once more.

"I have all the ingredients—I merely need help preparing them and then you can watch over the brewing while I clean out all of these cupboards," she winked at the witch, who seemed to shrink at the notion, "I admit, I'm rather tired of chopping and slicing and de-veining without anyone to keep me company and cleaning is rather tedious, even with magic."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly—she didn't mind that part of brewing, actually… anything to keep her mind occupied was welcomed, she supposed, "If you truly are overwhelmed, then I would be happy to help. I can assist with cleaning, as well, if needed..."

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but I'd rather you kept an eye on the brewing. I'm very particular about my cleaning, you know... it's nothing against you. Now, first, let's start with the iron-rich ingredients, as they are the most vital…"

·

"Severus, how good of you to arrive so promptly to my summons."

A glare was the potion master's disgruntled response.

After a time, Albus' eyes twinkled, "You weren't terribly busy, were you?"

Severus' glare darkened. He did not reply.

The headmaster's expression, shielded by a magical glamor to make him appear healthier and barmier than ever, sobered for a time. He lifted his hand, the uncharred one, in defeat, "I apologize, Severus. I have made a mistake that I cannot take back. I understand that you are especially affected by this, but we must not dwell on that which we cannot change—"

"And, gladly, I have no wish to speak any further of it. There are more important matters to discuss for the time being, are there not? And quickly, if you would... I have an inventory to return to the dungeons to complete and a run to Diagon Alley to make before sundown, if you want your dog's Wolfsbane to be brewed properly."

With that, Albus inclined his head wearily.

The potions master stiffly stood up from his seat across from the man. Fawkes, now wilting, hardly lifted his head as he did so and his master was equally lethargic—leaning heavily against the back of his chair and strategically placing his ruined hand within his sleeve. Severus dumped his memories with five purposeful swipes from his temple into the silver disk. The headmaster gazed down at them. After a moment, he appeared as if he wanted to say something meaningful.

When he looked up to speak, however, the dark spy was already sweeping away from the desk, towards his personal library, every Occlumency shield he possessed raised as high as it was capable. Albus frowned at his back, but he ignored the sensation of it.

Typically, he would accompany the headmaster in his analysis of the proceedings of his memories, but the trust that he had built for so long had been injured by anger and grief and he was not prepared to stand beside the man at all anytime soon, let alone while he reviewed the murder and torture Severus had witnessed and endured.

Annoyingly, Albus watched him for a time, before sighing and bending over the pensieve to dip his face into the silvery mist. When he emerged an hour later, he was solemn-faced: the twinkle in his eyes was gone… replaced with the cold determination of an orchestrator of war that came from watching death and ruin. Severus snapped the book he had been perusing shut and stood once more.

While the potions master gathered his memories, the headmaster spoke as he always did after he had witnessed the atrocities within his spy's mind—distant and commanding, "And the Malfoy boy? He was the one who noticed Miss Granger's absence on the train?"

Severus gritted his teeth, "Yes, as you saw in the memory."

Albus' eyes narrowed, but he did not press further. No matter how much he proved to this man, he would always be the dishonorable Death Eater spy... would always be suspected of lying, of covering up the truth.

"Interesting… what motivated him to do such a thing?"

"Perhaps the punch Miss Granger proudly served him in their third year—or the mere fact that she is a Muggleborn… I did not have the chance to ask him as he was... occupied."

Albus frowned at that, "Surely, there must be something more than all that."

"Perhaps—but I doubt it."

His frown darkened considerably.

Severus knew the allure of the gifts that the dark lord offered—appeals of the flesh were tastes of heaven for young, broken-hearted and hateful boys. He and Draco were not unalike in that aspect. And the dark lord could offer him many, many things—women, glory, money… and he would not think of the consequences it would have for anyone else before he took it.

But offering information about Granger would have been a bonus in the Malfoy progeny's eyes. Albus and his flock of teachers had seen to that—they had isolated Draco from the very beginning, sealing his fate along with his father before he even had a chance to bloom. And although she had not intended it, Granger had been the match to light the flame-the straw that broke the camel's back. The beloved Muggleborn suffered his abuses, and everyone sympathized with her… to the point that she drew attention away from the attention-craving Draco.

Even Severus, had taken her side, at least in his godson's eyes. He had berated Draco time and time again to leave the girl alone—to focus on his studies and let her make a fool of herself. Typically, the boy ignored his advice, but Severus was not exactly a model of behavior where it concerned letting Gryffindors prowl the castle unscathed. He took the blame for that, but not for Draco's deep character flaws... those lied in the hands of Lucius and Narcissa, who had raised him for a life he could never live.

Either way it had come about, Draco would have offered the information eagerly and without hope for compensation from anyone. His idea of payment would come in the form of Granger suffering… as that was what was expected for him to want.

And the thought was chilling to Severus, who remembered feeling much the same about James Potter and Sirius Black when he was young, but for very different reasons... or so he had once believed. Were his reasons so different?

He hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. He had argued with himself that Draco had much more of a choice, but in the end, he realized he did not. That much was certain by the look of fear on Narcissa's face when she had caught him sneaking through the mansion after he was reported to have left. That part, he refrained from sharing with the headmaster...

"You are very certain that he is entering the ranks willingly?" Albus interrupted his thoughts. He coughed slightly and shifted uncomfortably.

"Of course he is willing," Severus sneered at his obvious weariness, far from caring at this point, "He's been bred for this since conception!"

Albus began to argue despite his grimace of pain, "You know that I disagree… his choices are the same."

Severus narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the level of the man's pain. Regardless, the headmaster would not receive his assistance, considering the lack of trust was now blatant between them, "That boy has been spoon-fed delusions of grandeur since the moment he was born—since before he was born. What would you expect him to believe, having heard his father speak ill of Muggles and blood traitors, his mother of Muggleborns all his life? Would you expect him to speak out against his father, whom he looks up to as any son would?" As Severus had his father, at least when he was very small, "To stand up against the dark lord who has occupied his home, or worse, leave his mother there to fend for herself amongst rapists, murderers, and ingrates? What choice does he have, but to serve and obey? Would you have him turn his back on everything he has known his entire life for… for what? For courage? For honor?"

The potions master dropped the hand he had been using to point accusingly at Albus, "I suppose you expect every young wizard to join the Order to fight because it is the right thing to do. You forget, old man, that the world is not made simply of red and gold. Some men wish for more than honor—some men wish for glory, for knowledge," Severus sneered, "And some merely wish to escape this life unscathed."

"And some men, like you and I, wish for all of it," Albus waved a hand to dispel the brewing argument, "I am not as foolish as you believe I am, Severus. But no matter, we will agree to disagree. What is it that Tom is planning to have him do to… seal his initiation?"

"I am unsure," Severus replied… there was always a mission, a task that every Death Eater would perform before they were bestowed with such a great honor. For Severus, it was both his burning and the creation and brewing of a very powerful, potent, unforgivable potion. To this day, he had no clue what had become of it… he had not heard the dark lord's plans for it, or if he had even used it at all. Sometimes, he had nightmares that it was being saved for him—to feed to him when he was discovered a traitor.

He shivered in response.

Albus continued to pry, "Has he taken the Mark?"

Seveurs brooded silently as he decided how to answer. Inwardly, he was fuming… although it was agony to allow it, Draco had accepted the Dark Mark and would be branded with it forever. The little fool had taken it so easily—as if it were an afterthought, the day after he had arrived home from break. No doubt, it was Bellatrix's doing—her beloved nephew had taken it so quickly there had not even been time for Severus to intervene, meaning that she had been the voice in the dark lord's ear, urging him to allow it before the task had been completed, to ensure that it would be done and done well. Hell, he had not even been invited to the ritual, although he might have been able to make it had he accepted the invitation right away...

All the while, she was signing his death sentence. Although she feigned adoration of her sister, she was a cruel bitch… she would kill every last Death Eater if it meant she would be the right hand of their master. Shaming Lucius would seal her seat beside the dark lord, or so she believed. She had yet to figure out that no one would ever be worthy in his eyes, as he was only concerned about himself.

Severus had underestimated her, once again. He had been too consumed in dealing with Miss Granger that he had failed in his duty as a godfather to protect him from his own flesh and blood, from a woman worse than death. Now, Draco would suffer at her hand as he had many times.

Although he wanted to for Draco's sake, he could not lie to the headmaster—it would serve no other purpose, but to ease his own conscience, "Yes, he has taken the mark. I had thought it impossible for anyone under seventeen, but… the dark lord is resourceful."

Albus was unremoved.

Severus continued, "Draco seemed agitated by it, but he was not… completely indisposed, so that magic is sound. It seems the binding has surpassed the age of magical consent. It will hold."

"Did you see it, yourself?"

"I did not inspect it closely," Severus argued.

"So there is a chance..."

"No-it is the Mark."

"How can you be certain?"

Severus steeled him with a glare, to which the headmaster grimaced. The spy knew because... well, because he was a Death Eater, too. As soon as he had seen it, he had known.

Of course, Draco, when Severus had found him after being dismissed, was quite enjoying himself, surrounded in imperiused whores. It was an uncomfortable experience (especially considering Severus weakened state after his torture), and thankfully one that Severus had remained undiscovered. But the Mark had been clear enough, as had Draco's smug enjoyment. For now, the Malfoy boy would reap the riches that the dark lord could offer him… but he would suffer later, and perhaps forever, if he continued down the path he was headed.

Dumbledore's eyes were sad, "Then there is little we can do. He has written his own fate."

As I had—as I have? Severus wanted to mourn aloud, but he kept his mouth tightly shut. There was no hatred in Albus' eyes, which made him feel worse, because in that moment Severus hated Draco.

Albus pitied the boy just as he pitied his star-crossed spy, and Severus hated them both for making him realize it.

"Is there anything else?" He muttered agitatedly.

The headmaster sighed dejectedly, "You have perhaps made Miss Granger's situation more complicated… she will be expected to perform as a healer in some public way. I expect you will make certain that she can achieve as such, or at the very least, act the part. I fear the consequences should our ruse be discovered... for her especially."

Severus very adamantly contained his anger. It was surging in waves in his gut, in his chest, but he managed a very tight, gritty, "Do you think I do not know that?"

"I merely did not think you cared enough about her to warrant the thought," the headmaster baited.

Bloody Gryffindors, Severus cursed him. A day after nearly being cursed to death, he was trying to crack Severus' carefully crafted mask and force him to admit that he did, in fact, care. Of course, he cared! He wasn't the heartless monster that the very man in front of him was painting him to be—that he had asked him to remain, even after the grief he had felt had changed him to his core.

The wizard, even dying, was infuriating. He half-wished he was not as powerful and gifted as he was and that he was instead bed-ridden and writhing in pain. He should have let the curse run its course…

And he deserved it, too, for what he was putting Severus through… for what he would endure. Although one might think him melodramatic—it was the headmaster who was dying—it was quite apparent to him that without Albus, the children he protected would hate him more than they ever had. Without the headmaster, the Order would condemn him as they never could with Dumbledore to buffer their hatred…

Without Dumbledore, the tiny threads of honor that held his spy together would snap and shrivel.

All at once, as if he had read his thoughts, the headmaster grimly smiled at Severus.

"What?" The potions master grated after a time of pregnant silence.

"I want to apologize in advanced, Severus, but on a hopefully more positive note," The headmaster began softly, "I am pleased to inform you that you are Hogwarts' newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

He pushed forward the offered contract. It was the very same which the potions master proposed every year to keep up appearances with the dark lord's wishes.

Severus gazed down at with wide, disbelieving though he had convinced himself that he did not truly want it, that it was merely an act he played to please the dark lord, when the words were spoken he felt a surge of excitement. Had he not longed for the honor to display his prowess—to teach the children properly... to lead them away from the dark arts that had tempted him by exposing its dark innards, rather than protect them from it?

"Of course, we cannot have room for any suspicion by Tom. This will abate him for now."

And just like that, the feeling of grief he had swallowed in this office the day before returned, and the joy tasted like ash in mere moments. He was being granted this positions because it was convenient for Albus… because it would further ingratiate his position into the ranks of Death Eaters, not because he had earned it.

The headmaster was preparing him to be returned fully to the dark lord—and what a sweet gift he would be for dear, old Tom… a teacher at Hogwarts who was at the command of Lord Voldemort was a dangerous, dangerous thing—and it would be as dangerous position for Severus to hold as it would put him in a precarious position within the ranks of the Death Eaters. When Hogwarts fell—when the ministry was overturned by the dark lord—who would be the first name they proposed to lead the castle?

The castle seemed to close in around him as he considered this… as if it were trying to suffocate him within the walls before he could ruin it from the inside out. He turned abruptly, unable to let himself stand still—unable to stand its rejection.

Think of Lily, a part of him urged.

Another relented... he was tired of thinking of Lily, of her cursed son. Still, his feet remain planted, and he knew he would continue to serve at the will of the headmaster until his last dying breath and likely beyond, if he could stand it.

"…pending Horace Slughorn's agreement to come out of retirement, of course," Albus added when he remained silent.

"Splendid," he sneered towards the headmaster, before he stood up and stormed for the door, "Bloody perfect."

He had nearly escaped when the man spoke.

"Severus?"

He sighed laboriously and for a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the tragic feelings he stored beneath. He remained facing the wall, unwilling to reveal them to Albus...

Nothing could be worse than having to work alongside Horace bloody Slughorn while simultaneously having to pretend to pretend to not teach his students real Defense—gods, Potter would be even more detestable than he was in potions. It was a nightmare.

Albus concluded, "You can hate me all you like, but all will be well. I hope desperately that you will see that one day."

"Oh, yes… all will be well for the select few who miraculously survive this cursed war," the potions master bit back, before he glided calmly down the stairs, leaving Albus to frown down at the now empty pensieve and ponder the ominous future.

·

Hermione had settled into the small potions lab hidden on the far end of the infirmary. She sat on a bench in front of the four bubbling cauldrons, flipping through the potions books Madam Pomfrey had provided her—Brewing to Heal: An encyclopedia of recipes of every known healing antidote, balm, draught, elixir, mixture, paste, and potion. Blood-Replenishing potions, in particular the brand Pomfrey had chosen (a medium blend, which could serve both tragic accidents and every-day use, such as in chronic cases of anemia and for treatment of menstrual complications), were obnoxious concoctions to brew as they could not endure any known stasis. If they began to boil over or failed to simmer properly, the receiver of the potion would be ailed with blood poisoning. Thus, the brewing needed to be carefully observed for the entire three hours that they were left to simmer gently over a low flame.

Dutifully, Hermione watched them from the corner of her eyes as she surveyed an interesting section of the text… Balms: a topical agent applied to burns and abrasions use mainly to provide relief from pain and to quicken the healing process.

Did Professor Snape use a balm for his burn? Was it numbing—like Star-Grass Salve—or antiseptic, like NeoSporin and the wizarding equivalent: Burning Bitterroot Balm? Perhaps it was a mixture of the two… perhaps he had created his own, using ingredients matched specifically to treat the obviously magical burn. His wound would be treated differently than burns of a physical nature, created by heat and fire, because the magic that was used to harm him would linger, as was the nature of curses.

She wondered if he perhaps employed the assistance of Essence of Dittany to keep the ruined flesh… well, healthy as it could be. Although Dittany was used to heal skin over wounds, when strained into lower concentrations and mixed with various ingredients it could have other healing properties. She thought for certain he was using Dittany-that would explain the herby smell she loved so much.

She blushed to herself that she could recognize it for what it was.

"Fascinating," she murmured to herself, pretending to be engrossed in the recipe and not her on thoughts.

Beyond the lab, Madam Pomfrey was a storm of magic—she would not let Mr. Filch "slave away cleaning up her messes" and so she was cleaning the entire wing from top to bottom. Every so often, Hermione could hear the beds skidding back and forth as she scourgified the floors within an inch of their lives, dusted every surface whether it was flat or otherwise, and sealed the windows, floors, and wood with shine spells.

The young Gryffindor had grown accustomed to the nudging and budging sounds, so when they stopped abruptly, she sat up and listened with intent ears… after years spying with Harry and Ron, it was second nature to her to turn perfectly still and tune her attention beyond. As much as she berated them, she was as much a trouble-maker as they were.

"Severus, I've been meaning to speak to you—"

"Gods, I already have a raging headache, Poppy. There's no need to holler."

"I do not holler."

"As you say... I received your request for supplies and I am upholding it—would you prefer I use my intuition, or can I survey your stores in peace from your heckling?"

"No, go ahead. But, please, spare me a moment… I am deeply concerned."

"For Merlin's sake, I've been taking the potion-"

"Not for you. Although, I am glad you have been taking the potion. No, this about Albus."

"For Merlin's-Just leave it alone, Poppy."

"No. I've seen him—and his hand. He's well enough, but I know when that man is keeping something from me. It's bad this time, isn't it? It's more than the hand? He wouldn't let me perform a proper diagnostic, and I thought nothing of it, but-"

"Not now, Poppy."

"Oh, so I'm not good enough of a healer to bother with him, is it, then?"

"Don't be an idiot, Madam. I would be blessed to know as little as you do of the ordeal."

"Blessed? What ever could you mean by..."

Then there was silence—they were whispering, or perhaps he had stormed away as he tended to do. Hermione was too busy straining to hear them that she had turned around to face the door, her back to the cauldrons…

Then suddenly, "Fully recovered! Do you take me for a fool? I'll believe that when skrewts fly."

"Knowing Hagrid that feat has already been arranged."

"Hmmm… as you say, Severus. I still don't believe you, but I understand why you are lying. He has his ways."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Madam."

"Hmph! You of all people know what he is like."

"Do I, now?"

Hermione smiled to herself… despite the tensions she had sensed between the nurse and the potions master, there seemed to be a dynamic changing between them—a familiarity they had not shared previously. Although she had expected Professor Snape to be even nastier to the witch after what Dobby had told him, it seemed that today he was feeling cordial… perhaps the effect had been the opposite. Or perhaps he had truly gone off his rocker after the night before.

Still, the lightness of their conversation made her feel slightly confused, and a little bit hopeful. And what a strange emotion hope was; it could taste so sweet, and yet so cool… like menthol. In her beating heart, it felt balm to a burn. Oddly, she had not even realized she had given up hope until she heard it beating in her ears... if Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey could get along, then there was hope for...

For what, exactly, Hermione?

She failed to register that their voices had been growing louder as they had been heading for the store room, too caught up in her own traitorous thoughts.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione nearly fell from her perch, but threw her arms out to steady herself and caught the ledge of a nearby bookshelf. She realized immediately that she had been kneeling on the bench, craning towards the door in a precarious position and hastily went to right herself to propriety.

When Madam Pomfrey pushed through, she immediately headed for the potions, which were desperate for a good stir, each bubbling wildly.

The potions master at her heels steeled the scrambling witch with a sneer, "That will be ten ruined potions in less than twenty-four hours, Miss Granger!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus," Poppy interrupted, "They're hardly ruined..."

"Anything less than perfection is ruined," the potions professor retorted, "Turning your back on brewing, Miss Granger, and such a delicate potion, at that? Don't think simply because you're magically addled that I will expect less than excellence from any potions pupil. If you do not shape up, I fear we will have another Longbottom on our hands."

She winced as his anger lifted higher without raising his voice. Each word came out as a stressed hissing syllable, "You could have blown this entire room to bits, yourself included, and what a pretty little red spot you would have created in the corner of Madam Pomfrey's spotless wing. How dare you let yourself be distracted in such a way... I've wasted years trying to get that very notion through that thick hair of yours, and yet here we are. If I hadn't evaluated you myself, I would have thought that the loss of your magic might have stolen a few of your brain cells... unless, of course, they were already missing in the first place, which I am not quite convinced they weren't. I expected more from you, but it seems I am mistaken..."

Madam Pomfrey's gray-green eyes jumped from Hermione, who was staring at the potions master's face and very pointedly avoiding his dark, flat eyes, to the man himself, who was very pointedly staring above her head, towards the small stock of ingredients she kept. She wanted to berate Severus—the girl was in a fragile state… any criticism could—

"Have you an excuse, Miss Granger?" He challenged briskly, his voice a low, displeased timbre.

"No," she answered, wide-eyed... almost in awe.

"Then explain yourself, witchling," he demanded.

"I was being foolish and let myself get distracted," she muttered, almost stubbornly, having regained function of her facial muscles and clamping her mouth shut. She glanced at him once more, before glaring at the cauldrons with their barely spared potions, then steeling herself to face them both with an apologetic nod, "Sorry."

"Why, then, if you are so foolish, should I grant you the permission to practice potions at all?"

She hardly spared a beat before she answered, "Because I am better than that... you've taught me better than that. It won't happen again, I swear it. Ever."

Poppy hadn't seen such a change in her all day—the color returned to her cheeks, the bones straightened in her shoulders, and she seemed to have a purpose. Even when she smiled, she had not seemed, well, like Hermione… but in that moment, she was herself, frowning besides. The nurse blinked… how was that possible?

Professor Snape's eyes glinted towards her face briefly, and then he frowned—he had sensed the change as well. It alluded him, but he found he had nothing more to say. His berating had served its purpose.

Hermione waited proudly for him to continue to berate her, but he instead relaxed and nodded to her respectfully.

"Do not make me regret this again. Now, as enjoyable as it is, I am not here to pinpoint every single one of your poor potions practices, Miss Granger." He began with a taut expression, "Due to our severe shortage of potions ingredients, I will be making a trip to Diagon Alley…"

The witch immediately looked intrigued—although at first remaining at Hogwarts had seemed exciting, she was beginning to fool like a cooper up owl. Before she had registered the foolishness of the thought, she began to stand up, hopeful that he would let her accompany him, before she realized how dangerous that would be… and how strange it would seem to see her walking beside the potions master in broad daylight?

Not so very strange, she reminded herself. She was studying to be a healer with his help, wasn't she?

He noted her excitement. When it fell, his sneer deepened, "…I was reminded by our kind matron that you might perhaps need me to… pick up a few items."

She thought furiously for a moment… what could I possible need from Diagon Alley?

"Er… nothing comes to mind that I couldn't mail order, sir."

"Quite," he noted dryly.

He glanced then to Poppy, then towards her stores, "I will buy as much as I can with what budget the Board has approved. It is not much by any means... but given the current political climate, the infirmary potions will be my priority."

"Thank you," the nurse said with a strange expression on her face.

He nodded solemnly, before turning on his heel.

It was then that Hermione was struck with courage, and she stood up, almost stumbling, "Wait!"

He turned, brow lifted high towards the hands she had stretched towards him-which she dared to try and grab his arm with.

With a sheepish look, she snatched it back, a centimeter from grabbing the thick wool robes, and used it to reach into her pocket to offer him what few galleons she had a habit of carrying with her, "Could you buy a book with this? Whatever you choose is fine, I trust your judgement."

"The library is not sufficient for your... tastes?" He asked her.

She blushed, "I was hoping you would find a piece the library lacks… something that could help me with… Occlumency, or… healing, or... Magical Theory. Whichever. Something advanced, that I couldn't order from the catalog..." In other words, from Knockturn Alley. When her eyes met his, for a brief moment she feared he would use Legilimency, but somehow she knew he had not, yet still understood the sentiment, "I was hoping to learn more about talismans. You mentioned them, didn't you?"

His face remained unreadable when her hands pressed the galleons into his palm.

For a moment, she thought he might rip his hand away to toss the money at her feet with a scoff, but then his jaw was once again less tense than it typically was. It was subtle-almost missed, but she caught it... she had been waiting for it. In that same moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of the man she had seen before—the man she had seen retreating into himself in the classroom after he had raged through his office, the one who was pained and lonely, and terribly sad. He seemed lost, for a moment-and very, very burdened.

Then he tore his hand away, galleons clutched within, and left.

She shivered when he was gone, swooping out the door in a swirl of black robes, and she was left unsure of why she felt so empty in his absence... and why her hand felt so warm. She lifted it, dragging it absently over her neck.

"Are you alright?" Madam Pomfrey asked, looking up from the brewing cauldrons to gaze upon her critically.

The witch wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, "Just cold."

Strange that she could be freezing, considering the heat rising in the room from the flames beneath the potions. But in comparison to her palm, every other part of her body felt akin to ice. There was no condescension, however, when Madam Pomfrey immediately dismissed her, ordering her to go return to her Tower and sit by the fire—but not before she offered her the book, Brewing to Heal.

Hermione found herself rushing out of the wing, hugging the thick, heavy tome… but instead of heading directly to the tower, she wrapped around the second floor, intent for the large window overlooking the front of the castle.

It was not as high up as her tower window, but it was high up enough that she could see a black form drifting along the narrow path that would lead up to the gates of Hogwarts. His strides were purposeful as ever and his cloak flew behind him in a similar manner, whipping against the slightly voracious wind that had descended upon Hogwarts. Once he was beyond the entrance, he disappeared without looking back, a swirl of black and then nothingness.

Staring at the empty space where he had been, her heart felt heavy in her chest—why was it so hard to watch him leave? What did that even mean?

Don't be foolish, Hermione. You know what it means.

But… I don't fully...

Yes, you do... If he never comes back, you'll never get to repay him, and that makes you...

Sad. It made her sad, to think about him dead, alone, and unforgiven, unredeemed, unseen.

Invisible.

That loneliness he felt, that she had seen, that she had felt, it made him feel invisible, and being cruel and hateful, that was the only way he could be he died right then and now, everyone would remember him as the hated professor, the pariah, and not the carefully crafted man of shadows, the dedicated servant that she saw him to be... nay, that she knew him to be. He would be remembered, but he would still be invisible.

It was a burdened sort of feeling to be the only one who could recognize him for what he was, and one she was unsure if she could ever adjust to—she had realized it briefly the night before, when she could offer him no comfort from the rage that had hurt him so terribly despite wanting desperately to wash him clean of all the anger and pain. It was strange, feeling this way for someone she, herself, had missed... for a long time, he had been invisible to her, too. But the veil had lifted, so neatly and suddenly, and she could see him.

He would not want her to help him, had expressed that he wanted no such thing, but she couldn't help but feel that she was meant to help him. He had saved her and now… now she was supposed to save him. She was supposed to see him and use it to help him.

But what was she supposed to do with that? What was she to do if he did not want her help? What could she do without magic to help him?

She thought about her inflective vision... the one that had taken her to the potions Professor Snape had brewed to protect the Sorcerer's Stone. In her mind's eye, she could remember the black flame so vividly, and she could almost taste the potion on her lips, but it was barely, barely there. She could see the little girl that she had been, all brown eyes and olive skin and bushy hair... and an expression that was so unsure, so lost, so lonely, so invisible.

But, although that was what she had endeavored to find when she had entered the Divide, in her past it was not magic that had saved her from the troll, nor was it magic that had led her down to the bowels beneath the Third Floor Corridor. It was not magic that had found her at Hogwarts-that had made her visible and whole and loved... that had healed her loneliness...

It was friendship... a balm which could heal all wounds.