"You should go."

Hermione opened her eyes. Her head rested on her Potions professor's chest, and her legs were tangled together with his.

"I fell asleep," she said, half-muffled into his chest, and she pushed herself up on the bed to look at his face. His mouth quirked in amusement.

"Indeed," he told her. He must have been watching her for some time. She felt vulnerable; vulnerable and brave, capable of anything.

"Is it morning?" she asked him.

"Nearly." His mouth thinned. "Your friends will have missed you." There was challenge in his tone.

Her fingertips rested on his bare stomach; she felt the raised ridge of a scar, idly began tracing it. His muscles tightened, but he said nothing.

"They won't have," she said.

"Not even your date?" His expression didn't change.

She came to the end of the scar she'd been following, let her fingers find another one. "He's not my date," she said. He twitched, just once, when she traced across the line where his abdominal muscles formed a V just above his hip. "He's with Lavender. They won't have missed me for a minute."

"Good," he said. Her eyes flickered to his face; the single word held a world of meaning.

"You have to be careful," he went on. "Never without an escort. Not until the plan has worked. And do not even go near the Room of Requirement."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"I followed Malfoy there," he said. "It's how Bellatrix is getting in." He followed this with a stifled groan; her fingers had drifted down his hip to his inner thigh. "Are you paying attention, Miss Granger?"

She noted that he hadn't asked her to stop.

"Yes, Professor Snape," she said, placing a little extra emphasis on his title, "I am. Never without an escort, no Room of Requirement, until the plan works. And how long will that be… sir?"

Her eyes shifted to his cock, very evidently stiffening again under her ministrations. She felt fearless. I can do that to him with nothing more than my fingertips.

"A week. Preferably more, but we can wait no longer than that. Hermione—" He sucked in his breath sharply; she'd bent her head so that her hair trailed along his inner thighs and her lips brushed against the tip of his cock. She wondered if he realized that he'd just used her proper name.

She looked up at him with innocent brown eyes and said, "Do you still want me to go?"

His nostrils flared. She could practically hear him saying Do not presume, but he only clenched his teeth together and managed, "No."

And then there was no more talking, for quite some time.

—~—~—

Much later, after dawn had already crested over the Scottish moors, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. Anyone watching would have thought she was alone, but she was escorted by Snape. He'd cast an invisibility charm on himself; it was apparently unnecessary, as there seemed to be no-one else stirring in the castle at this hour, but he'd wanted to leave nothing to chance.

The Fat Lady tut-tutted when she saw the pair cross her threshold—invisibility charms held no power over her—but otherwise kept her opinions to herself.

When they arrived at the door to the Head Girl's quarters, Hermione turned to Snape and whispered, "Show yourself," and then after a beat, "Please. I want to see you before you go."

He knew that the charm only worked when the observer was more than a foot or two away, and so he moved closer, enough to be blurrily visible to her. She furrowed her brow, leaning forward to peer at his half-formed image.

And then on sudden whim, he pulled her close and kissed her, hard and urgent, wrapping his hands tightly through her hair, holding her tightly to his body and listening to her little cries. When he disengaged, he brushed his lips against her ear and murmured into it, "I trust that was sufficient, Miss Granger."

She nodded, trembling visibly. "Excellent," he breathed, and took two steps back, enough so that he blurred back into invisibility. She blinked, staring right through him.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he said, and he allowed himself to enjoy her startled reaction at hearing his voice come from nowhere. When she recovered, a smile played about her lips.

"Goodnight… Professor." She turned at last to go into her quarters; he waited, silent and watching, until the door closed with a heavy click.

Snape felt oddly buoyant as he made his way back to his dungeon quarters. The sick, heavy self-loathing that he had lived with for months was gone, as though he had taken off a too-warm jacket, letting his skin feel the air.

This can't last, he thought, but not even his innate pessimism could dampen his mood. Not today.

—~—~—

The mid-day sun was streaming through the windows of Gryffindor Tower when Hermione finally emerged into the common room. Ron, Ginny, and Harry were sprawled across chairs and couches, waiting for her. She blinked at them, and then realization dawned on her face.

"We said we'd have lunch together today, didn't we?" she said.

Ron rolled his eyes, and Ginny laughed and looked smug. "I told you she'd forgotten," she said to the two boys.

"Brain the size of a planet, and can't remember a simple lunch date," Ron said, but Hermione could see from the way the corner of his mouth turned up that he wasn't really upset.

Ginny, with a twinkle in her eye, said, "Late night?"

Hermione remembered their conversation from yesterday; Ginny still obviously thought that she'd made off with some Slytherin the night before and was keeping it all a big secret.

With a jolt she realized that this was exactly what she had done.

"Couldn't sleep," she lied. Ginny lifted a dubious eyebrow but didn't press further.

Hermione changed the subject, asking, "Have you guys been waiting for me long?"

"We're not starving to death, if that's what you mean," Harry said, followed by a fervent, "Not yet, anyway," from Ron.

"Where's Lavender?" Hermione asked.

Ron flushed and said, "Er… sleeping in, I think. She had a late night too. Er… probably she did. I mean, I wouldn't know for sure obviously. I mean, she—" and then he couldn't extricate himself from the tangle of words he'd created, instead staring helplessly at his friend.

She arched an eyebrow at him but then took mercy, breaking into a grin and saying, "Well, I suppose she's far from the only one sleeping late at Hogwarts today. Anyway, I've held you up long enough. Let's get some lunch!"

Hermione wondered, as they made their way down the stairs, if any of her friends could see the difference in her. She felt as though she were glowing, throwing off visible light that could be seen for miles. How can they not know? she thought. How can they not see? She could still feel the touch of his bare skin against her own, still had the taste of him on her lips.

It occurred to her that Potions class tomorrow would be… interesting. A secretive smile touched her mouth—though if any of her friends noticed, they let it go by without mention.

—~—~—

Draco entered the Great Hall with a smirk borne of smug satisfaction, fresh from his meeting with Bellatrix. It had gone even better than he'd hoped; she'd cackled in delight to hear his news about Snape and the Granger bitch. She wanted to do something about this situation "immediately." His smirk spread into a grin as he remembered the instructions she'd given him. Yes, things were turning around for him. Turning around quite nicely.

He made a point of walking near to the Gryffindor table where Granger was sitting with her trained apes. Weasley saw him first and scowled. Draco nodded his head in acknowledgment, smirking. He was amused to see Weasley's face rapidly turning color to match his hair.

Ron glared at Malfoy and said loudly, "No worries, Hermione, we'll be escorting you. Harry will meet up with you tomorrow morning—right, Harry?"

Potter looked at his friend with confusion. Very smooth, Weasley, Draco thought, and stifled a chuckle.

"What, Ron?"

Ron turned even more red and said, "Hermione. Escort. You. Tomorrow morning. Right?" He jerked his head towards Malfoy with what he undoubtedly thought was great subtlety.

"Oh," Potter said, catching on. "Er… yes. 8:30, just like usual. Right, Hermione?"

Malfoy couldn't stop grinning. You've just given me quite a gift, Weasley. Thought that was going to take ages, and you've dropped it right into my lap. He tossed out, "Fascinating. I wouldn't have thought you lot were able to tell time," and then sauntered on his way.

Hermione had been stiff and still for the entire exchange, avoiding eye contact with Malfoy. As he left, she visibly relaxed and then glared at Ron and Harry. "Don't engage him," she said. "It only makes it worse."

Ron puffed out his chest a bit and said, "Well, now he knows not to even bother trying to mess with you, doesn't he?"

She sighed. "I guess so, Ron." She wished she could tell her friends why she could barely even stand to be in the same room with Malfoy, why the sound of his voice made her skin crawl. Although having Ron and Harry attempt to use the Killing Curse right there in the Great Hall would hardly be an improvement in their situation, so perhaps it was just as well that she had to keep it secret for a while longer. She wondered if Snape would tell her before he left to carry out the plan.

The thought of Snape brought color to her cheeks, and she made herself focus on her friends' conversation again, before anyone noticed.

—~—~—

"Couldn't sleep, eh?"

Ginny was walking back to Gryffindor Tower with Hermione. After lunch, Harry had excused himself, no doubt off to another Order meeting. And Ron was off to see Lavender. If she's managed to drag herself out of bed yet, Hermione thought, knowing she was being unfair. She'd hardly been an early riser herself that morning.

Hermione glanced at Ginny, wondering what to tell her. The truth was hardly an option.

"I was up late, yeah," she finally said, avoiding eye contact with her friend. "Studying."

Ginny made a sound like air rushing out of a balloon and rolled her eyes. "Hermione. Don't try to feed me a line about studying. I know perfectly well you didn't leave the Yule Ball and spend the night in your room studying."

Her tone was less playful and more accusing than it had been when they'd had this sort of discussion previously. She knows something, Hermione thought. She stopped walking and turned to face the other girl.

"Ginny, what's this about?"

Ginny chewed on her lip for a moment without saying anything. Hermione felt uneasy; she thought about how she'd feel if she found out that a trusted friend had kept a secret like this from her for so long—how she'd feel if she knew that a friend had lied to her outright. But I have to lie, she thought. Don't I?

Ginny broke her silence at last with, "I saw you leave last night."

Hermione instinctively assumed a neutral expression, ready to feign ignorance. But Ginny went on, "With Snape." She tilted her head in challenge and said, "I saw you leave with him, and you never came back to the Ball. You didn't come back to your room, either. I checked."

Hermione had thought no-one had seen their exit last night… but she'd been distracted. Very distracted. She wondered, with an adrenaline spike to her stomach, exactly how much Ginny had seen. Had she seen her shouted argument with Snape in the hallway? She could hardly explain any of that away as a special research project, or studying, or any of the rest of her usual excuses.

They reached the moving staircases of Gryffindor Tower. Hermione said, "Come to my room with me." Ginny lifted a dubious eyebrow but followed her friend.

Maybe I should just tell her the truth, Hermione thought. But she'd made a promise. She'd promised him that she could keep this secret. Even from her friends. Even from her best friend. And even if she hadn't made that promise, she knew how important secrecy was. One word breathed in the wrong direction, and Voldemort would have them.

But she had to tell Ginny something.

Hermione held her silence until they were inside her room with the door firmly closed. Ginny took a seat on the bed, folding her legs up underneath her, while Hermione perched on the edge of the overstuffed chair next to her desk and folded her hands in her lap.

"All right," Ginny said, "what's going on?"

Hermione took a deep breath, having decided what she was going to do. "I'm going to tell you as much as I can," she said. "But that's not much."

Ginny's eyebrows looked as though they would skyrocket from her forehead.

"You're right that I wasn't studying," Hermione told her. "I'm sorry I lied about that. Really I am."

When several seconds passed with no further elaboration, Ginny asked, "So... what were you doing, then?"

"I… I can't tell you." Hermione willed her friend to accept this.

"But it's something to do with Snape." Ginny said. The set of her jaw said that it wasn't a question.

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again. Ginny had seen them leave the bloody Ball together. She knew something was up.

I can't lie to her anymore.

"Yes," she said. "It's something to do with Snape." It was the first time she'd admitted that to anyone. She felt as though she were balancing on a tightrope stretched over a great height.

Ginny's mouth was a thin, hard line. Her eyes glittered with a severity Hermione had rarely seen from her friend.

"Is he hurting you?" she asked.

Hermione flashed for an instant to the night before, when he'd pinned her down by her wrists, made her writhe, made her scream. She blinked and cleared the image from her mind.

"He's not," she said. Ginny's expression didn't change, and Hermione went on, "I promise, I'm telling the truth. He's not hurting me."

"But you can't tell me what this is about."

"I can't," Hermione said. "Not yet anyway." And then wondered if even that was revealing too much.

"Not yet," Ginny repeated. Still folded into her lotus position, she frowned at her friend and said, "Hermione, last night he looked really pissed off. I don't know what's going on, but… promise me he's not hurting you. You have to promise me that."

Hermione met her friend's eyes. "I promise you that Professor Snape is not hurting me."

Ginny let out a breath. "All right. But you will tell me what this is about?"

Hermione nodded. "I will. When I can. I promise. And listen… don't tell Harry or Ron about any of this. Please?"

The other girl unwound herself from the bed and rose to her feet. "I won't. But I'm worried about you." She went to her friend and wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug.

"I know," Hermione said, muffled into Ginny's hair. "I would too, if it were you."

Ginny pulled back from the hug and said, "Make sure you wait for Harry tomorrow morning, yeah? Draco is freaking me out."

"I will," Hermione said. Ginny gave her friend a peck on the cheek and a worried frown, and then she left through the door.

Hermione expelled a long breath. She hadn't revealed anything to Ginny that Ginny hadn't already found out herself, so she'd maintained her promise to Snape. And she'd felt such a wash of relief to be able to tell even a small part of the truth to someone else.

Soon. Soon you'll be able to tell everybody everything.

—~—~—

Several stories below, Snape sat at his desk, his quill moving steadily across a scroll. Steam curled out of the magically-warmed mug of tea next to his right hand. He signed his name with his customary flourish and then rolled the scroll tightly and marked it with his seal. It was addressed to Lord Voldemort and informed the Dark Lord that Snape could deliver the next batch of potion on Friday of this week.

He let his hand rest on the scroll for a moment. He thought the chance that he would survive the week to be vanishingly remote. Bellatrix had been whispering in Voldemort's ear all these long weeks, telling him that Snape was a liar and a traitor. And the Dark Lord could hardly have failed to notice that the potion he'd been taking for four weeks had had no discernible effect whatsoever. He'd be lucky if Voldemort didn't kill him on sight.

But then, a few seconds in Voldemort's sight would be all he needed.

He laughed to himself, a humorless sound. Yes, then all he'd have to do would be to fight off a room full of Death Eaters bent on vengeance. And that's if the potion even worked.

He closed his fingers around the scroll, lifted it, examined it. It felt heavier than its slim width would indicate. It felt like an end to things.

The image of Hermione writhing and sobbing out his name came unbidden to his mind, and he realized that for the first time in a long time, he very much did not want things to end.

He put the scroll down and got out a fresh sheet of parchment. He'd send the first one; oh yes, no question of that. The trap had been set, and he would wait no longer than Friday to trigger it. But he would write a second letter as well.

This one would go to Albus.