A/N: Next chapter will be Monday, with another M/W/F posting schedule.
Big thanks to my amazing beta!
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
Please review!
Hermione and Severus spent the evening of July 11th enjoying the absence of the students, and the empty, echoing serenity that fell upon Hogwarts. They summoned a bottle of champagne from the kitchen, uncorked it, and celebrated their wedding anniversary properly for the first time in nearly five years.
Every year, on their anniversary, Hermione at least found the time to take off her ring and read each individual rune, mentally reminding herself of the promises they had ingrained into the rings, before she would bring it to her lips and kiss the metal—which was always warm to the touch when she did. Some anniversaries had been spent merely finding an opportunity to have a rare, quiet evening together, when they had a son to watch. Now, however, Hermione was using this opportunity to celebrate in style.
It was an evening of relaxation, curled up in the library in a manner that he would never have done if the students were still present. As it was, they were grateful that they had managed to lock Madam Pince out for the entire evening, so that they could kick off their shoes, transfigure themselves a comfortable couch, summon themselves a few choice books, and read. Read with a champagne bottle that should not be in the library, granted, but if they could not hear Madam Pince pounding on the door to tell them off, well—that was hardly their fault, was it?
It was a quiet, peaceful night in the library with a good drink.
The next day, they returned to Spinner's End with Madam Pince glaring at their backs, and Hermione deliberated for a long while before she informed Severus that she had some errands to run. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at this, but then retreated to his lab to get some work done, which Hermione took as acceptance.
Her first stop was in front of the home of Diane and George. To her surprise, it was to find Selenius sitting on the front steps, staring sullenly at the walkway, chin resting in his hands, and elbows on his knees. He was wearing his school uniform, and his hair had been cut just past his ears. It looked recent, and he did not look particularly pleased. In fact, he looked downright miserable, and it was all Hermione could do to stop her heart from breaking in two.
Nevertheless, when he saw her walk up the drive, his expression brightened immediately. A moment later, he had stood up, and was running. Hermione knelt down on the ground in time for her son to throw himself into her arms.
"Mum," Selenius said plaintively, clenching the fabric on her shoulders in his hands. "You came back."
"Where are Diane and George?" Hermione asked gently, pulling away so that she could look into his face, try to remember it and how it had changed. She always had the locket to look to, the picture in it to gaze on, but this—seeing her son in the flesh, grown another year and another inch and a half, was something different.
Selenius's expression turned sour. "Inside," he said. "Reading my report card."
~o~O~o~
After bewitching her aunt and uncle to sit quietly in the living room in a trance-like state, Hermione made Selenius a dinner of mashed potatoes and a bacon sandwich, before they sat down to discuss several things—Selenius's report card among them.
Selenius poked moodily at the potatoes with his fork. "When am I going home?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered quietly. "Not right now. But we need to discuss your report card."
"My grades are okay," he replied, now making crosshatches in the potatoes with the fork.
"They're good," Hermione assured him, "but I'm concerned about the teachers' comments."
Selenius reluctantly stuck a forkful into his mouth, chewing for a moment before swallowing, and then answering. Apparently, Diane and George had not been lax in teaching him manners. "I don't like school."
"Can you tell me why?"
A pause, another mouthful. Then he set the fork down.
"I miss home."
Hermione's heart sank at this.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. How to make a seven-year-old, even one as precocious as Selenius, understand? "Things are… complicated."
Hermione did not leave until long after eight, where she tucked a very tired, and somewhat overwrought Selenius into bed. His room was barren for the most part, the walls painted light blue and the bed covers a mix of pale blue and white-patterned sailboats. There was a picture on the dresser, of the three of them during the previous year's Christmas vacation, where Diane and George had apparently taken a vacation along the coast. Selenius was smiling in the picture, but it was a thin one, as though he had been ordered to do so, and not because he was genuinely pleased.
He was well cared for. Diane and George were doing all they could for him, albeit without knowing that he was their niece's son, not their own. He went to a Primary school, was getting good grades in his classes—which did not mean much, at the age of seven, but were good signs all the same. The only problem was that he was simply lonely. He had come from a world of magic, and to be thrust into a Muggle one, without his parents, without the teachers at Hogwarts who had helped to look after him.
Then Hermione went to visit Sirius. She entered carrying a most recent edition of the Daily Prophet, whereupon she laid it down on the table for him to see. He looked interestedly at it, examining the picture and then the article—and then his eyes suddenly snapped to the picture of Scabbers. Realization slowly dawned in his eyes, and then Hermione watched as he ignored everything else in the paper, and began staring obsessively at the picture of Ron's rat.
Hermione got up from her chair, made him dinner, and then left him to it.
That summer, as she examined their stock reports, and made the decision to sell almost all of it. Their Gringotts bank vault filled up nicely, and the look on Severus's face when she handed him the written-out statement describing the final value of their sold shares was rather indicative of how well Hermione had done with them.
For her son's birthday, Hermione gave him a journal full of riddles and elaborate puzzles that Severus had sketched out, filling up every page of parchment with thick lines of black ink, and space enough at the bottom for him to write his answer. A note on the first page stated that he wanted to see Selenius's work on the empty pages near the back of the book, something Hermione knew would please her son. It was also an inspiration of hope, too—that he would get a chance to see his father again soon, if only to have him look over his work. If his father was interested, Selenius was happy. She also gave him a brand-new copy of Hogwarts, A History to read, knowing that if his foster parents happened to look at it, they would think it a fantasy book.
Hermione continued to stop by just to peer inside just on the edge of the front lawn, though now she came once a day. On his birthday, she saw him slide the book under his bed, after tucking the birthday card in-between the pages, and almost immediately begin working on the riddle journal from his father. The next day, he had locked Diane and George out of his room after stealing graham crackers and a glass of milk from the kitchen, and sat on the floor all day still working on the riddles. The two of them threatened to take the lock off his door, but unsurprisingly, Selenius was not bothered by this in the least.
They did take the lock off his door, for that. Somehow or another, it reappeared overnight.
The day after his birthday, Sirius sent a note telling Hermione that he was leaving the safety of Tine Cottage.
I have a job to do, he wrote. The consequences mean nothing to me now—I have to do this for my godson. Even if it means I will be sent back to Azkaban, once all of this is over. Go ahead and inform the Ministry, he added. It's your obligation to, and I won't hold you responsible for my actions here. Keep your end of the bargain with Fudge.
And so regretfully, Hermione was forced to notify the Minister that Sirius Black had escaped, though she gave him three days head start. The day following the notice, the Ministry was in an uproar, and the newspapers were in a flurry of excitement. A short time later, Hermione received news from Sirius that he had seen Harry leave for the Leaky Cauldron on the Knight Bus, and she received a request for a meeting with the Minister.
"As you can see," Fudge said, wringing his bowler hat as he offered her a cup of tea, "Black is out of your custody—that makes it my job to ensure he returns to Azkaban…"
"I understand," Hermione had told him shortly, getting to her feet.
"You do?"
"Yes."
A week before term resumed, Hermione stopped by her aunt and uncle's for the last time that summer. What she found was worth recounting to Severus: Diane wanted to take Selenius to get another haircut right before school resumed, as his hair had somehow grown past his shoulders again in a ridiculously short amount of time, and he was putting up quite a fuss. Their resulting argument ended in Selenius losing all self-control and throwing a screaming fit, refusing to let his foster mother come anywhere near him, until she eventually gave up. She tried to at least insist on trimming it to even it out, but at that point, Selenius's death glare was sufficient enough to dissuade her. He was going to school with his hair long, and nothing anyone tried would convince him otherwise.
Not that it stopped Diane from trying.
"You'll get teased for having such long hair," she said, trying to tuck Selenius's hair behind his ear the same way Hermione did, but Selenius smacked her hand away. Hermione had never seen him allow Diane to play with his hair, and since her visit earlier that summer, he had grown even touchier about letting his poor foster mother do anything to him.
"I don't care," he responded petulantly.
"It's really very hard to take care of, and it's starting to get a bit greasy…"
"I said no," Selenius responded, scowling blackly.
"At least let me straighten out the edges, give it some shape—"
"NO."
Severus found this too amusing to put into words, if amusing was the right word. In truth, he missed their son dearly, despite the fact that he now had Hermione back in ways he had not when Selenius had been around—but he wanted his son too. The idea that Selenius was still hanging onto his preferred choice of style, of which he had gotten from his father, was endearing to say the least.
Severus's good mood from the news lasted only so long as he and Hermione, having returned to Hogwarts to prepare for his classes, were both finally enlightened as to the situation at the school. Several changes would be taking place this year: first and foremost would be the presence of Dementors, a verdict which had Hagrid trembling and all of the other Professors both scowling and white-faced. The Ministry had made the excuse that they were doing it for the students' safety—Harry's safety, mostly—but it was clear that the Ministry was more interested in the prospect of catching Sirius than protecting the students.
Secondly, Professor Kettleburn would be retiring, and Hagrid would be taking over the job of Care of Magical Creatures. This elicited much congratulations and good wishes toward the half-giant, who was so pleased at the news that his already ruddy face turned an even deeper red, as he took a swig of firewhiskey to hide his grin.
Thirdly, Remus Lupin would be taking on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.
Hermione and Severus's reactions were as different as could be. Hermione had actually squealed with delight, and immediately asked a very pleased Dumbledore if he knew how Remus was doing since she had last seen him. Severus had given the Headmaster the blackest scowl he seemed capable of, his face contorting into a disgusted sneer, and he turned away snarling under his breath.
"First Black, now the werewolf…" He muttered mutinously.
"An' Dementors," Hagrid added, shuddering. "Don' forget the Dementors." But Hagrid still seemed pleased, and when they left the Great Hall, Hermione walked down to his hut with him to hear all about his plans. Severus returned to their quarters, still in a foul mood.
"I'm going ter start off with Hippogriffs," Hagrid told Hermione happily. "Beau'iful critters, Hippogriffs. Be a real treat, see."
"Just be careful, Hagrid," Hermione told him easily.
~o~O~o~
"I'm fine!" Harry insisted, getting to his feet. Poppy's earlier remark about him being delicate had already ticked him off after his experience on the train, and to be honest, Hermione was not at all surprised. He was not making things any easier for the Matron as she tried to peer into his eyes, while also suggesting that perhaps he should have a bit of chocolate—
"I've already had some," Harry said, annoyed. "Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us."
"Did he, now?" Poppy said, approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?"
Smiling slightly at this, Hermione slipped out the door to Professor McGonagall's office, and went to seek out the man himself.
She knew he was at the Welcoming Feast—along with her husband, who was certain to be most unenthusiastic when the announcements for new staffing arrangements came—and therefore resigned herself to the staff room, where she curled up in a chair and pulled out a book. When several teachers filed in about an hour and a half later, Hermione was delighted when she stood up to find that Remus was, indeed, among them.
He looked paler than Hermione remembered, and it looked as though he had not been eating well. She had not had many letters from him since disappearing off the map several years ago, but his last letter—which had been nearly a decade ago—had given her the impression that he had been doing well. Now, clearly, he had not been: and when the door shut behind him, Hermione immediately crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.
"Remus," she said happily.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, looking surprised, but a grin pulled itself across his drawn face, and he returned her embrace. "I didn't see you at the Welcoming Feast! How have you been?"
"Better than you, it seems," she told him, stepping back with her hands on his shoulders so that she could get a proper look at him. "Goodness, you haven't been eating well! I'll summon the elves for a bit of a snack—"
"No need to trouble yourself, I had enough at the feast—"
"Oh, I insist," Hermione said, grinning at him, as she summoned an elf for some tea and biscuits.
Remus chuckled. "You're starting to sound just like Molly! She said the same thing, when I stopped by her place to see how she was doing." His eyes widened slightly for a moment, as they drifted over her fingers. "You married! I had no idea—why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried to invite you, actually, you prat," Hermione said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. "But the owl I sent never came back with a reply. I actually think the poor bird gave up."
"I was working in France at a clock shop for some time," Remus admitted. "The owner—who was a witch, mind—hired me to make sure nothing nasty was in any of the clocks she bought or sold. But it was rather out of the way, and I don't think I left any trail…"
"No, you didn't," Hermione responded dryly.
"So, who's the lucky man?" Remus asked genially, as he set down his battered case on the hearth rug and collapsed in one of the armchairs.
"Severus," Hermione responded smugly.
"Merlin help us."
"For eleven years," Hermione added.
"It's a good thing you didn't invite me, then—I think it's bad form for a man to strangle one of his wedding guests," Remus responded, with a slight smile. "He looked quite ready to put me six feet under this evening, at dinner."
Hermione winced. "He wants the job, and you got it."
"And you used to have it, last I remember."
"Yes, well," Hermione said uselessly, "things change."
"So they do," Remus responded slowly, as Hermione took a seat next to him. "I saw someone who looks exactly like you this afternoon. We were in the same compartment. Funny thing is—she had your exact name, too."
Hermione grimaced. "Yes, about that…"
And she began to explain everything to him. Minerva, Pomona, and Filius, all of whom had come in earlier and made themselves quite at ease, listened in as well, though they had all heard the story before. Severus came in some time later, throwing Remus a look of deepest loathing before taking a seat over at one of the desks. When she finally laid back in her chair, having told Remus everything from when she had been thrown back in time to when the first war had ended, the man simply sat back and shook his head.
"Unbelievable," he said. "Simply unbelievable."
"There's more to it, Lupin," Severus informed him sourly. "None of the students are aware of her existence, and it must remain that way."
"All the staff knows, of course," Minerva interjected, "although Sybill is a bit oblivious to it, thank goodness."
"I won't tell any of the students," Remus promised. Seeing the look on Severus's face, he added, "No, not even to Hermione's younger self. Don't worry about it. But still," he said, clasping his hands together, "I must confess I'm still in a bit of a shock… and here James and I always thought you were just a Seer, with the way you were always prepared for everything…"
"If you must know, I never even got through a single year of Divination," Hermione joked. "I'll end up storming out of the class sometime around Easter."
Remus was snickering; he simply couldn't help himself. He subsided a moment later, however, his expression serious. "So Harry is here, with your younger self, and we have Sirius Black out and about trying to kill him."
Hermione opened her mouth, hesitant, but Minerva interjected before she could respond.
"That's the situation, yes." Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
The room was momentarily arrested into silence. And then—
"Well," Remus said dully, "I'd best get prepared for my first class, then. I've got sixth years tomorrow."
Severus made a disparaging sound in the back of his throat. "The Headmaster has requested I inform you that if you are in need of Wolfsbane, you are free to call upon me to brew some for you." His tone was snide, and everything about his demeanor suggested he would rather be scrubbing rusty cauldrons by hand than brewing Wolfsbane Potion for Remus, but the werewolf had the grace to accept it gratefully.
"I would appreciate that, Severus. Thank you."
They stood up and left one by one.
~o~O~o~
The first week of term could not, in Hermione's opinion, have gone any worse. Malfoy had managed to ruin what had otherwise been a splendid Care of Magical Creatures lesson by Hagrid, and was milking it for all it was worth at the Gryffindors'—and Hagrid's—expense. Pansy Parkinson was simpering over him, and when Hermione snuck into the Potions classroom on Thursday evening, it was to find that half-way through the double-lesson, Malfoy swaggered in.
Severus hardly looked up from the papers he was grading when his godson walked in. He allowed the Slytherins a moment to fuss over their Seeker before redirecting them to their work.
"Settle down, settle down," he told them idly, not looking up from his work once.
Harry and Ron exchanged identical scowls at this, and Hermione glowered at her husband's back. Not even five points from Slytherin for coming in late and causing such a diversion—he would have stripped anyone else for as many points he could get from their hide!
But that wasn't all. Malfoy set up shop at the same table as Harry and Ron, forcing them to prepare their ingredients in the same place—
"Sir," Malfoy called, his tone one of utter respect, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm—"
"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," Severus said lazily, without glancing up.
Ron went brick red, hissing something to Malfoy under his breath.
"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."
Hermione bent over to lean into her husband's ear.
"I'm going to give you hell for this later, you know."
His ear twitched slightly at this, but he gave no other indication to suggest he had heard her.
A moment later…
"Professor," Malfoy drawled, enjoying himself, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."
When Hermione stormed out of the dungeons that evening, vowing to never sneak into his classroom again simply because she could not, for the life of her, put up with the way he treated the non-Slytherins so abysmally, she was stopped by him grabbing her arm.
"Going somewhere?" he purred.
"Yes, you arse," Hermione snapped. "Hagrid's."
"I thought you were going to give me hell for torturing Weasley?"
"And everyone else," Hermione growled, "but I changed my mind."
"How unlike you." Severus removed her Disillusionment Charm with a rap of his wand on her shoulder so that he could see her face, the color trickling back into her. "You know I have to be this way, to keep up appearances. Why are you so upset?"
"You're only like this because Remus is here and you didn't get the job you wanted," Hermione said angrily. "I know you're typically a nasty piece of work, but I have never seen you like this with another class! You nearly poisoned Neville's toad, ruined Ron's potion because you were catering to Malfoy like a lapdog—"
Severus's face contorted, and he abruptly pulled away.
"Fine," he spat. "Defend the werewolf, defend that bumbling incompetent with the toad, completely ignore the fact that Draco reports everything anyone says and does to his father—"
Hermione drew herself up. "There is an enormous difference between keeping up appearances and being an unmitigated sadist," she snarled.
Severus's expression suddenly turned painfully bitter, and he stormed back to his desk. "Fine," he repeated. "Go away. I have class in five minutes."
"Gladly," Hermione responded irritably, shutting the door behind her. "I'll be at Hagrid's."
~o~O~o~
Remus's first lesson with the third-years went well, as predicted, and Hermione spent the following evening in his office catching up with him. In a sense, both of them were hiding from her husband, who was still in a sour mood in regards to Hermione, and who appeared near-enraged when the topic of Remus came up after the story of him appearing in Neville's Grandmother's clothes had spread through the school like wildfire. The two sat at his desk, enjoying a cup of tea while catching-up on each other's lives.
"I spent the last few years moving from job to job," Remus admitted, taking a sip of tea. "One witch, when she found out I was a werewolf, wanted to hire me as a guard dog." He laughed ruefully. "I just found odd jobs here and there—most didn't last long, and they didn't pay very well."
"You should have contacted me," Hermione insisted.
"Yes, well, I didn't really want to place my burden on you," Remus said. "You had yourself and Severus to look after—and I know you weren't exactly rolling in the Galleons, when I last saw you. And I was surviving."
"You still should have," Hermione insisted. "That's what friends are for, aren't they?"
For a moment, Remus looked regretful; he opened his mouth to say something, shut it, and then quickly changed the subject.
"How have you been?" He asked. "I know you've been well, but I can also tell you've changed. I want to hear about it."
"Well," Hermione mused. "Severus and I did some separate research, made a bit of money on that, and otherwise, we've both been teaching here for several years—although I had to quit around 1986."
"So that none of the students would remember Professor Granger by the time your younger self arrived?"
"That, and I was pregnant," Hermione confessed.
Remus's jaw dropped. "Merciful Merlin," he exclaimed, choking on his tea. "I was not expecting that. Where is he—she—now?"
"He's with my aunt and uncle for a bit," Hermione said idly, taking a delicate sip from her cup. "Hogwarts isn't the safest of places, right now—he's about seven, and needs to be with other kids his age. He wasn't supposed to be born before I was even old enough to go to school, and I can't risk him being seen by too many people." She hesitated, and then dug the locket out of her shirt, pulling it off from around her neck and opening it. She handed it to Remus.
"The picture's a few years out of date—it was taken about three, maybe four years ago…"
Remus was staring down at the picture of Severus with his arm around Hermione's shoulder, the black-haired child in Hermione's arms and smiling. "You look happy," he observed.
"I was—I am," Hermione amended.
"You miss him," Remus stated perceptively, glancing down at the photo once more before gently handing it back to Hermione. She hung it back around her neck, tucking it back underneath her shirt.
"He's my son, Remus," Hermione said miserably. "What do you expect?"
"Well," Remus posed thoughtfully, "why do you stay at Hogwarts instead of looking after him somewhere else?"
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. "Because Hogwarts needs me—and Severus. I'm here to look after Harry when no one can reasonably keep an eye on him. And… and I need to keep an eye on the time-line, here."
Remus nodded. "Otherwise, you could find a place…"
"Even if I could, I still couldn't," Hermione explained. "I need to remain hidden from the world, for the most part, until I can slot myself back into my proper time—which won't be for another two and a half years," she said with a sigh.
Remus grimaced in sympathy.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Maybe I can kidnap him for Christmas vacation," Hermione joked dully.
~o~O~o~
Hermione and Severus had not exactly been speaking to each other for several days. It grew worse as the weeks flew by, and the silence between them festered. Hermione slept with her back turned to him, and Severus would angrily punch his pillow into a comfortable shape before turning his back to her, as well. For some reason, they still had not made up—exactly why, Hermione was not certain—but by the end of the month, where neither of them had made any attempt at reconciliation, she finally became fed up with it. They were both too stubborn to even try, and since he obviously was not, she would have to.
Therefore, the day before Halloween, she woke her husband up at roughly four in the morning with a pillow smacked against his face. He awoke with a startled cry, and then tried to protect his face as she smacked him with it again.
"I am sick of this!"
"Bloody hell—"
"What is your problem?" she demanded, chucking the pillow aside and straddling him, so that she had him pinned down to the bed.
He gaped at her. "My problem? You're the one who woke me up with a pillow, screeching like a banshee—"
Hermione jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "We've said less than six words to each other over the last three weeks!"
Severus tried to throw her off, but she was fully awake, and he was admittedly still a bit muddled by sleep and the fact that it was such an ungodly hour in the morning. She pinned his wrists down, though with hardly any success, given how significantly stronger he was in comparison to her.
"Bloody—" He managed to sit up. He yanked one hand out of her grasp, and used it to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Lupin."
"Yes, I understand you have unresolved anger issues regarding the Marauders. Next?"
"Not that!" Severus snarled. He glanced briefly at the watch on Hermione's wrist, reading the time upside-down. "Gods—I can't believe you're waking me up at four in the morning for this…"
"You have four seconds to start talking before I smack you with a pillow again," Hermione warned.
Severus glared at her for a single long moment, and then exploded. "I saw the way you looked at him—I—you—when you first saw him again…"
Hermione's jaw drop. In fact, she was surprised it had not unhinged itself and dropped off her skull and hit the bed, such was her shock.
She managed to close her mouth, after a moment.
"You're jealous?" she finally exclaimed. "You're jealous?"
Severus glowered at her.
"Severus, I have never once even thought about Remus like that—he was always like the older brother I could rely on—and I haven't seen him in years!" Hermione spluttered. "How the hell did you come to the conclusion that I was—oh, my gods." She pressed her hand against her forehead, and starting giggling with barely suppressed laughter. "Merlin, this is ridiculous."
"You went with him to one of Slughorn's parties—"
Hermione was now laughing uncontrollably.
This was it? Her husband of eleven years was being a colossal arse because he thought that Lupin had not only gotten the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, he thought Hermione was still interested in him—which required him to assume she had indeed been interested in the first place.
"Severus," she stated, pressing a hand to her lips to try and quell the urge to giggle, "I took Remus with me to Slughorn's party once—only once!—because Alice and Marlene roped me into doing it so that I could teach him to dance and get him to socialize. And I haven't seen him for over a decade—I've hardly heard word from him, even—and I've missed him because he used to be and still is one of my lifelong and closest friends."
Severus looked hesitant for a moment. Hermione pressed on.
"Are you telling me that this—" She gestured at the air, waving her hand in emphasis. "—is because you were jealous?"
Severus didn't respond, which was answer enough. Hermione sighed, pressing her hand back to her mouth to try and hold back a snort of laughter, and then gave up and leaned forward to kiss him.
"Honestly," she said, pulling away so that they were face to face. "You could have just asked."
"He…"
"Remus has never seen me that way, Severus. In fact, given the way he was around me when we were younger, I might have thought he was gay if it weren't for the short-lived crush he had on Marlene."
Severus snorted. "And now?"
"I've been in his office catching up with him, both of us essentially hiding from my prat of a husband," Hermione said, her tone slightly teasing. "Now, are you ready to be a little less cruel to me and my friends, or do I need to whack some more sense into you with a pillow?"
Severus surged up at once, reversing their positions and pinning her down against the bed.
"Smack me again with a pillow, wife, and I will personally ensure that you leave this bed with some sense smacked into your arse."
Hermione grinned unrepentantly at him, relieved that they had gotten over the divide that had been keeping them cold toward each other over the last few weeks. "That's hardly discouragement, is it?"
With a growl, he bent down to attack her breasts with his lips, before flipping her over onto her belly and pinning her down.
"What would discourage you, then?"
"Stop being an unmitigated git—or more of one than you have to be—to me and my classmates," Hermione countered, deliberately grinding her backside against him, wearing a victorious smile. She twisted her head around to look at him, and then kissed him, pulling away when the strain on her neck became a bit too much. "There's no reason for it, after all."
"Always the altruistic one," Severus drawled.
They spent the rest of the night making love for the first time in nearly a month and a half, and when Hermione got up very late the next afternoon to get some private research done, it was with a very self-satisfied look on her face. When she arrived at the staff room later that evening to use the desk there and for some company, Remus—who had been using one of the desks to grade papers—took one look at her and shook his head.
"Merlin's undershorts, no wonder Severus looked so smug earlier."
"Smug?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow as she pulled one of the books from the small shelf in one corner.
"He came in with my Wolfsbane earlier—which I'm very grateful for, by the way, and I'll need some more later— but up until he laid eyes on Harry, he seemed to be looking quite pleased with himself."
Hermione's cheeks flushed. "Yes. Well… yes." She cleared her throat. "So you kept Harry busy while Granger and Ron were at Hogsmeade?"
"Granger?"
"That's what I— we— call my younger self."
"Ah. Well, yes." Remus leaned back in his chair. "Harry seemed to think that Severus was actually trying to poison me, judging by the expression on his face."
"Harry and Ron aren't exactly trusting of Severus," Hermione said dryly.
"And you—excuse me, Granger—are?"
"I have my moments."
Remus grinned. "Of course."
~o~O~o~
Hermione stood at the foot of the bottom stair leading from the Entrance Hall to the staircases, watching as the students all crowded and shuffled along in confusion, tired and sleepy from the Halloween Feast. A familiar squash-faced, orange cat wound itself around her ankles, and she bent down to scratch him behind the ears.
"Hello, Crooks," she said softly.
The half-kneazle let out a small mew of fond recognition.
"Looks like it's starting, isn't it?" Hermione murmured absently, as Percy Weasley's voice rang through.
"Let me through, please! What's the holdup here? You can't all have forgotten the password—excuse me, I'm Head Boy—"
And then silence abruptly fell over the crowd, starting from the front to the back, so that it seemed a chill had run down the spine of onlookers. Then Percy said, in a sharp, worried voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."
Hermione glanced down at Crookshanks, and then quietly strode out of the Entrance Hall, slipping out into the courtyard, followed by her cat.
"Do you know where he is, Crooks?"
The half-kneazle let out a miaow of agreement, and then began trotting down the steps, into the courtyard, and then took a turn down the path leading to the Whomping Willow. Hermione followed Crookshanks all the way down, until they stopped just before the waving and club-brandishing tree. A quick stunning spell on the knot, and both cat and human ducked inside the tunnel, cat first.
Getting through the tunnel had not been made any easier with time: it occurred to Hermione that it might not be a particularly bad idea to seek out an Animagus form, given that she had both Minerva and Sirius at her disposal to help her. That could certainly make sneaking around Hogwarts easier…
"Who's there?" Sirius's voice rasped out from the gloom.
"It's me," Hermione said, pulling herself out. Crookshanks gave Sirius a prompt mew of greeting, and immediately rubbed up against his ankles, acting like his best friend. Grinning, he bent down to stroke him behind the ears. "Your handiwork hasn't gone unnoticed, you realize."
Sirius looked pale and gaunt, as though he were not getting enough food nor enough sunlight. He grimaced.
"I lost my temper…"
"Like that wasn't obvious," Hermione said dryly, lifting Crookshanks into his lap so that he could pet him. "You need to plan your actions more, Sirius, or they really will catch you." She wrinkled her nose. "Not to mention the collateral damage…"
Sirius buried his face in his hands. Crookshanks reached up and licked the side of his unshaven cheek comfortingly.
Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax," she told him gently. "I'll try to bring some food with me next time—you're looking a bit thin, again. And we'll try to figure out what to do next, to help your godson. Our godson," she corrected.
Sirius looked at her gratefully.
"I've just got a single question for you," Hermione said, her tone thoughtful.
Sirius gave her a rueful smile. "What is it?"
"Can you tell me how to become an Animagus?"
~o~O~o~
The Fat Lady's mutilated portrait had been replaced with that of Sir Cadogan, the mad knight who, by the end of the week, had every single Gryffindor turned against him. The weather gradually worsened—as did Severus's mood. He never stopped suspecting Remus of having helped Sirius into the castle, and the fact that Hermione had begun to spend her time with her friend—albeit in a very platonic and entirely unsuspicious relationship—did nothing to help.
"Black and Lupin used to be together," he hissed at her one evening, as they strode back to their quarters. "They used to be part of the Marauders, Hermione!"
"So was I," Hermione shot back.
"Lupin did nothing to stop Black and Potter when they humiliated me in front of the school—"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "Just because he didn't stand up to Sirius then doesn't mean he'll help a murderer!"
"It doesn't give me confidence that he has the strength to stand up to him now, either!"
"Rubbish," Hermione snapped coldly.
The day before the match, the weather had reached an all-time low. The Dementors had grown restless, and Hermione hardly dared sneak out of the castle after hours. She was perfectly capable of casting a Patronus, but she neither wanted to draw attention to herself nor risk being overwhelmed.
This is why I need an Animagus form, she thought sourly, as she leaned against the far wall of the courtyard, trying to protect herself from the howling winds and downpour that were waging a vicious war against the castle walls. She watched Sirius padding toward her in the distance, and waved at him hoping he could see her. He can go anywhere with them around as long as he's not human…
A huge, shaggy black dog slipped out underneath the archway, and Hermione quickly dried him off with a spell—causing his fur to fluff up like a ball of black-spun wool—and she hurried to smooth him down, before reaching into her bag and pulling out a package of food that she had wrapped up and cast water-proofing spells on.
"The Quidditch Match is tomorrow," she told him, as the dog took the package gratefully between his teeth. "You'll have to be careful, though—the Dementors are going to get a little out of hand, I'd stay at the edge of the pitch if I were you…"
Sirius let out a whine. Hermione patted his side, giving his shaggy fur a rub, and then cast an Impervious Charm on him.
"Go on," she said, and the dog turned tail and slipped back out into the rain, which pattered against the invisible layer of the spell she had just cast, keeping him dry. "I'll see you later."
Sirius wagged his tail as he left, and Hermione hurried back inside.
~o~O~o~
Hermione began filling out the form for the Nimbus Two-Thousand that Sirius had requested and filled the necessary details in for himself. It astounded her, really, that the Ministry was not keeping an eye on the bank vaults of a wanted fugitive, but then again—Goblins could be a difficult lot to deal with. Perhaps they simply were not cooperating.
At any rate, Hermione managed to Floo to Hogsmeade and deliver the form to the Post Office in person, weathering the continuing downpour before making her way back up to the castle. Dumbledore was furious; Minerva was tight-lipped and pale; Severus was sallow with rage, and the other teachers were wary and on edge after the disaster of the previous day's Quidditch Match.
Slytherin was celebrating this win unrepentantly, and when classes resumed, Malfoy was beside himself with malicious glee at Gryffindor's defeat. Ron, who had just been relieved of a detention for sticking up for Granger the day Severus was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts class—and indeed, Hermione pointed out that he had been particularly nasty—he was assigned another detention for chucking a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy. Along with a fifty-point deduction.
"Honestly, Severus," Hermione sighed that evening, as she prepared to do her rounds—and make a discreet visit to the kitchens. "Was it really necessary to call me an insufferable know-it-all? Or to take points away for it?"
Severus's lip curled, but he did not defend himself.
"That seemed a bit excessively cruel to me," Hermione said softly.
A pause. "Lucius Malfoy has been making weekly Floo calls here, when you're not around," Severus finally responded. "He's put me under heavy pressure—when the Dark Lord returns, I will only have his good word to put in for my defense."
Hermione bit her lower lip, knowing he was right.
Just a little under two years left until Voldemort returned…
"I see."
The weather slowly but surely began to clear up, and when December arrived, it was with a cheerful air that had even Hermione padding down the halls with a bit of energy to her steps. At the final Hogsmeade weekend preceding Christmas vacation, Hermione was invited down to the Three Broomsticks with the other teachers.
Madam Rosmerta was most amiable in accommodating them that afternoon, as the teachers all found a seat together, accompanied by the Minister.
"A small gillywater—"
"Mine," Minerva stated, brushing her cloak off her shoulders and accepting her drink.
"Four pints of mulled mead—"
"Ta, Rosmerta," Hagrid said, accepting his tankard.
"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella—"
"Mmm!" Filius said, smacking his lips.
"A warm butterbeer—"
"That'd be me," Hermione said, accepting her drink cheerfully.
"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister," Rosmerta said, setting down the glass.
"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," Fudge said, accepting his drink happily. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us…"
"Well, thank you very much, Mininster."
Hermione sat back in her seat, very aware of the slightly nervous look Fudge was giving her, but she looked for all the world as though she were completely relaxed and supremely unconcerned. She took a sip of her drink, as Rosmerta returned and found a seat for herself.
"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" Hermione asked coolly.
Fudge twisted around in his chair for a moment, as though checking for eavesdroppers, and then leaned forward in his seat to whisper, "What else, m'dear," he said, with a nod at Rosmerta, "but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"
"I did hear a rumor," Rosmerta admitted.
Hermione shook her head, almost snorting into her drink.
"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" Minerva asked exasperatedly. Hagrid looked mildly guilty.
"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?"
"I'm sure of it," Fudge responded shortly.
"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice?" Rosmerta said, with a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away… It's very bad for business, Minister."
"Rosmerta, m'dear, I don't like them any more than you do…"
Hermione sighed, loudly, and resigned herself to her drink, knowing very well that behind the suspiciously-moved Christmas tree, Harry, Ron, and her younger self were listening with burning ears.
"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," Rosmerta said thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I would have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I would have said you'd had too much mead."
"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," Fudge responded gruffly. A glance around, and then a wary one at Hermione, before he continued, "The worst he did isn't widely known."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, as if in contraindication. Her gaze slid across the table, filtering out the Minister's next words, and through the branches of the trees, she saw the back of her younger self's head, ears perked in attention. Ron's flaming red hair poked out a foot or two away.
"…Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"
"Precisely," Minerva said, her words masking the faint clunk of Harry's tankard hitting the floor. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang," she said, with a slight nod in Hermione's direction, with a tight smile. "Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we ever had such a pair of troublemakers—"
"I dunno," Hagrid said with a chuckle. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run for their money."
Hermione nodded in agreement. Sirius and James's pranks had been a little less benign than Fred and George's. The former had been more bullies than pranksters, while the latter were friendly, creative jokers through and through. Needless to say, Hermione preferred Fred and George's jokes to that of James and Sirius's.
"…Then they named him godfather to Harry, along with—well—the Professor here," Fudge gave a short jerk of his head in Hermione's direction. "Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him…"
Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line. She was Harry's godmother, of course, but there had been no need for Fudge to state it so bluntly. She was simply grateful that so far, none of them had named her out loud. Filius took a moment to explain the Fidelius Charm to Rosmerta, and after a moment of confirming the barmaid's whispered inquiry—
"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar suddenly grew quiet.
"Shh!" Hermione insisted.
"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin one o' the last ter see him before he killed all them people!"
Hermione winced. Don't mention me… don't mention me…
"…an' yeh know what we did? WE COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!"
So much for that, Hermione thought with a wince, as she placed her hand on the half-giant's shoulder in an attempt to calm him.
"Hagrid, please!" Minerva said. "Keep your voice down!
Hermione glanced warily over at the three listening third-years behind the Christmas Tree, and shrank down in her seat, knowing they were now risking turning around in their seats to watch, and praying they would not see her. But Hagrid was not finished—not by a long shot—but he had apparently gotten Hermione's hint to leave her out of it by her hand gripping his arm, for he left her out of the rest of the tale completely, thank Merlin.
A long silence followed the conclusion of Hagrid's tale, and then Rosmerta said, with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him the next day!"
"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly, "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."
"Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" asked Madam Rosmerta.
"They grew apart a bit when the Professor here arrived," Filius said, with a discreet nod toward Hermione, who responded with a look of appreciation. "But he was always tagging along…"
"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," Minerva said. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I often felt that was the reason they grew apart, when you came in…"
Hermione's cheeks turned red. It had never occurred to her before now that her presence had been the reason for Pettigrew's distancing from the Marauders—her coldness toward him, the fact that Remus, who had been the only one to ever truly spend time with him, had begun to give her more attention…
"…Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…"
Minerva pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose thickly. "Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling… should have left it to the Ministry…"
"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands—I'd've ripped him limb—from—limb," Hagrid growled.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I—I will never forget it…"
Hermione sniffled, wiping her sleeve on her nose. A moment later, everyone else had pulled out a handkerchief, and was blowing his or her nose, when Fudge's voice stopped abruptly, cracking.
"Well, there you have it Rosmerta," Fudge said thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was a comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."
Hermione kept her mouth shut, and the Minister's eyes did not quite meet hers.
Rosmerta let out a long sigh.
"Is it true he's mad, Minister?"
"I wish I could say that he was," Fudge said, with a furtive, wary glance at Hermione, who was gazing at him stonily. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered a desperate man—cruel… pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban—" he fibbed, adding a bit of lie to the truth, the way politicians were known to do, "You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them… but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me." You mean, Hermione's eyes told him silently, her expression silent and solid, He spoke rationally to me, that day you helped me free him. "Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."
"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" Rosmerta said. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"
"I daresay this is his—er—eventual plan," Fudge said evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing… but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again…"
Hermione glanced down at her watch, and clinked her glass against the table, causing them all to jump. Minerva spoke up at once.
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the Headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle…"
One by one, they all rose. Hermione was out the door before the rest, and as soon as she had made it outside, quickly Disillusioned herself. She separated from the rest of the teachers, who all glanced her way but said nothing, and stood outside the door.
Moments later, Hermione watched the door open and then slam shut, invisible footprints stamping furiously through the snow, followed quickly by Granger and Ron. Hermione turned away, and reluctantly ran to catch up to the rest of the teachers and the Minister, knowing that under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was very, very upset indeed…
~o~O~o~
After dinner that evening, Harry quietly made his way up to his dormitory, where he searched his bedside cabinet for a moment before he found what he was looking for: the leather-bound photo album that Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father, the only pictures he had. He sat down on his bed, drew his hangings around him, and started flipping through the pages, until…
He stopped on a picture of his parents' wedding day. There was his father, his mother, their best man—the man Harry had never given much thought to before now—and the woman beside them…
The news about Black was shocking. His godfather, the best man at his parents' wedding day, who was scarcely recognizable in this photo from the wanted posters, had betrayed his parents. But that woman Harry had heard, the one with the brown eyes and curly hair, whom had only been mentioned as 'The Professor'—she had been his parents' friend too, hadn't she? In fact, if he understood correctly, Fudge had indicated that that woman—the woman whose name he did not know—was his godmother.
She's alive. She's here. I just saw her—why has she never spoken to me even once?
Something else that bothered him. His godmother—this woman—was at Hogwarts. He had heard her voice, seen her faintly through the cracks in the wardrobe he and Ron had been hiding in when they were in the staff room. And the year before…
He'd seen her holding a toddler, a toddler with wavy black hair and black eyes, whom she had handed over to Snape—Snape who had taken the boy with so much care, Harry could only assume that the boy was his— though the very thought repulsed him to the core. But more to the point, his godmother had been holding him, and the hair—the nose that was certainly not Snape's…
He had whispered to Ron, and Ron alone, what he had seen. Ron had been just as shocked as he—("Blimey, you're joking, Harry!") but neither of them knew whether or not Snape had a wife—a kid—a family—Harry just couldn't see it in him. But assuming all of this was true, that his godmother was Snape's wife…
It was confusing as hell, not to mention disturbing. He finally had an inkling of someone who was supposed to care for him, someone who was within reach, and yet—yet—
He slammed the leather-bound book shut.
The dormitory door opened.
"Harry?" Ron asked, uncertainly.
"In here," Harry responded dully. The hangings around his bed were pulled aside, and Ron stared down at him. He saw the photo album, and inhaled sharply.
"That stuff we heard earlier—that woman who was there—"
"My godmother," Harry said dully. A pause, and then an idea went through his mind. Black had black hair—the toddler, too, had black hair—perhaps the child was Black's…? But that would not have explained Snape's behavior toward it, nor did that make him feel better. Snape or Black? Both considerations were equally unappetizing. "Ron… d'you remember that woman I told you I saw, back in our first year…"
"That was your godmother with Snape?" Ron said, nose wrinkling.
"And the kid," Harry said. "But that doesn't make much sense, does it? Wouldn't you think my parents would have chosen my godfather and godmother if they were married together, so that I could live with them if—if they died?"
"Well, it doesn't always work that way," Ron said, flopping down on his bed. "But yeah, it would make sense. Be glad you didn't end up with them, though. But—er—you're saying you're trying to figure out whose kid it was?"
"I just thought she was Snape's wife, at first," Harry said grimly. "Y'know, to visit him. But what if she's not?"
Ron looked at him, at first uncomprehending. But he cottoned on quickly.
"Ron—what if she's married to Black?" Harry whispered. "What if that's her kid? And—what if— she's the one who helped him into the castle on Halloween?"
Harry and Ron exchanged identical looks of horror.
Please review!
~Anubis Ankh