The upside to Ron getting poisoned was that it had completely repaired their friendship. The downside was that she kept suddenly panicking about someone dying. It didn't help that many of the students in Hogwarts now had missing or dead relatives. And there was Snape. Every time she saw him now she kept thinking of Dumbledore forcing him to do something terrible and it make her throat hurt.

There was a disastrous Quidditch match which resulted in Harry taking a bludger to the head, Ron was released from the hospital wing, Harry had another meeting with Dumbledore, and the weeks slipped by. She wanted to speak to Snape, speak to him openly, but she just didn't know where to start. It didn't help that she'd started to get the odd impression that the man himself was looking at her far more than normal. She wasn't sure, it may well have been her own paranoia, but she kept feeling as if his eyes were on her, but when she'd look at him, he was usually looking elsewhere. And on the very few occasions where he had been looking at her, his eyes would dart away from hers. Come to think of it, he hadn't been looking her in the eye properly for … a while. At least a couple of weeks. Why?


So it turned out Malfoy was spending copious amount of time in the Room of Requirement with Polyjuiced Crabbe and Goyle standing guard. For some reason she didn't find this new information all that interesting. What did worry her though was whether or not she should speak to Snape about it. Harry had set two house elves to trail Malfoy, and because of that they'd discovered where he kept disappearing to, and Snape had Vowed to protect Malfoy. She didn't know exactly how Unbreakable Vows worked, but it seemed logical that Harry keeping such a close eye on Malfoy put him, or his plans, in danger, and that in turn might put Snape in danger. Hermione wasn't entirely sure how accurate her conclusion was, it seemed a little flimsy, but surely she should tell Snape about it, just to be safe … only … only it seemed like such a betrayal to Harry. She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. If the opportunity presented itself, she would tell Snape. His life being at risk was surely more important.

She took no interest in Harry's plans to try and break into the Room of Requirement the following morning , which clearly irritated him.

*"Look," he said quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the Daily Prophet, which she had just removed from a post owl. "I haven't forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven't got a clue how to get that memory off him, and until I get a brain wave why shouldn't I find out what Malfoy's doing?"

"I've already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn," she said. "It's not a question of tricking him or bewitching him, or Dumbledore could have done it in a second. Instead of messing around outside the Room of Requirement" — she jerked the Prophet out from under Harry's hand and unfolded it to look at the front page — "you should go and find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature."

"Anyone we know — ?" asked Ron, as she scanned the headlines.

"Yes!" Hermione said, causing both Harry and Ron to gag on their breakfast. "But it's all right, he's not dead — its Mundungus, he's been arrested and sent to Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary, and someone called Octavius Pepper has vanished. Oh, and how horrible, a nine-year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse."*

They finished their breakfasts in silence. The Imperius Curse. Snape's speciality. But he'd been at Hogwarts, hadn't he? The Potions Master was becoming such a large part of the focus of her mind it was almost irritating.


Another thing that almost irritated her, was Snape's sense of humour, his sharp tongue. If it wasn't so cruel, unprofessional and nearly always directed at her best friends, it would be, almost funny.

*"Oh, very good," said Snape, his lip curling. "Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. 'Ghosts are transparent."'

Pansy Parkinson let out a high-pitched giggle.

"Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid —"

"A five-year-old could have told us as much," sneered Snape. "The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth, and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent. "

"Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!" said Ron. "When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a look to see if its solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'" There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor," said Snape. "I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room."*

Ron was very quite after that; Snape really knew how to hit a nerve. Lavender caught up with Harry and Ron when the lesson finished so Hermione decided to use the opportunity to double back and speak to her Professor. She knocked, waited for the usual "Enter," then slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. Snape didn't look up from his desk.

"Sir, I need to speak to you." She said quietly, her voice amplified around the deserted classroom.

Still Snape didn't look up.

"It's about Draco Malfoy."

That certainly got his attention. His head snapped up and his lips tightened.

"Well?" He asked slowly, his calm and impassive voice a little at odds with the alertness of his eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"He's spending a lot of time doing something in the Room of Requirement, sir, well, I take it you already know that, but I just thought I should tell you, and that he's being … being watched sir."

Snape starred at her, his brows furrowed and his face somewhere between angry and confused.

A silence settled between them.

His frown increased.

"So you wish me to give Draco a warning?" He asked.

"If you think it's necessary."

"And why would you ask me to do such a thing, Miss Granger? You hate Draco - " Hermione shuffled uncomfortably but did not contradict Snape " – so why do you seek to protect him?"

She stared at Snape in utter disbelief.

"It's not about him, I'm trying to protect you."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"I just thought, well since you have to … protect Malfoy, well I thought it might put you at risk. I don't completely understand Unbreakable Vows sir, but if this puts Malfoy in danger, then it must put you in danger as well?"

He didn't answer and a heavy silence settled between them.

"You are dismissed." Said Snape a while later, his voice low and his gaze averted. For a moment, she stood stock still, staring at him. "Get out." He snapped suddenly, his eyes suddenly wild and boring into hers.

She sighed and headed to the door, ignoring the sting of his abrupt dismissal. She'd warned him, she'd done the right thing, she was sure of it.

Hermione stopped with her hand on the door, Snape and Dumbledore's argument at the forefront of her mind. Slowly, she turned back towards him. He was staring at her, but said nothing. She walked slowly back to him, almost as if she was worried about startling him, and stopped right in front of his desk.

She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. This was something strictly out of bounds. It was something immensely private that she should not know about. After all this time, it seemed she was still a little frightened of him. Perhaps it didn't help that they were in a setting where he was very much the teacher, and she was very much the student. They were still staring at one another.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" Snape said in a bored voice.

"I…"

"Speak you insufferable girl!"

She took a huge breath in and broke eye contact, choosing to look instead at her Professor's desk, and all their essays stacked neatly in a pile.

"Someone overheard something sir, something they shouldn't have." She chanced a quick look back at Snape's face; it was impassive still, but the lines around the corners of his eyes had tightened. "They heard you and Dumbledore … talking … arguing. You said you didn't want to do something anymore, and Dumbledore said you'd agreed to do it, and so you had to. And something about investigating Slytherin."

"Potter?" He asked dangerously.

"No sir."

"Then who?"

This was what she'd been afraid of; she knew Hagrid would get in so much trouble….

"I can't say, sir." She answered, the slight waver in her voice the only indicator of her fear.

"You mean you won't say?"

She nodded.

It happened very fast. One second Snape was sitting at his desk, his eyes burning her face even though she wasn't looking at him, the next he was standing, his left hand closed hard around the base of her jaw and his right hand pointed his wand between her eyes.

Hermione looked into those obsidian eyes that she'd started to find so very beautiful, but found they were hard, cold and frightening. She knew what was coming, but she didn't try to look away or shut her eyes, instead she put her hand around his and relaxed into his grip. He looked surprised.

"Please don't." She whispered, her breath coming out hard, still not breaking eye contact, still trusting him, and slowly, ever so slowly, those black, endless tunnels began to soften, and so did his grip.

He released her, his expression one of mingled confusion and pain, and then he turned away from her bodily, facing the back of his classroom, his hands limp by his sides.

"It wasn't someone who will tell anyone else sir," she said slowly, "and it was completely out of context, it wouldn't make any sense anyway."

Snape said nothing, but as she moved closer to him, she could see the taut lines of his back and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders.

"Sir, you were talking about … about this terrible thing you have to do for Dumbledore, weren't you?"

Still, he said nothing.

"You said you didn't want to do it, but he's, he's making you, isn't he?"

Snape's hands turned to fists.

"Will you tell me what it is?" She asked timidly, mentally crossing her finger and toes and the silence stretched…

He shook his head.

"Does anyone else know what it is?"

Again, he shook his head.

"But there must be something I can do help?"

Still Snape remained silent with his back to her. She'd been moving steadily closer to him, and now stood inches away from his back.

"Please sir," she continued in desperation, "please tell me … something? I'm so worried about you."

Some sort of convulsive movement went through him at that point; his shoulders drooped, his knees bent and his hands shook. But it stopped before she could even be sure what had happened.

Hermione reached a hand out, and gently laid it on his back. For the second time in only a few minutes, it all happened very fast. Snape whirled around, away from her touch, his face a picture of rage and fear that tore at her heart.

"GET OUT MISS GRANGER!" He yelled, his whole demeanour frantic.

She stood stock still, too shocked by this abrupt change in mood to even think clearly.

"I MEAN IT!" Snape screamed "GET OUT! OUT!"

His robes were somehow billowing out behind him, his sallow skin was flushed, his teeth bared and there was a palpable air of uncontrolled magic around him. It made her hair stand up on the back of her neck…

And she just ran.


Later, when she was calmer, less shocked, and had had time to process the whole encounter, she thought she understood. The knowledge of what he had to do was obviously causing Snape pain. Pain that no one else knew of, or understood, because no one knew what it was he had to do. Snape was human. He wanted someone else to know, and she'd gotten close, but he couldn't tell anyone and that made him angry. Pain and anger. That was what had happened. Hermione understood about some of the rage that came with something powerful, so she knew not to take the way Snape had shouted at her personally. Of course, that didn't mean that she didn't find it a little intimidating being in his presence for a few days. And it didn't help that he'd had his hand pretty much around her neck, even if he hadn't forcibly used Legilimency. But she understood and she wasn't angry. She just wished she could help him.


The following weekend, Hermione, Ron and the other sixth years went to Hogsmeade to practice their apparition. She was pleased to say she'd made huge improvement since her first lesson and felt almost ready for the test. It had felt quite good to be focusing on something other than Snape, and really, with the risk of splinching yourself if you didn't properly concentrate, he'd barely been on her mind all morning.

*"Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?" said Ron, who was now shovelling mashed potato into his mouth. "Tonk's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women," he said wisely to Harry, "they're easily upset."

"And yet," she said, coming indignantly out of her reverie, "I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia."

Ron scowled.*


Time seemed to be flying, already the first signs of summer were appearing, her apparition test was that very afternoon, and still she hadn't spoken to Snape since their last, unusual conversation.

*Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,

Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him and you know how special he was.
Hermione, I know you'd have liked him.
It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down for the burial later this evening.
I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favourite time of day.
I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak.
Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone.

Hagrid*

They decided not to go. Hagrid was a dear friend but they'd risked far too much for him over the years. Then Ron had the sudden brain wave that Harry should use the Felix Felicis to get the memory from Slughorn. That was what Ron was good at; seeing the solution others overlooked.


She passed her test, Ron missed out by half an eyebrow, then after dinner it was time for Harry to try his Lucky potion…. And he went marching straight off to Hagrid's…. She hoped to Gods that it was the potion taking effect, but, too nervous to let something this important go to chance, she snuck away from Ron and Lavender's row, out through the portrait hole, and cast her Disillusionment charm when she was alone, running hurriedly towards the entrance hall, hoping to catch up with Harry. Luckily the front door was unlocked, she snuck through, it wasn't easy trying to track an invisible person, but she caught a glimpse of something she was sure was Harry's shoe heading towards the vegetable patch of all places. And there was Slughorn. She breathed a huge sigh of relief.

*Harry pulled off the cloak with a flourish.

"Good evening, Professor."

"Merlin's beard, Harry, you made me jump," said Slughorn, stopping dead in his tracks and looking wary. "How did you get out of the castle?"

"I think Filch must've forgotten to lock the doors," said Harry cheerfully.

"I'll be reporting that man, he's more concerned about litter than proper security if you ask me... But why are you out then, Harry?"

"Well, sir, it's Hagrid," said Harry. "He's pretty upset… But you won't tell anyone, Professor? I don't want trouble for him…"*

Slughorn immediately looked interested and Hermione smiled to herself, it seemed the potion was working.

She was on her way back to the castle when she caught sight of the Potions Master in the distance, heading towards the school gates, his black figure and prowl immediately recognisable even as the light faded. Her heart jumped. He must have been Summoned. Hermione ran back upstairs to her dorm, drew the curtains around her bed, grabbed her cloak and a book and ran to the gates, bracing herself for a long night of waiting for his return.


It was quite a cold night, and the castle grounds seemed very dark. Perhaps it was the knowledge that there were so many bad things happening around her, or perhaps it was because she was so very worried about her Professor, but Hermione found herself incredibly jumpy. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees around her and a chill went up her spine. She had a bad feeling about tonight. A very bad feeling.

After an hour she shrunk her book and put in a pocket; she couldn't concentrate enough to read. Instead she let her mind wander, and her thoughts became consumed with what Snape was doing. She sighed. Was her whole life going to spent worrying about a man who only barely tolerated her company? Or would it be just until the war was over? That was a strange thought. What would happen after the war? Would there be an after for her? For Snape? Harry had to kill Voldemort. He had to. Or Voldemort would kill him. Is that what was going to happen? Would they lose? She sighed again. They couldn't lose. They just couldn't.


She heard the telltale crack of apparition at about 2 in the morning and leapt up, still Disillusioned.

Something was wrong.

Snape staggered through the gates, shoving his mask into a pocket, and pulled them shut behind him, gripping onto the iron bars with both hands and resting his head against them. She walked cautiously towards him. As she got closer, Hermione could see his body was twitching and jerking, he made a low noise of pain in the back of his throat that made her heart twinge. She took another hesitant step forward.

Snape released his white-knuckle grip in the gates and whirled around.

"YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE!" He snarled, and the force of his anger made her take an automatic step back.

He looked momentarily surprised by his own outburst, then his whole body seemed to slump, and he fell back onto the gates, his hands griping the bars once again.

Hermione took another step forward, alarmed by his anger and the level of pain he seemed to be in.

"You're hurt." She said quietly, her voice wavering and she took in his appearance more closely. His face was slick with sweat, his hair stuck around his face, his skin almost grey and his jaw clenched tightly shut.

"I'll survive." He said bitterly, and his voice sounded … damaged, as if he'd been screaming… She quickly shut of that train of thought.

She cancelled her Disillusionment charm, just to have something to occupy herself with, she'd read so much about Healing, and Snape had been right, aside from making the person comfortable, the effects of the Cruciartus curse simply had to be … endured. It made her agitated.

Snape stared into her face, his look searching, before he looked away again.

"Have you forgotten how to cast Aguamenti, Miss Granger?" He asked dryly, and she jumped to give him a glass of water, spilling some over herself in the process. Snape smirked. Well, she assumed he would have done, but in his current state it looked more like a grimace. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his thin lips, and as he pulled it away, a drop of water ran down his chin. She found herself mesmerised.

"Go to bed, Granger." Snape snapped a little while later, and then started to walk forwards.

One.

Two.

Three.

He swayed dangerously on the spot, his right arm flailing, and she darted forwards, grabbing his left hand in her own. His fingers clamped around hers as he seemed to fall sideways, his eyes tight shut and his expression twisted. Instinctively she put her right hand on his arm, pulling him towards her, but then it seemed she overcompensated, because he began to fall into her, one of her feet moved sideways to balance her, and Snape seemed to stumble… But she took his weight as his body swayed into hers, her left hand moving across to grab his right arm, and slowly, he found his balance again.

Snape opened his eyes and looked down at her.

He was scared.

"It's okay," she said breathlessly, "slowly."

He nodded.

Hermione moved her left hand back to his left arm, deliberately allowing it to come to rest over the top of his Dark mark. She wasn't really sure why.

They started walking slowly towards the castle. She still couldn't seem to catch her breath. And then…

Reality suddenly hit her around the face like a brick being swung in a sock.

Her heart hammered in her chest….

Oh.

Oh….

This was so much more than just a crush.

So much more.

She'd had a crush on Victor, and even a bit of one on Ron, on and off over the years.

But this was…

More.

So much more.

This was huge and deep and consuming and…

His.

It was just…

His.

Hermione turned to look at him and found they'd stopped walking. By the look of Snape's exhausted face, it had been her that had stopped this time.

"Are you well, Miss Granger?" He asked impatiently.

"Better than you are." She answered thoughtlessly, her mind still predominantly elsewhere.

To her surprise, Snape let out an amused huff of air, then winced.

His.

They started walking again, but halfway along the path, Snape turned and began walking down a slope, his grip on her hand increasing as he did so.

When they reached the bottom, Snape's face was flushed, his jaw tightened in pain. Hesitantly she pulled on his hand, then reluctantly released it, and made to sit down. With a glare, he grudgingly followed her lead.

And then they were sat on a grassy slope together, in the middle of the night. Hermione felt herself blush.

Snape's back seemed to arch suddenly, a shudder running through him and an involuntarily sound, somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, escaped from his mouth.

Hermione moved closer to him, resting her shoulder against his, she wasn't sure whether it was for comfort or just to annoy him enough to distract him.

When his pain had eased a little, he breathed out raggedly, looking at her once again with an expression that reminded her painfully of a fearful child. Reflexively, she reached out a hand to him, slowly placing her fingers on his right cheek, feeling a day's worth of stubble on her fingertips and melting a little inside. He broke eye contact, and bowed his head slightly, but didn't pull away from her.

And once again, time seemed to stretch and distort, to her at least, she desperately didn't want to pull away from him, but she knew he needed to get inside, get some rest… And she didn't know how to proceed anyway, not with … anything. He was her teacher they were at war the whole thing was so unlikely… But … she knew she was … closer? to him, in many ways than most other people, certainly most other students, if not all other students. And that was the essence of hope. That was what hope did, it grabbed onto any little thing and held on for dear life. That was what made it so powerful, so beautiful and so strong.

She sighed. Snape's head was very, very close to hers. A familiar urge crept over her … NO.

She let her fingers stroke down Snape's cheek until they reached his jaw line, and then she pulled away. It hurt her to do so.

Snape looked back up at her uncertainly and she smiled gently at him, relishing being able to take in his face, his beautiful, sallow face with his sunken cheeks and hooked nose and oily hair.

His.

Together they stood, and she took his hand once more, their fingers entwining together, and Snape led them towards the side of the castle. She knew she should be confused, or curious, or something, but she was far too busy relishing in their closeness, and the pain in her chest that she realised was a pain she only had for him.

Her professor performed some sort of complicated wand movement and a door revealed itself in the wall of the castle. Inside was a dimly lit passage of descending stone steps, just about wide enough for two.

As they walked down together, she realised they must be heading into the dungeons themselves.

"What happened, sir?" She asked suddenly.

Snape gave her a scathing look.

"I was punished." He answered dryly.

Hermione sighed.

"Why?"

He shook his head.

They were at another wall, which turned into another door at Snape's spell.

And then they were in the corridor that led to the Potions classroom. She shook off the momentary disorientation, and quickly Disillusioned herself once more. Snape sent her a very rare look of approval and she felt herself blush, immediately thankful for her camouflage.

She cancelled it again once they were in Snape's office. He roughly jerked his hand from hers, turned, and walked towards the door that led to his quarters. Hermione hesitated, then followed him, but he stopped abruptly and turned towards her when he reached the door, she noticed a little too late, and ended up stopping very close to him. She didn't pull away.

Snape was frowning.

Then something sort of … happened.

She tilted her head backwards slightly, so she could see his face better, but somehow she lost her balance slightly, and put her hands out to stop herself pitching forwards … and they came to rest on Snape's upper arms.

"You're not coming in." He said roughly, his eyes boring into hers.

She was so close now she could feel the warmth of his body, smell him… Sweat and dirt, but beyond that, there was something like potions ingredients, and beyond that … she inhaled slightly … there something earthy, wholesome.

Tension. The room was suddenly stifling with tension.

Snape's breathing hitched. His eyes were burning into hers, scorching her face, his gaze, intense and intoxicating and … anxious. It felt like hours slipped away…. Then her eyes slipped to his mouth, just for a second, just for one second she looked at his mouth, but when she looked back into those fathomless eyes they seemed to have grown hooded, and wilder, heated, and his breathing was faster, and she felt her cheeks flush as need erupted inside her, consuming her, and she forgot to breathe. Without thinking her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and those entrancing eyes widened suddenly, flickering down to her mouth, and then back again.

"Please." She whispered, her voice breathless and shaky, and she had no idea what she was asking for.

His eyes fluttered closed, but when he opened them the burning had cooled a little, and he fumbled behind himself until he found the handle, and opened the door. He stepped back to let her through, but the distance that was now between them left her feeling bereft. She stood motionless in the little corridor, then numbly followed Snape through to his living room, sitting herself on his second best armchair. He sat down heavily in the chair next to hers.

"Shouldn't you get to bed, sir?" She asked quietly.

His only response was to glare at her. She opened her mouth to argue her point when his expression suddenly changed once again, his face twisting in pain. In an instant she was kneeling in front of him, her mind recalling the image of her in the exact same position in her third year, at the beginning of his nightmare. He looked worse now she could see him in the light; so tired the shadows under his eyes were shades of black, his skin almost green, his hair most definitely dirty. And then a great shudder ran through him, his back arched pushing him forwards in the armchair and his body began to shake. Really shake.

"Tell me what to do!" She cried.

But he was in no fit state to answer her, he let out a groan as his hands clawed convulsively on the fabric, sweat ran down his face but he was shivering as if he would die of cold.

And then he slumped back into the chair, his breathing ragged, the occasional tremor still wracking his body.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and forced herself to be objective; she flicked her wand and lit a fire, perhaps to comfort herself more than her Professor. Then she conjured a glass of water, standing and leaning forwards to press it to Snape's thin lips. He kept his eyes shut, which sent a jolt of fear into her chest, but she quickly suppressed it, Vanishing the glass when he was finished and wiping away a trickle of water down his chin with her thumb. His eyes flew open at that and her heart stuttered, but he didn't pull away, just watched her carefully, his face beyond exhaustion. Next she conjured a cloth, dampening it with cool water and made to press it on Snape's brow. He snatched it off her before she could get there though, and roughly rubbed it over his face before discarding it, the whole thing seemed to have been a great effort to him, but he was too bloody stubborn to have let her do it for him. She sighed, and perched herself on the arm of his chair, gently undoing the buttons on the sleeves of his robes and easing them back, then doing the same to the buttons of his white undershirt. He was still watching her intently. Hermione then moved her hands up to undo the buttons of his collar…

"What are doing?!" He asked, his voice alarmed as he pushed himself backwards, away from her hands.

"I was just going to undo a couple of buttons on your collar, sir, just to make you a little more comfortable." She said awkwardly, fighting a blush as it dawned on her that those buttons when all the way down…

"I can do it." He snapped, but his hands shook too much, and he fumbled for a second, before throwing his hands down angrily and turning his head away from her.

Silently, she moved to undo them herself.

"Two." He said suddenly, and it took her a moment to realised what he meant.

"Two." She agreed, and undid the two top buttons of his frock coat, and then his shirt. That was technically four, she thought idly, but no matter.

She settled herself back into the second best armchair, her eyes still on Snape. His colour seemed a little better now, but he was ignoring her, staring into the fire. She sighed again. Why. Why did it have to be him? He was her Professor, he wasn't very attractive, he wasn't very nice, he was 20 years older than her, and they were in the middle of a war. But … she thought of the very first time she'd been in this room, she thought of Snape making fun of her teeth, their first honest conversation that followed, his shocked face when she told him to be careful after he was horrible to her, him helping her calm herself when Harry was late out of the lake, his argument with Karkaroff and his pain, him healing her hands, then touching his hand when he was hurt, him Summoned, his promise to protect Harry, him trembling in his bed after his first meeting with Voldemort, the first time she'd amused him, their argument about Harry and Umbridge, their lonely figures sitting in the snow together, his beautiful chuckle, sitting with him in the dark after the breakout from Azkaban, him forgiving her when she forgot to think of the consequences of Harry's interview, the subsequent, Disillusioned, late night encounter, the first time he held her hand back and him falling asleep with his head in her lap, having hot chocolate with him after her nightmare, him falling asleep at her bedside after the Ministry, realising Amortentia smelt like him to her, his obvious agony after the summer that led to their most intimate moment – the memory of that still left her breathless – his anger at Slughorn's party, their conversation about the Vow…

It didn't matter that it was unlikely, perhaps even impossible, it didn't change the way she felt. It was him. It had been him for a long time. She looked back at the man himself. He was asleep. Her face broke into a tender smile.

His.

A shiver ran through his body and her smile faded, once again visualising a huge blanket, Hermione conjured one, and placed it gently over his sleeping form, her heart feeling as if it had left her chest, and gone to him. She sat on the floor by his feet, silently easing his shoes off and placing them under the coffee table.

Should she leave now? She doubted he'd be pleased to see her when he woke … she sighed and settled herself back into the armchair. She'd just stay for a little while.

Hermione looked at his flawed, beautiful face and ached for him. She felt like she could look at his face forever…. And maybe she did that night.


It was very early morning when she finally left, and she scrawled down a note, leaving it on his table. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to decide what to write, or if she should write at all, but she settled on a simple 'I hope you feel better, Professor Snape', leaving it unsigned; he'd seen her hand-writing often enough. She sighed, and allowed herself a couple of moments to simply look at him, before she slipped out of the dungeons, and back to Gryffindor tower.


Later the same morning, she received a note at breakfast, intrigued, Hermione opened it, keeping the scroll away from Harry and Ron's view – they were probably too engaged in a Quidditch discussion to notice anyway.

'Thank you'

It was unsigned but she knew the spiky handwriting well enough. Her stomach flipped. Snape was not in the Hall. Still, she smiled to herself, warded the note, and put it carefully inside one of her books, at the very bottom of the bag.

Strange how two words can have such a huge impact.


*Harry told Ron and Hermione everything that had happened with Slughorn's memory, the Horcruxes, and Dumbledore's promise to take Harry with him on his next trip, during their Charms lesson (having first cast the Muffliato spell upon those nearest them).

"Wow," said Ron, when Harry had finally finished telling them everything; Ron was waving his wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore ... and try and destroy ... wow."

"Ron, you're making it snow," she said, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, large white flakes had started to fall. Lavender Brown glared at her from a neighbouring table through very red eyes, and Hermione immediately let go of Ron's arm.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now..."

He brushed some of the fake snow off her shoulder and Lavender burst into tears. Ron looked immensely guilty and turned his back on her.

"We split up," he told Harry out of the corner of his mouth, "Last night. When she saw me coming out of the dormitory with Hermione. Obviously she couldn't see you, so she thought it had just been the two of us."

"Ah," said Harry. "Well — you don't mind it's over, do you?"

"No," Ron admitted. "It was pretty bad while she was yelling, but at least I didn't have to finish it."

"Coward," said Hermione. "Well, it was a bad night for romance all around. Ginny and Dean split up too, Harry."

She'd spoken to the redhead before breakfast.

"How come?"

"Oh, something really silly… She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn't climb in herself ... but they've been a bit rocky for ages."

"Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn't it?" She said.

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, a little too quickly.

"The Quidditch team, if Ginny and Dean aren't speaking..."

"Oh — oh yeah," said Harry.

"Flitwick," said Ron in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms master was bobbing his way toward them, and Hermione was the only one who had managed to turn vinegar into wine; her glass flask was full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Harry's and Ron's were still murky brown.

"Now, now, boys," squeaked Professor Flitwick reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action… Let me see you try…"

Together they raised their wands, and pointed them at their flasks. Harry's vinegar turned to ice; Ron's flask exploded.

"Yes ... for homework," said Professor Flitwick, re-emerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, "practice."

They had one of their rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. Ron seemed to be positively light-hearted about the end of his relationship with Lavender, and she was feeling rather cheery too, despite her tiredness. Though of course, when Harry asked what she was grinning about she could only say, "It's a nice day."*

Because it was.


Albus Dumbledore was an old and tired man, with very little time left. He also happened to be exceptionally talented at manipulating … well … pretty much anything. This war was so important, so crucial to the future of the wizarding world, it seemed incredibly reckless to leave anything to chance. And besides, he had meddled in so much in the past, so much in the present, and would continue to meddle so much in the future, even when he was gone, that a little more meddling really shouldn't matter to him.

And yet it did.

Two years ago, on the night that Voldemort had returned, he'd walked back over to the stands, in search of his precious spy, and there had been Severus and Hermione Granger, heads tilted together, her hand around his.

He'd had a suspicion, of what it was, then.

He knew his spy well, he knew what it meant for him to allow anyone to behave in such a way … but at the time, Albus Dumbledore had done nothing.

And then a year after that, he'd entered the Hospital Wing in the early hours of the morning, wanting to check on those brave, foolish children, and found Severus, covered in a blanket, asleep by Miss Granger's bed.

He'd thought it likely that his suspicions had been correct, then.

Severus obviously cared about the girl. She must have been incredibly patient with his Potions Master for this to happen, and he himself must have made certain allowances… And still, Albus Dumbledore had done nothing.

And then last night, he'd known his spy had been Summoned, but Fawkes had only just been reborn, and was too weak to wait for him, so as dawn broke, he'd gone down to the dungeons to check on Severus's wellbeing. And he'd been asleep in his armchair, his shoes neatly placed under his table, wrapped in another heavy blanket, facing the girl.

The girl by his side.

She'd been asleep as well, facing him. They'd made a strangely dramatic scene. The spy and the brains.

And now he knew he'd been right about them.

Really, to leave such a huge thing to chance in such uncertain times was incredibly reckless. But he still remembered what it was like to be young and besotted, and how it felt to be isolated, and alone as Severus undoubtedly would become.

He really should interfere ... but he wasn't going to, because he was an old, and tired man with very little time left.

And Albus Dumbledore had always known how powerful love can be.


So here's another chapter, yay! I had a bit more free time this week, so I'd written little bits as I went along, and then today I literally couldn't stop. I have so much work I'll need to do tomorrow ;) I think it's just gonna have to be a case of updating when I can because I suck at sticking to a schedule - I'll never leave it really long though, or if I have to at some point, like when I have exams, I'll post a warning :)

I know Dumbledore is a character that causes a lot of controversy in the fanfiction world, this is just my take on him, and I thought it would be interesting to include another POV. I doubt I'll do it again so if you hated it no worries. And if you hate Dumbledore, that's totally fine too, I get it, I just personally think he's essentially doing things for the right reasons. I don't want to get into a Dumbledore debate with anyone though because I don't feel particularly strongly about him either way.

Thanks for reading :)

*Text between asterisks* from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince - J.K Rowling. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them movies out in 2016, 2018 and 2020! Another reason to be hopeful for the future ;)


mundy - hahaaa glad you agree ;) Thank youuuu, I hope you continue to enjoy it x

vaila - I hope you found this chapter okay, I know it's hard to decide what's best for the story, I sort of feel like it's just flowing itself, and so I think I'll continue in the same way, and hope you like where it goes. This chapter obviously talks about attraction a little more, although there have been subtle things in the chapters for a while for both of them, feelings rather than thoughts as they've both been ignoring the way they feel about each other to a certain extent! I definitely gets harder to keep them in character, particularly Severus, as their relationship develops, but I try my best ;) He does try to fight it quite often, but I think at this point, it's a bit of a losing battle, and he knows it. x