DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.

Chapter 29: Gryffindor in Possession


Practically the only good thing that Hermione could find to say about the week that followed was that it kept her too busy to think about things. Professor Snape appeared to have made it his mission in life to assure his students that there still existed untold levels of professorial sadism which he had not yet personally achieved. He spent Monday lecturing about NEWTs--which, in spite of still being months away, already hovered over them ominously. He then set them thirty inches ("Thirty!" Ron complained bitterly over lunch, at a loss for anything more eloquent to say about it) on advanced defensive spells, to be turned in by Wednesday.

By contrast, Potions was nearly a pleasant experience. There, at least, he maintained his customary silence. If anything, the silence deepened. He did not so much as look up when she entered the room, or when she placed her finished potion on his desk. She had taken to modifying her recipes so dramatically that every single time, she was sure he'd finally be goaded into making a comment--but he never was.

In fact, with the number of creative leaps she'd been taking, she was rather surprised that she hadn't yet caused any serious explosions or even botched potions. It was almost disappointing that she strayed so far from the rules and yet the only results she had to show for it were perfect marks and a resolutely silent professor.

Professor McGonagall, too, had developed a sudden mania for assigning homework. Although she'd given her lower-level classes to other Professors to teach at the beginning of the year, she had retained the sixth and seventh year classes. She, too, began to set incredibly long essays and an unprecedented amount of homework.

The rest of the Professors seemed to pick up on the sudden change, and started muttering about NEWTs in their lectures, although the volume of homework for their classes remained steady. Hermione was grateful for that. Between Potions, Defense and Transfiguration, she wasn't at all sure that she could cope with extra work from any other sources.

In addition to schoolwork, Professor McGonagall had taken to cornering her and giving her lists of things to do in preparation for the Yule Ball. By Thursday, it was so bad that Hermione was seriously considering asking Harry for the loan of his Invisibility Cloak, so that she could walk the halls without running the risk of being accosted by the Headmistress.

One of the few other benefits to the hugely increased workload was that Hermione was not the only person suffering under it. Ginny's temper had no opportunities to flare up, and Draco Malfoy seemed to have disappeared almost completely, outside of classes. She assumed that he was holed up in the dungeons somewhere, studying and struggling with inches upon inches of writing, just as she was.

It even affected Ron, who was still perennially uninterested in homework, although Charms had become an exception to that rule. He no longer accosted her in the Common Room of an evening, unless it was to ask for help with homework. At the very most, all that he did was gaze at her occasionally with a wistful, slightly bewildered expression, as though he were asking the fates why they had suddenly conspired to keep the happy couple apart.

If she hadn't been so bloody busy, she would have downright enjoyed it.

The other benefit, of course, was that not only was she too busy to think during the day, she was too tired to lie awake and brood at night. She still had nightmares, but they were vague and fleeting, and she usually couldn't even remember the details by the time she was finished with breakfast.

But the few moments of reflection that she did have were haunted with disturbing images--Fred, falling to the ground with empty eyes, Draco, screaming silently under the torment she inflicted on him, Death Eaters with Dark Marks, gathered in a graveyard. As the week passed, it became a blessing to be able to bury herself in schoolwork. Things still came easily enough when she tried, but her self-confidence had been shattered and she worked harder than ever, always incapable of convincing herself that she knew the material for sure.

0 0 0

Severus spent the week watching her. He allowed himself only a few hours of sleep each night, anxious to avoid dreams that might give her any more hints of their connection. If he could only stretch it out for the last two weeks, he could break the news to her and then escape from the look of horror and disgust that would surely come into her face the moment she knew.

He understood his own psyche well enough that he didn't bother deluding himself into thinking that he didn't care what she thought. He might have no personal interest in the girl, but neither did he have any interest in subjecting himself yet again to the knowledge that he was hated and despised by yet another Gryffindor.

He kept silent around her as much as he could and avoided even so much as making eye contact. Outside of classes, he kept carefully away, shutting himself into the dungeons or rambling through the Forbidden Forest in search of Potions ingredients. He refused to call on her in Defense. By the time he realized that he'd started to be squeamish about even touching the parchment on which she'd written her homework assignments, he decided he was in danger of becoming superstitious. She was only a girl, after all. Nothing to be afraid of.

After that, he let himself pay a little more attention, although he took care not to let her know it. There was something off about her--something wrong. It niggled in the back of his mind, like the scent of oil that was just beginning to go rancid. He found himself stealing glances at her as she worked on her Potions, searching for answers in her face, but they weren't there.

He even thought about using Legilimency to determine whatever it was that had changed in her. For the first time, he sympathized with Potter's desire to keep his connection open to the Dark Lord's mind. The knowledge that there was something more lingering just outside of his reach tortured him. It took all of his discipline to stay away and to keep it from constantly occupying his mind. If it was really important, it would hold and he could find out later. If it wasn't, there could be no reason to compromise the secret--yet.

0 0 0

Friday was Quidditch, and the first chance that Hermione had to rest. Harry and Ron, thankfully, had been so occupied with homework that even Quidditch discussions had fallen by the wayside. As a result, it was the last game of the term that was the first to take her interest in even a minor way, because she hadn't already been bored to tears by game plans and pep talks.

She found a seat beside Neville, who was so bundled up that she had to check for the Head Boy badge to be sure it was him. The layers of jumpers beneath his cloaks had returned him to the round shape the Neville from their youth (and good heavens, when had she begun thinking of it as 'their youth'?).

"Did you bring it?" mumbled Neville through chattering teeth.

She pulled a small jam jar filled with blue flames out of her robes, passing it over to him. "I don't know what you want it for, when you could just cast a simple warming charm."

He gave her a pitying look over the top of his muffler. "That's not the point, though, is it? It's fun to do things the Muggle way sometimes."

"Neville!" said Seamus, jostling them both as he squeezed past and settled into the seat at Neville's left hand, looking curiously at the jar. "I don't think doing things the Muggle way involves jars full of blue fire."

Neville's eyes crinkled and Hermione assumed he was grinning beneath his scarves. "Well, you can't get too authentic, can you?"

Seamus snorted, putting his feet up on the railing and looking thoroughly comfortable, and much less bundled. "You just couldn't cast the charm, could you?"

"I could too. I am Head Boy, you know."

"Not because of your grades, you're not."

"Don't make me take house points, Finnegan."

Hermione giggled. "Give it up, Neville, you're never going to make it sound threatening."

"I really could cast the charm, if I wanted to."

"I know you could," she said comfortingly, and then cast the charm on herself, snuggling into her seat as a cozy warmth made its way up her toes and all the way into the ends of her hair. "Where's Luna?"

Neville shrugged, but Seamus leaned forward to look at her. "She's coming. Dean said she'd meet us here, but I think she might be late. Apparently they got a bit--er--behind on homework last night."

His grin looked a bit strained. Hermione filed the moment away in her head as potentially useful social information and then turned her attention to the Quidditch Pitch, where the House teams had assembled.

Harry and Draco had been reinstated as Seekers upon their return to school, and Ron had resumed playing as well, leaving Ginny to be Keeper and instead clutching a large bat. After the first few games, Hermione had decided that he made a far better Beater than he'd ever been a Keeper. Crabbe and Goyle, of course, were no longer on the Slytherin team, and Hermione didn't recognize their replacements. They looked about the same, anyway, so she doubted there would be a significant difference.

She watched Ginny, who was resting her broom in the crook of her elbow as she reached up to tie back a few strands of hair that the wind had whipped into her eyes. The redhead was chatting with Dean Thomas and Andrew Kirke (who apparently had made it back on to the team, possibly due to the fact that he'd got significantly taller and filled out quite a bit). As Madam Hooch walked onto the pitch, everyone straddled their brooms, preparing to jump off as soon as they could.

Harry shot Draco a dirty look and Hermione's eyes followed to his face before she could stop them. He was sneering, muttering something that was, no doubt, yet another stuck-up aspersion on Harry's family and birth. Distracted by sudden nausea, she failed to notice Madam Hooch's whistle, or the jab of her wand as she opened the chest of balls.

Dennis Creevey's voice startled her as it suddenly boomed through the stands, magically amplified. "They're off! Gryffindor in possession, Dean Thomas passes to Demelza Robins and--ohh, that was a nasty hit by that Bludger. Slytherin has the Quaffle, Harper passes to Selwyn, and it's intercepted! Well done, Dean! Of course, Slytherin's at a disadvantage this year, having lost so many team members..."

There was an unmistakably bitter note in the last sentence, and Hermione winced.

"Bit cold, isn't it?" said a dreamy voice beside her as Luna Lovegood settled down to watch the game, her hands buried in a muff made of some sort of fur that Hermione had never seen before.

"A bit, yeah," said Neville, his teeth still chattering.

"Couldn't you cast a warming charm, Neville?" asked Luna innocently.

"Oh he could," said Seamus with a grin, "only he wanted to do it the Muggle way, which is why he's got a jam jar full of magical fire."

"How interesting," said Luna, peering over at the jar at the blue flames. "Is that grindylow fire?"

"Er--" Neville shot Hermione a look, obviously asking whether it was possible for grindylows to breathe or otherwise fire in any way. "No. Hermione conjured it."

"Oh, good job, Hermione!"

"--Robins intercepts, passes to Thomas--Thomas dodges the Bludger. Well done, Dean! And here he goes, he's--Dean Thomas scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Everyone cheered. Seamus pulled a packet of Fizzing Whizbees from his pocket and passed them out. Far above them, Harry and Malfoy circled the pitch, squinting through the clouds in hopes of seeing the Snitch. It was a cold, overcast afternoon, and the air smelled of snow. Every now and then a few flakes blew down from the sky, whirling around their heads in the breeze.

"Slytherin in possession now, Selwyn's got it, she's heading right for Weasley--she shoots--and that's a spectacular save by Ginny Weasley! She could play for the Harpies, that one, way she flies."

"Hermione," whispered Seamus, under the pretext of fishing about on the floor for his wand, which he'd mysteriously dropped. "Don't look, but Snape's staring right at you. Did you do something wrong?"

She froze in place. "What?" she hissed out of the side of her mouth. "Are you sure it's me he's looking at?" Were her robes torn or something? She shifted, checking to see if anything felt wrong. But it didn't.

Before she could casually turn around and accidentally-on-purpose steal a glimpse at Professor Snape, something happened. There was a shout from somewhere in the stands, and a few arms pointed into the sky.

"He's seen it!" breathed Neville, leaning back to get a better view. Indeed, Harry and Draco both had stopped flying, their heads turned in the same direction. When they dove, it seemed to be as one, and if Hermione hadn't known far better she could have believed that they'd choreographed it in advance, so perfectly did they mirror one another. They swooped through the air, robes flying out behind them and flapping wildly in the wind—sometimes Harry led, sometimes Draco led, though they always stayed neck and neck. Hermione held her breath as she watched them. She had learned to fly, but she'd never learned to enjoy it the way that Harry did. He was too high up for her to really see, but she imagined that he was grinning as he flew, weaving in and out of Draco's path.

Draco, for his part, had his head down so far that it was almost touching his broomstick. His cloak obscured most of the broom, so that his body appeared to be crouched on nothingness and flying through the air of its own accord. The thought reminded her very unpleasantly of Voldemort and the attack that they'd sustained when they removed Harry from Privet Drive.

They dove sharply. The Snitch was invisible against the bright white of the sky, but Hermione could imagine it, fluttering down swiftly towards the ground. They were coming closer and closer, not only descending but also crossing the length of the Quidditch pitch so that now they were right in front of her. She saw the Snitch in a sudden bright flash of gold as it sped down towards the ground. Harry and Draco followed it, their bodies creating a breeze that blew into her face as they passed.

Everyone jumped up, leaning over the railings to see down, but they were gone already, circling the pitch in a desperate effort to catch the tiny, fluttering golden ball that somehow still managed to elude them both. The Snitch stopped abruptly and then reversed direction, and Draco rammed his body into Harry's as they both spun around. Hermione heard Neville, Luna and Dean begin to shout and boo around her, but they seemed very far away. She was watching the Snitch, which had begun to rise once again, and was flying straight for the stands now.

Dennis Creevey was silent. The other players had stopped moving, watching as Draco and Harry raced for the Snitch. It was so early in the game, so early, and if they could win, it would be a shut-out for Gryffindor. 160-0 would be a score for them to gloat about for ages.

With a tiny, mosquito-like buzzing, the Snitch flew right over her head and behind her. Everyone else spun to watch it go, but now her attention had been diverted again. Harry and Draco were flying straight at her, and Draco's face was locked into a grimace that frightened her, and his eyes were moving from the Snitch as he flew towards her, moving to look at her, and he smiled a horrible, cruel smile.

No, it wasn't a smile. He was leering at her, practically undressing her with his eyes. He let go of the broom, stretching one hand out in front of him. She grabbed for her wand desperately, convinced that he was going to fly right into her. The look in his eyes was dangerous, almost murderous.

They were so close, coming closer every second, and then Draco was only inches away from her, and all she could hear was the rushing of wind and the flapping of his robes and then he was gone, and she had fallen back into her seat, her wand out and her heart beating so hard that she could not hear the roaring of the students around her over the noise that it made. Harry was flying overhead, circling the stands with a disgusted look on his face, and Draco was speeding to the ground, his fingers wrapped around something small and golden.

"Slytherin wins the match," said Dennis Creevey, sounding frankly disappointed. "That's it, then. Nothing to see. Back to your Houses, you lot."

Down on the field, Slytherins were cheering and congratulating one another. Hermione slid her wand back into her sleeve, ignoring the questioning looks from her friends, and fled.

0 0 0

He ignored the Quidditch match. From behind, he could read very little about her, but the thing, the sense of wrongness, was still there, like a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't quite remember. Creevey's voice droned in the background, narrating one of the least interesting Quidditch games that it had ever been Severus' misfortune to attend. It certainly was doing nothing to hold his attention.

Seamus Finnegan dropped his wand and fell to his knees, feeling about unnecessarily on the floor for it and crawling over to Miss Granger. It was a bad angle for lip-reading, but Severus saw him say something to that girl and she stiffened immediately. He instantly moved his attention to the game, wondering if he'd been caught staring.

Caught staring—like a lovesick schoolboy. He disciplined his eyes to watch only Potter and Draco, utterly disgusted with himself for his lapse. A week of studiously ignoring her, and now he was caught ogling her by a student?

Not that he'd been ogling, of course. He'd been watching. Thinking. Considering. But it looked like ogling, and that was the real point, in the end. A general shout rose up as both Seekers saw the Snitch and, in tandem, flew after it. He smiled inwardly—it was just an example of why Quidditch could be so pleasurable to watch. The movements of the two fliers so high above the rest of the crowd were graceful, like an old ballet that he'd once seen a few moments of on the television at Lily's.

Yes, they moved through the air like dancers. It was a fanciful idea, one he didn't normally give even mental voice to, but he rather liked it. They dove for the ground, following the Snitch as it flew downwards, right past the spot where Severus was sitting. Everyone else stood to follow them, but he didn't bother—he was too far up to get a good view over the heads of his students, and both boys were still too far behind to catch the Snitch in the next few seconds.

In another moment, they were visible again, rising through the air. The Snitch flew over his head and hovered just in front of him for a moment before it darted upwards once more. Draco and Harry were following. In seconds they'd be within inches of Miss Granger and Longbottom.

They both seemed to be aware of this, for Longbottom had ducked low into his seat, and Granger had reached for her wand. As he stared, everything began to slow down oddly. Her hand darted into the sleeve of her robe, obviously feeling for her wand as her eyes moved to Draco's face. That was when he felt it: a surge of loathing, rage and fear so intense that it nearly knocked him over with the force of it. Granger's face was twisting horribly, something flashing behind her eyes that he recognized with a sickening jolt.

And then it was over, and Draco was speeding over their heads and the Slytherins were erupting into shouts and screams of triumph over their first win for the year.

Dazedly, he went through the motions that he had gone through so many times before. He met Draco's eye, clapping politely. He plastered his usual mocking smirk over his face and displayed it to Minerva, who reciprocated by glaring daggers at him. He did everything, in short, except to look at the one person who occupied all of his thoughts in that moment.

Because he knew that look that he'd seen on her face. He knew those feelings. And he suddenly understood what she'd done.

The girl had cast an unforgivable.

"Merlin," he whispered, staring at the snow-covered pitch. She'd cast an unforgivable at Draco.

0 0 0

"It's total bollocks. He obviously shoved you," said Ron grumpily over the chess board in the Common Room later that night. "It was a clear foul."

"Yeah, well," answered Harry with a shrug. "Hooch didn't call it, so there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?" He moved a pawn and Ron captured it immediately, setting it to the side of the board.

"I'm surprised you didn't have a go at him right there," he said, placing the pawn carefully aside.

"Bad luck, Harry," said Seamus as he came through the portrait hole with Dean. "It's too bad Madam Hooch didn't call that foul on Malfoy, or he'd never have got ahead of you like that."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Right. Thanks, Seamus."

Hermione was curled up in an armchair, her feet perched on one arm and her back propped against the other with a pillow. She peeked over the Potions text she was reading. Harry was brooding, glaring at the chess set with all the bad feeling of a man who feels sure that he's been cheated.

"Cheer up, Harry," she said, turning a page. "It's only their first win of the year. They lost so many players, I heard they actually petitioned Professor McGonagall for permission to recruit first years."

"Is that why the one Chaser is so bloody tiny?" asked Ron curiously, not taking his eyes away from the chessboard.

"Nah," said Harry, finally moving his knight. "McGonagall didn't give them permission to do it." He grinned. "Said it took really special extenuating circumstances to make an exception like that."

A few girls snickered over their homework, obviously listening in on the conversation. Ron stole a glance at them and suddenly his face had a grin to match Harry's, roguish and self-satisfied. "Bet Snape had kittens over that one," he said gleefully, "after Dumbledore let you on the team early."

"Professor Snape," said Hermione, laying a slight emphasis on the first word, "isn't head of Slytherin anymore, Ron, so I doubt he was the one who asked."

"Isn't he?" said Ron vaguely. "Bishop takes knight. When did that happen?"

"Beginning of the year," said Hermione, frowning at her book.

"Oh." He and Harry both stared at the chess board. Ron tapped his fingertips on the side of the table, a light, repetitive noise that began very quickly to get on Hermione's nerves. "Who's head of Slytherin then?" he finally asked, furrowing his brow as he scrutinized the board.

"Professor Slughorn, Ron," said Harry in an exasperated tone that might have come from Hermione herself. "Even I knew that one, mate. Queen takes bishop."

Hermione tuned them out, focusing on the Potions text instead. Talk of the Quidditch match would eventually move to Draco Malfoy and she couldn't be listening when it did, or she'd be sick. She'd been so sure that he was going to attack her, as he and Harry flew over her head. Why? Was she that paranoid? Was she that afraid of him, that she could develop such a sudden irrational fear that he would attack her in front of the whole school?

But she must be. She had drawn her wand. She had expected him to hurt her.

Because she'd seen his eyes.

With a shudder, she turned another page.

0 0 0

By Saturday evening and the commencement of the Yule Ball, Severus had managed to rein himself in enough that he was able to think of other things while he thought about Hermione Granger and the puzzle she presented.

At first he thought that she must have cast the unforgivable during the final Battle. That would explain it quite easily. Nearly every Order member had done so, probably multiple times, and Draco had surely been as unsubtle about his allegiances during the Battle as he always was. It was a wonder to Severus how the Malfoys managed to stay out of jail with as much success as they historically did.

Then he remembered the sudden change he'd felt in her and the flash of recognition he'd felt when she looked at Draco. If it had been that long since she'd cast the unforgivable—whether it was Cruciatus or Imperio he didn't know, although he'd wager a guess on Cruciatus, based on the sheer force of her hatred for the boy—he wouldn't have noticed a change. That meant it must have been recent, probably during the Hogsmeade weekend.

Why hadn't he felt it? He distinctly remembered hearing from Albus that Potter had known when the Dark Lord punished his followers. It had always disturbed Severus to know that if he went to Voldemort's side and faced Cruciatus at his hands, Potter might see it through the eyes of the one who tortured him.

But Voldemort had done and said so many horrible things, and Potter hadn't known all of them. Apparently the connection wasn't entirely consistent. And so there was no way to know what had happened, short of asking one of them, and that was far too clumsy an approach to appeal to him.

"Severus," cooed Rolanda Hooch, sidling up to him and smiling with far too many teeth. "Happy Christmas."

"It is not Christmas yet, Rolanda," he said quellingly.

"Killjoy," she answered, utterly failing to be intimidated. "Have a drink, Severus, it's time you relaxed a bit. The war's over, after all, and it's almost Christmas.

He did not exactly sneer, and he did not exactly wrinkle his nose. He merely rearranged his face in such a way that it left no room for doubt regarding his low opinion of her intelligence. "The war is not over."

"Old soldiers never die, eh?" She chuckled into her punch. "How about a dance, then? Even if the war isn't over?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Madam, I am not inclined to dance."

"Don't be so stuffy, Severus. Everyone's dancing."

"I am not."

"Make an exception. Try and get into the spirit of things a little, won't you?"

"If I do choose to dance, you may rest assured that I will seek out a partner on my own behalf rather than dancing with the first woman who accosts me."

"Have it your way, Severus. I'll have another dance with Slughorn."

"Indeed," he murmured, already walking away from her and beginning his customary prowl around the outside edges of the Great Hall. Sprigs of mistletoe were hung indiscriminately from every possible location, and he avoided them scrupulously. It was never a good idea to linger underneath the mistletoe with Sibyl Trelawney on the loose, as she surely would be.

"My goodness, Severus," said Professor McGonagall, startling him out of a reverie he didn't realize he'd slipped into. "Just in this last hour I have counted eleven distinct opportunities for you to mention Slytherin's victory yesterday, and you have let all of them go by. Is something distracting you?"

"I see that you have been cultivating your rather formidable talent for imitation, Minerva. Tell me, has Albus been giving you personal critiques or are you merely that well-acquainted with his mannerisms and pithy little comments?"

She chuckled, standing beside him and surveying the scene in the Great Hall with visible satisfaction. "It really is pleasant, isn't it, Severus? Seeing all of our students back here, and things restored to order."

He scanned the room. Most of the students were dancing, although many of the first and second years stood in awkward clumps, whispering to each other and attempting to look older than they were. Nearly everyone was laughing and happy.

"It is," he finally admitted, grudgingly.

"I did ask you in all seriousness," she said, her voice dropping a bit lower. "Are you…distracted?"

He instinctively sought for Miss Granger's face in the crowd and found it almost immediately (it was becoming rather a talent with him). She was dancing with Weasley, a sight that made his stomach turn. It would take a great deal of getting used to if he were to be bound to the spouse of one of those red-haired menaces.

"I am not," he said carefully.. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head and instinctively moved his hand up to cover his scar, resting it there casually.

"Are you quite sure of that?"

Was he? He frowned. "Have you seen evidence that I am not?"

"Not necessarily. I assume that your plans for end of term are all laid out?"

"Naturally, Minerva." In a manner of speaking. He had a vague idea about accosting her sometime after her last Potions lesson of the term and possibly giving her a letter of some sort. Dealing with women was not something that he enjoyed, especially not when the women were likely to be hostile, which he was relatively certain Miss Granger was.

"I'm glad to hear that, Severus." She gave him a warm smile. "If there's anything I can do to help—"

"I will be sure to let you know," he said dryly. "Although, if you recall, you turned down the suggestion I did make."

"I'll do everything I can to help you, short of doing your job for you."

"Would you care to dance, Minerva?"

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"To dance," he said smoothly, repressing a smirk. "I am told it is common at a function such as this one."

0 0 0

"Hermione," whispered Ron, whose chin was digging very uncomfortably into the top of her head as they danced, or rather as they shuffled slowly from foot to foot. "Look."

"At what, Ronald?" she asked, her voice muffled in the collar of his dress robes.

"Snape and McGonagall." She felt a portion of dead weight lift from her arm and realized with some chagrin that he was actually pointing. She stopped pretending to dance and turned around, her cheeks burning with embarrassment over Ron's behavior yet again.

But a number of other people were pointing too, and a low, buzzing murmur was beginning to fill the room. Professor Snape had gathered Professor McGonagall into his arms and was dancing with her—rather well, as it happened.

"Blimey," said Ron, staring at them. "Where'd they learn to do that?"

"Well it makes sense, doesn't it? Heads of House do dancing lessons, Ron, or did you forget?" She had a strong private suspicion that he had.

"Oh," he said slowly. "Well, yeah, I knew McGonagall could dance. But Snape?"

"You don't see Draco Malfoy going about treading on Pansy's toes," she said, with some asperity.

"Oi! Ron, Hermione!" Harry and Ginny hurried over to them, Harry casting a glance at Professor Snape and the Headmistress as they did.

"You get a load of that, mate?" asked Ron. Harry grinned.

"Yeah, I did. Wonders never cease, eh? Hey, we've been talking—what do you say we skive off on Wednesday and head back to Grimmauld Place a little early? All the extra work we've been doing, I think we deserve a little break."

Ron glanced doubtfully at Hermione. "I don't know," he said carefully. "What about classes, Harry?"

Just at that moment, Draco Malfoy came into view and Hermione felt something awful clench in her stomach. Leaving Hogwarts early suddenly seemed like a very, very good idea.

"I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, Harry," she said immediately, flashing him her most brilliant smile and giving Ron a hard pinch on the arm when he opened his mouth. "Of course we'll leave early with you. It's only a day, after all, and it's about time we all had a break."

0 0 0

The next few days passed with dreary regularity. Severus was frequently amused by the fact that his students seemed to believe that professors did not look forward to holidays as much as they themselves did. Judging from his own memories of his student days, he looked forward to holidays far more now than he ever did as a child.

He kept a close eye on Draco and Miss Granger, primarily to ensure that they stayed well apart from one another. There would be ample time to interrogate the girl, but if she'd already let fly with an unforgivable in the middle of Hogsmeade then there was no telling what might happen if the fool provoked her in a corridor or classroom. Otherwise, he maintained his previous strategy, watching her at every possible moment to assure himself that she didn't know the secret--yet.

Although, he decided ruefully late on Tuesday night as her listened to her shouting at the Weasley boy in one of the gardens, if she did know, he would probably find out very quickly, even if he wasn't spying on her.

He woke up Wednesday morning with the grim certainty that something was not at all right.


Author's Notes: boolavogue was reviewer number 1000. Send me an email and let me know whether you'd like your prize. If not, I'll move on to reviewer 1001, and so on. (you can get me at zeegrindylows at gmail dot com)

This chapter took some hard work. Quidditch is hard to write, by the way. I also had the chapter halfway done and lost the whole thing in a crash, so I had to start over.

Christmas holidays have finally started.. time for things to start getting crazy. Reviewers, you all rock my world. Thank you for being out there and for being great.

And special thanks to litaskeeter and to harmonybites for hanging out in WIKTT chat until all hours of the night, keeping me awake and thinking about Harry Potter instead of procrastinating. :)