Pride of Time

by Anubis Ankh

Hermione quite literally crashes her way back through time by roughly twenty years. There is no going back; the only way is to go forward. And when one unwittingly interferes with time, what one expects may not be what time finds...

36. Chapter 36

A/N: I appreciate your patience. I've had an extremely busy week, work-wise, and expect it to be roughly the same next week as well. I'm sorry that I could not get this in on Thursday, nor earlier today.

Enormous thanks goes out to my wonderful beta.

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review.

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Hermione left the Burrow at roughly one o'clock in the morning the next day, arriving at the Headmaster's Office in order to give Dumbledore her report. He sat pensively at his desk, his withered hand resting lightly on top of the other, and listened in silence as she recounted her trip to Borgin and Burkes. When she had finished, she stood up and gathered up her notebook.

"I don't know how Draco is planning on sneaking the necklace in, but given the tightened security measures, I have no doubt that it will fail," she told him briskly. "He asked Borgin for instructions on how to repair something that apparently has to remain put, which leads me to believe that it is at Hogwarts—but what that may be, I haven't the foggiest."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Hermione. I appreciate the risk you took in bringing me this information," he said gravely.

"Yes, sir."

Intuiting that she was dismissed, she stuffed her notebook into her book bag and left. Selenius was waiting for her outside, crouching down by the door with his nose buried in a book. He looked up immediately when Hermione stepped past the gargoyle, and quickly got to his feet.

"Can we go now?" he asked hopefully.

"Just a moment," Hermione said, taking a moment to check her reflection in one of the windows. A flick of her wand, a crackle of magic, and her hair turned jet black. But it was clear to her that this alone would not be enough to fool Fred and George—if they looked past the hair, she would still be eminently recognizable. She frowned for a moment, and then pulled her hair back into a chignon, rather than leaving it down the way she normally did around her friends. She looked very different, more adult, and after she took a moment to adjust the color of her eyebrows, she turned around to face her son, who raised a very Severus-like brow at her in surprise.

"You look different," he remarked.

"That's rather the point," Hermione said with a grin as she checked her clothes one last time. She was wearing what she usually wore under her teaching robes—white button-up blouse, simple black slacks, and a pair of boots. Cover that with the ordinary work robes she was wearing, and though she would quite likely stand out just a bit, she would appear no stranger than a young intern looking to find a joke cauldron to mischievously use on their boss. It would work just fine.

"Alright," she said, kissing her son atop the head before leading the way down the corridor. "Happy Birthday, one week early. Let's go, shall we?"

They Flooed to Diagon Alley through Minerva's office, and then—with Selenius's right hand firmly grasped in hers—she led the both of them down the street toward Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She could not help but be pleased at the fact that there seemed to be fewer sellers down the street today, at least down the alley leading from the Leaky Cauldron. Selenius seemed a bit sullen at the fact that he was being forced to walk down the street holding hands with his mother, but once Hermione pointed out that everyone else in Diagon Alley was clustered together in tight packs, most of them holding onto each other in some manner, it became less of a concern to him. She probably looked more like an older sister escorting her brother to any passerby, but Selenius understandably did not see it that way.

Instead, the moment they went inside Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, all that mattered was getting a chance to look at and possible try at least one of everything. Hermione had to squeeze through the crowd to keep up with him, standing back to smile as he immediately made for the flying toy rugs advertised to the leftmost shelf from the counter. Everything in the shop was just as wondrous, if not more so, to Selenius as it had been for his mother the first time she had stepped in, and it seemed that he couldn't stand on one spot for more than a minute before something else would catch his eye.

Hermione ended up backing away and guarding the shelves near the door, because there were simply too many people in there for her to keep up with her son. She was able to follow him with her eyes as he bent over the Patented Daydream Charms, his hair obscuring his face as he read it, before jerking up when Fred came over to remind him that it was not for anyone under sixteen. Selenius scowled slightly at this, putting the box back on the shelf, but immediately cheered up when the red-haired proprietor led him toward the other side of the shop, where there was an entire range of joke sweets to be had.

When Selenius sought her out, arms laden with boxes and packages, Hermione checked her watch briefly to find that they had been in the store for over three hours. Slightly shocked at this revelation, Hermione nevertheless took it in stride with some amusement. They went to the counter, where she sat everything down and took a moment to check it over, and then ordered Selenius to wait where he was while she headed over to the spot behind the Muggle Magic tricks. She returned moments later carrying a bag of Decoy Detonators and several boxes of Peruvian Darkness Powder, set them down next to Selenius's purchases, and politely requested that George ring them up.

"Right-o," he said, counting up the load of things stacked so high on the counter that they threatened to topple off. "Ten galleons, six sickles."

Hermione's eyes widened. That was almost an entire week's worth of pay, when she had been working at the Three Broomsticks for a summer job! Of course, that was almost nothing to her now, given her success with the stock market and in managing her family's finances. However, for someone who had previously been without many means, it struck her for a moment just how much she was paying. But the moment inevitably passed, and she dug into her purse for the necessary coins.

Selenius was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking indescribably happy as his mother paid for their things. Hermione shrank everything down and placed it in her purse, before thanking George and heading for the door. A twist and yank on the dial of her watch, and the both of them were immediately yanked back to Hogwarts.

~o~O~o~

Hermione sat in the Staff Room, sipping from a cup of strong tea that the house elves had thankfully delivered while Selenius tore into his gifts. Packets of Ton-Tongue Toffee rolled out onto the floor in colorful wrappers, along with two boxes of Portable Swamps that Hermione had bought against her better judgment, a pair of Extendable Ears, not one but two Punching Telescopes, a variety of trick wands, and a disturbing collection of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. She was not precisely sure what her son planned to do with all of it, but she was hopeful that it could at least be handled.

He was prodding at his Reusable Hangman, and constructing a small fort around the galley with several Skiving Snackboxes of the Fainting Fancy variety when the door suddenly opened.

"Ah-hah!" Filch cried, and Hermione glanced up sharply at him. "I knew it! More of those damnable Weasley products—hand them over!"

Selenius merely raised an eyebrow at the caretaker in consternation as Hermione got to her feet. "That's enough, Filch. Term hasn't started yet."

"Those things are banned!" Filch wheezed, pointing a gnarled finger at the Reusable Hangman, who had unhooked the noose from his stick-figure frame and was marching his way over toward Mrs. Norris, who was winding her way around Filch's legs and eyeing the approaching toy with baleful eyes. She let out a low hiss as it approached, and Selenius reached over to pluck it off the ground. "I don't care what reason you have for bringing them into the castle—points and detentions for this!"

"They're not banned," Hermione responded calmly.

"They ought to be!" Filch said nastily.

"Then take it up with the headmaster," Hermione said.

Before Filch could reply, there was a sudden familiar voice from behind the door. "What is this all about?" Severus Snape drawled, pushing the door open fully so that he could see what was going on in the Staff Room that had the old caretaker so riled up.

"Fireworks!" Filch cried, pointing an accusing finger first as Selenius, then at each item in turn as he rattled off, "Portable Swamps, Extendable Ears, Skiving—"

"That's enough," Severus responded, uninterested. He sneered down at the reusable hangman struggling in Selenius's hand as fought to reach Mrs. Norris. "You can leave now."

"But—"

"Go away, Filch," Severus snapped. "I've got this well in hand." The caretaker hesitated, and he added sharply, "Leave."

Filch obviously did not dare disobey the Potions Master, who was normally on his side in these sort of matters, and shuffled away muttering furiously under his breath to Mrs. Norris, in a manner that reminded Hermione remarkably of Kreacher. As soon as he was gone, Severus slipped inside and shut the door behind him, albeit with a bit more force than necessary.

"And what, precisely, is this?" He asked, gesturing at the mess strewn across the floor.

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow at him. "Selenius's birthday gifts, one week early." She added with a bright smile, "I didn't know you were going to be here, or I would have told you."

Severus watched with disgruntled interest as Selenius placed the hangman back on his staircase, and started the game over. As soon as everything was in place, he looked up at his father.

"Hi, Dad."

Severus sneered at him and turned to leave. At that moment, it became abundantly clear to Hermione that something was not right—not that anything was, at this point, but something was obviously more wrong than it should already be—and darted forward to grab his sleeve. He wheeled around to look at her, but Hermione stood her ground.

"What happened?" she asked fiercely.

He bared his teeth. "This was not a sight I expected to find—furthermore, why are you not at the Weasleys'?"

"Because I had a report to deliver to Dumbledore, and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to take our son out for an early birthday celebration," Hermione said, loosening her grip and smoothing down his arm before resting her hand on his shoulder.

"What report?"

"Draco made a few select purchases at Borgin and Burkes," Hermione said carefully. She tugged on his sleeve, indicating that they ought to step outside, and he backed away to allow her through. She shut the door behind them, and mindful of the newly-purchased Extendable Ears lying on the floor, she quickly cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door. Satisfied, she continued, "We're also having some inter-organizational personality conflicts."

Severus sneered at this. "The two lovers, I take it?"

Hermione gave him a surprised look. "Tonks and Remus?"

"Quite."

"Well yes," Hermione agreed. "Tonks isn't doing too well—I'm waiting for Remus to drop 'round so that I can talk some sense into him."

Severus's face contorted into a look of deepest loathing, and at once, Hermione suspected she understood at least some of where his consternation was coming from.

"You don't have to like Remus, but he's my friend, and he deserves happiness too," she said, but there was a biting edge to her tone. "I don't see why this should be such an issue for you. You could simply ignore it."

Severus's scowl deepened. "Lupin is an unemployed werewolf, and even he has better romantic prospects than I do!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You're married, Severus."

"To an eighteen-year-old woman with whom I cannot have a proper relationship," Severus responded snidely.

He was lashing out at her. She could sense there was an underlying issue to all of this—Draco was probably at the center of it—and he was taking it out on her. Or rather, he was taking it out on the fact that he did not have his wife to support him at a time when he felt he needed it most. Hermione closed her eyes. Merlin, grant me patience. Dealing with him when he was hurting was like a bowtruckle trying to help a dragon pull a splinter from its claw. When she opened her eyes, she said quietly, "Do you want me to stay here until term starts?"

He gave her an odd look. "No—that's not possible, is it?"

"I could certainly arrange it. It would mean I won't be able to keep an eye on Harry for that week, but if my husband needs me here," she stressed, "then of course, I will stay."

There was a long silence, and Hermione could see the emotions warring across her husband's face in an unusual display of openness, before he bowed his head.

"I cannot ask you to…"

"But if you did, I would," she told him softly, placing a hand on his cheek.

He accepted the touch, closing his eyes for a moment, and then leaned in to her, brushing his lips against her ear. Hermione thought he was about to try and nibble on her earlobe, to cajole her into reciprocating, but he instead murmured just loudly enough so only she could possibly hear, "I don't know how I'm supposed to handle having you in my class, like this."

"I'll just be my usual annoying, know-it-all self," Hermione whispered, smiling slightly. "I'll raise my hand for everything, have my book out in class before you tell us to, and be the first to succeed in whatever practical application we're doing…"

"Undoubtedly," Severus breathed, and for the first time, he was smiling, if somewhat darkly with reminiscence. "I haven't forgotten what you were like, when we were students together… insufferable…"

"I'll just have to be that way as a student here, too," Hermione said, bringing up a hand to stroke his hair. "But I'll still be me, you realize. You'll still be yourself, handing in your reports when you return my homework. And when we can, when we don't have classes to worry about—we can drop our roles."

"Not until breaks in-between term," Severus said bitterly.

"What about the weekends?" Hermione pointed out. "It would be easy to sneak out, take my homework with me, and find our quarters. Not too often, of course—not enough to raise suspicion. But on occasion… when I need to get away… or when you need me…"

He was tempted. She felt like Eve, offering the forbidden fruit to her Adam. She could see it in his eyes. The way they flickered uncertainly, and then back and forth across her face, as he told himself that it was a bad idea—and yet that it was eminently possible. That it was doable. That it was a partial solution to keeping their partnership—and their marriage—intact despite the immense stress and pressure they were both placed under.

His resolve cracked. "Yes. I—yes."

Hermione leaned her head forward, shifting it slightly to the side so that it was pressed against his. Their noses touched, their connection unspeakably intimate. She added softly, "I am your wife, Severus. As much as I am my own person—as much as I have my own duties to keep, my responsibilities to uphold, my burdens to bear—I love you. I place you and our family—our family—as the center of my universe. Where you go, where you ask me to come… I will follow."

His responding words were too private, too full of sincere promise, to ever be repeated casually. But when they broke apart, they both felt slightly lighter and far more reassured than they had ever dared hope given the difficulties of the upcoming year. They reluctantly pulled away, sliding back into the protective shell of their roles, and Hermione glanced back at the door.

"I ought to check on him… to make sure he hasn't turned the staff room into a swamp…"

Severus smirked, but turned away to leave nonetheless. "Undoubtedly, Filch will have the Weasleys' products on the banned list before the week is out."

Hermione laughed. "As if that will stop any of the students from buying them in the first place."

When she slipped back inside, it was to find that room still in relatively good order, although the flying toy rug had gotten a bit out of control. Hermione did not bother attempting to Stun it, recalling what had happened when Umbridge had tried to do so to the fireworks, but merely took a seat in one of the armchairs, retrieved her tea, and watched Selenius's reusable hangman hang.

~o~O~o~

"Yes, I've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," Hermione said a little impatiently, looking up from Advanced Rune Translation reluctantly to turn to Harry. She was sitting on the windowsill of Fred and George's room, doing a bit of re-reading on the material she would be covering in the following year, and was getting somewhat fed up with Harry's refusal to let the matter of Malfoy drop. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory," Ron said vaguely, bending over his broomstick with his servicing kit and attempting to straighten the tail twigs. "Remember that shriveled-up arm Malfoy was looking at?"

"He was looking at it," Hermione said crossly. "He never bought it, Ron."

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" Harry asked for the umpteenth time. "That sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"Look, this conversation is useless!" Hermione cried, throwing her book down on her lap. To her, it seemed the only way to get anything through to the boys was to be emotional—it was the only thing that got their attention and made them look and listen. It gave them the impression of appearing to be startled rabbits, but it seemed to work, just a bit. She had to be a little less subtle around them. "It's just about as informative as the one we had last year, when we were all together the night you arrived at Grimmauld Place to try and guess the 'weapon' the Order was hiding—and look at where that got us! There's no point to this, Harry!"

"I know what we saw," Harry said stubbornly. "Malfoy's planning something. His father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge?"

Ron looked up from his broomstick, blinking.

"Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?"

"That's my point, I don't know!" Harry said, sounding frustrated. "But he's up to something and I think we should take it seriously—"

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. Harry was ignoring her input on this one, which was not only annoying, but disrespectful. Once again he was way-off in his assumptions. Draco Malfoy was not looking for revenge. He was working for his own survival and his family's, since the Dark Lord was putting him through the gauntlet. Revenge was not in the younger Malfoy's top list of priorities, although that would not preclude him from grasping an opportunity if it presented itself.

If he grasped an opportunity that presented itself in the form of Harry Potter running headfirst into the middle of a mess he was only vaguely aware existed. Hermione loved Harry as a godson and best friend, but there were moments like these when she wanted nothing better than to knock some sense into him.

Harry had suddenly stopped talking, and Hermione opened her eyes to find he was staring at the window behind her, his mouth open.

"Harry?" she said anxiously. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Ron asked nervously.

"He's a Death Eater," Harry responded slowly. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater."

There was a moment of silence. Hermione mentally counted from ten to zero in Latin. And then Ron broke out laughing. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione said, in a repressive sort of voice, hoping to quash this line of conversation and get it out of Harry's head as quickly as possible. And then almost despite herself, she asked, "What makes you think—?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up the sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks, even as Hermione made the mental note to inform Severus that he needed to tell Draco to be more circumspect with his behavior; he was clearly being too obvious, if anyone who knew what to look for bothered to do so.

"I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," Hermione said, with a glance at Ron, who looked thoroughly unconvinced. At this moment, she was once again grateful for the occasions that Ron showed a level, even thoughtful head. He was not immediately jumping on the wagon of suspicion like Harry, which meant that there was a better possibility of talking Harry out of this seemingly mad idea.

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry pressed on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it—he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"

Hermione exchanged another look with Ron, praying that this would not be enough to convince him, too.

"I'm not sure, Harry…" she began.

"Yeah, I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join…"

Looking thoroughly annoyed and fed up with the both of them, Harry snatched up a pile of dirty Quidditch robes and left the room. Hermione waited for the door to close, and then turned to Ron.

"You don't seriously believe…"

"Nah," Ron said. "Malfoy's only sixteen. What would You-Know-Who want with a sixteen-year-old? Not even fully qualified. Plus, it'd be risky, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, that's right," Hermione said, relieved. "But still… Harry…"

"Maybe Harry's right about the revenge," Ron proposed vaguely. "Something like that. Or maybe he's his father's errand boy while Lucius Malfoy's in Azkaban. But it doesn't make sense for him to let Malfoy join…"

"Yes, that seems much more likely," Hermione said, looking at Ron bemusedly.

"Anyway," Ron said, returning his attention to his broomstick, "what could we do about it? Once we're back at school, I doubt Malfoy'll be able to do anything. Didn't Dad say something about Hogwarts increasing security this year? It won't be a problem."

Later, Hermione slipped away from the confines of the Burrow to Floo to the Staff Room at Hogwarts. She had worked out an excuse with Molly to explain away her periodic absences from the Burrow, the majority of which went unnoticed by Harry and Ron to begin with—they were spending a great deal of time practicing Quidditch, of which Hermione was rarely a participant in the first place—and was choosing to spend her time with her husband and attending duties as a member of the Order.

Despite her de-aging, she had gone to Dumbledore and demanded that he put her back on active duty. She had functioned to what amounted as an inactive sleeper agent toward the end of last year, where she blended in and laid down low, and had no intention of doing so this year. No matter how difficult switching between her camouflage as a student and her duty to the Order would be, she was determined to take it on. Now was not the time to reveal her position to all and sundry: while there were several participants on both sides of the war who knew the secret of her past, the Ministry was blissfully ignorant of it, and Hermione wanted it to stay that way. The last thing she needed was an investigation and their interference in her life, which would be opened formally if she made the knowledge public.

And she could not tell Harry, either; he needed to remain focused on whatever Dumbledore had planned for him. He could not afford to be distracted by the cascade of distraught emotions and questions that would surely follow by the simple revelation of her trip back in time.

But she could put herself back on active duty. And that was precisely what she did.

"So," Hermione said one evening, wordlessly sending her boots and traveling cloak sailing obediently over by her chair to lay themselves down neatly, "how did things go?"

Severus lifted his head up, pulling back the curtain of his hair so that he could see her. Selenius sat across him, and between the two of them was a rather methodically-deployed chess match. Severus's appearance over the past week and a half was sporadic at best; oftentimes, he only stayed long enough to meet with Albus or prepare his classroom before returning to Spinner's End. This evening, however, he had found an opportunity to remain late enough to spend time with his son.

"Passable," he said neutrally, as Selenius directed his bishop to take out a pawn.

Neither of them could talk freely while Selenius was present, but Hermione was not inclined to send her son away. Any chance they had to spend together, Hermione was willing to push aside the compilation of a report just a little longer. Satisfied, she noncommittally summoned herself a cup of tea and came to sit by the fireplace, cross-legged and silently observing their game.

She had spent the early morning and latter half of the day on patrol through the London Underground, keeping an eye on Borgin and Burkes in case Malfoy presented a return and generally observing the going-ons around the local shops. The Death Eaters often staked out their targets for raids, and if she could spot them watching a particular target, she could investigate without placing Severus's position at stake. It was best now that they operated half-blind; if Severus did not tell her who the Death Eaters were planning to attack—information of which was limited to him begin with—then he would have less to hide when trying to cover up his tracks under Voldemort's Legilimency. Half-truths were easier to manipulate than outright falsehoods about what he had and had not disseminated to the Order.

Later, once Selenius had begun yawning and was summarily sent up to bed, Hermione and Severus had a chance to reconvene with her notebook.

"I'll be closing up Spinner's end this Saturday," Severus said, cleaning up their chess game with a flick of his wand. The pieces popped back into its box and slid back underneath the armchair it was normally stored under with an obedient snap. "Term resumes in a week—close enough for me to make my excuses to the Dark Lord why I'm kicking Wormtail out of my home."

Hermione made a face, wrinkling her nose just a bit. The fact that Pettigrew was living with Severus, however temporarily, made her skin crawl. She did not want the odious little worm to be going through her house—their house. "Good."

"What did you find today?"

Hermione set her teacup down on the floor. "Only one person visited Borgin and Burke's today, and it wasn't Malfoy. Madam Rosmerta went there for a shrunken head—not surprising, since one of hers got nicked down at the Three Broomsticks when I paid a visit a couple weeks ago—"

"Keep it concise," Severus said tersely, but there was a quirk of amusement to his thin lips. "No need to get as long-winded as your essays. Skip to the important parts."

"Right." Hermione ran a hand through her tangle of hair with a huff of exasperation. "I saw no one—not in their day clothes, and no one familiar or otherwise standing suspiciously in one place for a long time to watch a particular person or establishment. I don't think anyone was there today. Not even Fenrir Greyback, and I was so hoping to see if Malfoy would really carry through with his threat…"

She trailed off, and then sighed.

"In short, I found nothing. I recorded it in my notebook anyway, though what good that'll do, I haven't the faintest clue." There was a sudden, plaintive mew from underneath the armchair, and Crookshanks slinked out. He arched his back in a feline stretch, and then padded forward into Hermione's lap, where she immediately began acquiescing to his wish for attention with a scratch behind his ear. "On the other hand, Harry is still firmly convinced Malfoy's a Death Eater, and Ron's the only one stopping him from going off the deep end with his conspiracy theories—not that Harry's wrong, for once he's actually right."

"Unfortunately." Severus took her teacup and lifted it to his lips, finishing it before Crookshank's twitching tail could spill it over. "Weasley has shown improvement, however."

"Yes, I suppose," Hermione said, scratching a purring Crookshanks underneath his chin now. "He's much more level-headed now. I suppose the Department of Mysteries has taught him something."

Severus reached over for her notebook, which lay open on the rug between them, and shut it with a resounding clap. Quicker than she would have believed, he lifted Crookshanks out of her lap, ignoring the half-kneazle's undignified mew of surprise, and set him off the rug before turning his attention back to her. The cat fluffed up with indignation, vaguely resembling an experimental stick of orange cotton candy gone wrong, but had the good sense to scoot off as Severus leaned forward and captured his wife's lips with his.

The fluffy, squash-faced ginger turned around once more in time to see his mistress tumble backwards onto the rug before stalking off.

Hermione laughed as Severus pinned her down, the noise muffled by their kiss before they broke apart. "That's it?" she teased. "We're done with work, and now we're squeezing in what time we have left?"

He nuzzled her cheek—something he did out of habitual affection—and then lower his head to nib at her collarbone. "You did offer to stay," he said silkily. "Surely you knew what that would entail."

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, registering the greasy feel to it and not minding in the least as she pulled his head up again to kiss the tip of his nose. "Of course. And I don't mind in the least."

He paused for a moment to caress her cheek, savoring the soft skin, and then began to work his way down. He hid his eagerness with the self-discipline he had built up over the years, appearing calm, perhaps even merely contemplative as he tweaked a nipple or laved at her belly with his tongue, but Hermione was not fooled for a minute. She allowed him to take his time, exploring her body as though for the first time, though with knowledge and an expert touch that revealed otherwise—but when he finally moved to position himself between her legs, hooking them up over his elbows to expose her fully to him, it was abundantly clear that he was not in the mood to wait.

Normally, he took things aggravatingly slow. The build-up was that much more intense, when he made her wait for it and teased her mercilessly along the way—but tonight was not one of those nights. But it was not until they removed an irate Crookshanks from the room, after he had started yowling at the door to be let out, that they finally made it to their bed.

~o~O~o~

The day the train was due to arrive, Hermione spent the early morning wandering along the road of Hogsmeade. Severus had been called away after delivering Selenius to the Burrow, and Tonks was at her post near the gates of the school. It would be an inconvenience for someone else to be called away to patrol the seemingly quiet village, and so Hermione had readily volunteered for the task. She stopped by the Three Broomsticks for a takeaway mug of steaming warm Butterbeer, and was surprised by the brisk reception she received from Madam Rosmerta.

"Business has been slow," the proprietress had said, her tone snappish, as she turned around to make Hermione's order. "The Death Eaters have been all around Diagon Alley, it's no wonder people are worried they'll show up here, too."

Still, her tone was rather unlike the Rosmerta that Hermione knew, and she left feeling slightly disconcerted. Her old employer was someone Hermione considered to be an old friend of sorts, though not in the same league as Mad-Eye or Remus by any means— and the fact that Rosmerta appeared worried did nothing to allay Hermione's concern that there must be suspicious activity happening around Hogsmeade. Something more suspicious than a lack of customers.

She left her shift around noon when the streets began filling up a bit more, and wandered around to the end of the street, where she and Harry and Ron had gone in their fourth year to meet Sirius and get help for the Triwizard tournament. It had been a bit foggy earlier, but it had mostly cleared up by now, though there were still wisps of it curling along the ground like a misty rug.

For a moment, staring off into the highlands in the distance, Hermione almost felt as though she were waiting to see Sirius again. To see a big, shaggy black dog—or perhaps white with his fur shaved down in an amateurish sort of way—come trotting out to greet her like nothing had happened. But no such thing happened, and Hermione was left standing there, quite alone.

When she finally trudged back up to the castle to get into her school clothes and wander down into the Entrance Hall, arriving just in time for the throng of returning students to begin milling their way into the Great Hall, she followed them, once more blending in among the crowd. She took her seat, and waited. Ron arrived a few minutes later, slumping into the seat next to her and poking at his fork with his wand, looking irritated about something. She saw Ginny and Luna appear moments later, taking seats elsewhere, and Neville arrived almost last, looking quite flustered for some reason.

But as soon as they all made it to the Great Hall, and the Sorting Hat's song had begun, it dawned on her that Harry was not there. Upon glancing up at the dais, she was distraught to find that Severus was not there either—yet his absence was easy to explain away. The Dark Lord must have kept him long, though this was unusual because he did not like risking Severus's cover. But Harry… where was Harry? Why had he not come up with the others?

She nudged Ron as soon as the Sorting had finished, elbowing him as he was half-way through a slice of shepherd's pie.

"Where's Harry?" she hissed.

Ron gave a non-committal shrug, swallowed his enormous mouthful, and downed a glass of pumpkin juice before responding. "I dunno."

"Didn't he go up with you?"

"No," Ron said, his brow creasing into a frown as his own seedling of worry began to set in. "He wasn't with me when we arrived, I reckoned he had already gone up… but he hasn't, has he?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, he must be all right," Ron said bracingly, helping himself to another mouthful. "Maybe he's gone to investigate something before coming up, you know how Filch was jabbing us with all those Secrecy Sensors—maybe wanted to stash his Cloak before Filch could nab it…"

Hermione had not actually been through those devices which Filch had taken to with an unseeming level of glee, but she did not correct him on this matter. Ron assumed she had been patrolling another carriage on the Hogwarts Express; none of them seemed to realize she had never actually boarded the train.

Her panic began to rise the longer the meal went on, as she wondered if she might perhaps find a way to sneak out of the Great Hall to find Harry, when the doors finally opened.

"Where've you—blimey, what've you done to your face?" Ron asked, goggling at Harry as he walked into the Great Hall half-way through dinner. His nose and mouth were caked with bits of blood, and there were flecks of it on his glasses. He took a seat between Hermione and Ron, and reached for a spoon, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

Hermione stared at him.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Harry asked.

"You're covered in blood!" Hermione exclaimed, reaching for her wand. "Honestly, I can't believe—come here—Tergeo!"

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling his face as her spell siphoned it clean. "How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," Hermione said anxiously. What had Harry gotten himself into this time? They hadn't even started dessert yet! "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"

"I'll tell you later," Harry said shortly.

"But—"

"Not now, Hermione," he said in a darkly significant voice that was supposed to clearly convey some deeper meaning that. Hermione was unimpressed, but bit her lower lip in a mixture of anxiety and anger, and quieted nonetheless; Harry reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and chips, but they vanished just before he could take them, they were replaced with bowls of pudding.

Hermione saw Harry's expression sour as he leaned back in his seat, oblivious to Ron's exclamation of delight as he reached for a chocolate gateau.

"Hat say anything interesting?" Harry asked sullenly, staring at the chocolate treats piled before him.

"More of the same, really…" Hermione said carefully.

"Dumbledore mention Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn't he?" Ron said, through a mouthful of chocolate. "It can't be long now. Anyway, glad you finally made it."

"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast—"

"You've seen Snape?" Ron asked, between frenzied stuffings of gateau. "How come?"

"Bumped into him," Harry said evasively.

"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," Hermione said, eyeing Harry with what she hoped was concern, but was really suspicion. Harry was being ridiculously secretive about what had happened to make him late to the feast, not to mention the reasons for which he had bumped into Severus in the first place. She was concerned; discreetly, deciding now was a good opportunity to test the new enchantments they had placed on their rings in the field, she pulled out her wand and tapped her wedding ring, pretending to instead be resizing her fork.

She needn't have bothered; Harry and Ron were muttering conspicuously to each other, their talk now interrupted by Nearly-Headless Nick, who had dropped in on the pretense of attempting to eavesdrop before he had instead jumped right into their conversation. The smooth silver surface of her wedding band was replaced with Hermione's small, tight scrawl, which formed the words, What happened?

The ring burned white for a moment, and then faded. Severus, who had returned to his seat at the staff table shortly after Harry had walked in, suddenly set down his fork to glare at his hand. He pulled it away, shaking the sleeve of his robe over it; but nevertheless, a moment later, Hermione felt her ring heat up in response.

In tiny, spiky scrawl that Hermione had to squint at in order to decipher, Severus's answer came through. Tonks found Potter on the train. Sent Patronus. Brought Potter back up to the school. The handwriting faded away a moment later, to be quickly replaced with a single word: dunderhead.

Hermione tried not to smile at the epithet. She looked up at the staff table, and saw Severus glaring in her direction. Or possibly Harry's. Hermione locked eyes with him, and forced their connection open, pulling his mind toward hers. A moment later, he responded by pouring in the necessary focus to uphold his half of their connection, and Hermione immediately dove into the matter at hand.

What did Harry do?

My understanding is that he tried to listen in on what appears to have otherwise been a private conversation between several of my Slytherins.

Hermione could easily guess which Slytherins those were.

Malfoy figured out he was there?

Apparently. According to Tonks, she found Potter Petrified and on his back in a most undignified manner. There was no hiding the sardonic amusement in his tone. He came away with a broken nose, but she fixed it. Your precious Potter is otherwise unharmed.

Damn you, Harry… receiving the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow, she clarified, One of these days, he's going to get into another bind like that, and his attacker won't be so forgiving. He's lucky to be back in one piece. I'm surprised Malfoy didn't hex him into little slimy pieces.

Draco knows he has bigger fish to fry. The larger picture to look at, so to speak. Seriously injuring Potter would merely interfere with his mission, and place his family in further jeopardy. I don't doubt he was tempted, however.

At that moment, Dumbledore got to his feet, silencing all conversation. The talk and laughter echoing throughout the hall died down almost immediately, and Hermione and Severus broke eye contact to give him their fullest attention.

"The very best of evenings to you!" Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide in a gesture of embracement.

"His hand…" Hermione whispered. She remembered what his hand had looked like weeks ago; only the fingers and the adjacent half of his hand had been fully blackened, although most of his palm and wrist had clearly started to wither and darken. Now, however, his entire right hand was completely dead.

She was not the only one who took a moment to peer at the injury; murmurs struck up in the hall, as students turned to their neighbors to point it out. Dumbledore merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his hand, correctly interpreting the reason for the students' reaction.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. Hermione almost snorted at this. "Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…"

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry told them in an undertone. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though… or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"Not everything can be cured, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "There are some injuries you can't cure… old curses… and there are poisons without antidotes… and his hand looks as though it's died, I doubt it has any feeling left to it at all…"

Ron swayed for a moment at this, looking distinctly ill at the prospect.

"…and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Despite herself, Hermione snorted with amusement. Harry and Ron gave her odd looks, but immediately turned their attention back to Dumbledore, who, after making a quick mention about the Quidditch teams, was now moving onto the announcements concerning staff appointments.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn—" Slughorn stood up, looking quite pleased and entirely in his element "—is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions Master."

Hermione smiled thinly as the word 'Potions' erupted throughout the Great Hall. Students were repeating it as though to confirm that they had heard right.

"Potions?" Ron exclaimed, turning to Harry. "But you said—"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore continued, raising his voice so that it could be heard over the steadily rising murmur echoing through the great hall, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"No!" Harry said loudly.

"I thought you said Slughorn would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ron shouted, struggling to be heard as the hall erupted into loud exclamations from all sides of the room.

"I thought he was!"

Hermione turned her attention to Severus, who was seated at Dumbledore's immediate right—a change from his usual spot at the far end of the table, which he had occupied for almost as long as Hermione could remember—and raised a hand in lazy acknowledgement as his Slytherins applauded and cheered. For all the stress that he was under, for all the complications concerning his position at the school and in the Dark Lord's camp, for all the trouble it had caused him to write up a new curriculum in under ten weeks, it was clear that he was truly pleased with this assignment. Triumphant, even.

In a way, it was like a parting gift from Dumbledore. To finally give Severus a chance to direct the class that he had been itching to teach for almost as long as Hermione had been retired from teaching it. To bring it back up to higher standards that none of its past teachers, save perhaps Remus, had ever been able to achieve. To allow himself a chance to do what he had always wanted to before everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

Congratulations, love.

"Well, there's one good thing," Harry said savagely, interrupting her thoughts. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."

Hermione stiffened, as Ron asked, "What do you mean?"

"That job's jinxed. No one's lasted more than a year… Quirrell actually died doing it… Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death…"

Hermione slammed her fork down on the table, knuckles white. "Harry!"

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," Ron said reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term…"

Ron's words faded away from Hermione's mind as she focused on Harry. She knew Harry hated Severus; understood it, even, given the way Severus had treated him the moment her scar-headed friend had stepped foot in his classroom. Furthermore, Harry had no idea that anyone at Gryffindor table might find his words offensive, nor did he seem to acknowledge that there might be a different side to Professor Snape that none of them saw. Naturally, none of this occurred to him.

Yet, the fact that Harry hated Severus with such a burning, blinding passion was disturbing. Frightening, even. Hermione set her jaw and filed the information away, stoutly trying to keep everything in perspective, yet wanting nothing more than to yank Harry around to face her so that she could berate him into applying common sense and human decency to his words.

Dumbledore cleared his throat at that moment, recapturing the attention of the hall, and then started on the heart of his speech, what they had all been waiting for. The one that told everyone, in no uncertain terms, that the Dark Lord was back, and that there were increased security measures that needed to be observed.

He trusted them to conduct themselves with regard for their own safety and for that of others. His eyes swept over the entire hall as he spoke, but Hermione had a feeling that some of those words were strictly for Malfoy's benefit; Dumbledore did not care if he died, but he could not allow a frightened and desperate teenage boy to endanger others in a bid to assassinate him. Despite the fact that Malfoy was hovering a fork in midair with his wand, sending the signal that he thought the Headmaster's words unworthy of his attention, it was clear that this was a plea by Dumbledore on behalf of the other students in his care.

They were then dismissed. Amid the usual deafening scrape of benches being pushed back, Hermione stood up to do her job of herding the first years to Gryffindor tower, ensuring they all got there in one piece.

That night, just before she went to bed, she paused to look down at her ring.

And then, as she climbed into bed, she grabbed her wand, and tapped it. Writing scrawled itself across the smooth surface, forming five simple words: I love you. Good night.

They faded away, and for a moment, the ring was blank; as soon as Severus had presumably registered the surprise of receiving such a message, his spiky handwriting appeared across the band.

Sleep well, love.

~o~O~o~

The next day was not uneventful, by any means.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the first class of the day, and at this point, anything involving Harry and Severus was guaranteed to be interesting, if nothing else. It became clear to Hermione that Severus had imposed the darker side of his personality on the classroom, placing pictures on the walls which were carefully framed, for all to see, which Hermione would not have wanted her son to set eyes on—a son who had thankfully made a safe trip to the Burrow, and was undoubtedly, settling in there. But she mentally digressed from the topic, returning to the fact that no, Defense Against the Dark Arts was not uneventful.

Far from it. In the space of forty-five minutes, he had knocked Severus off his feet and into a desk, earned himself a detention, and painted a target on himself for more of her husband's ire.

The time spent in the classroom had not been a total loss, however; Hermione had captured Severus's attention through eye contact, and managed to get away with a full five minutes of quick conversation, where she duly relayed to him that he needed to teach Draco the meaning of subtlety; his behavior on the train as relayed by Harry, at Madam Malkin's, and at Borgin and Burkes was placing him at risk of easily being discovered. He needed to learn to move around without requiring someone to step in for damage control.

Severus took this in, setting the information aside to be dealt with later, and then proceeded to ignore the fact that she had just managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx silently—a feat which would have earned twenty points from any reasonable teacher. He merely sneered contemptuously in her direction, and strode past.

"You really shouldn't have done it," Hermione said later, once they were safely out of the classroom, referring to Harry's earlier cheek regarding the use of 'sir', which had been a large determining factor in earning him his detention. "What made you do it?"

"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" Harry fumed. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense?" Without waiting for a response, he plowed on angrily, "Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff—"

"Well," Hermione said quietly, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."

"Like me?" Harry squawked.

"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face the Dark Lord," Hermione said calmly. "You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts—well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

Harry seemed so disarmed by her words that he did not protest further.

They made their way back to Gryffindor tower during break in silence, save for the interruption of Jack Sloper stopping by to deliver a message from Dumbledore concerning Harry's first private lesson. She would not admit this to either of her friends in this lifetime, but listening to Severus murmur in that devastatingly soft, unmistakable baritone about the Dark Arts—because Harry had hit upon a truth in his anger, which was to say that Severus did indeed love them in his fascination—was deeply sensual. He had spoken about the Dark Arts with an almost loving caress in his voice—a tone that reminded Hermione very much of other times he had used it.

Like when she was pregnant, and he was leaning over her body and fucking her while whispering dirty things into her ear… there were other very memorable instances, but that was one that stuck out in the forefront of her mind, that made her tremble with pleasure at the very memory…

"Hermione? It's after break—don't you have Arithmancy—Hermione?"

Hermione had started and quickly rushed to gather her things and get to her next class after that point.

Arithmancy, of all things. The irony was heavy.

Directly afterward, however, she had to help Harry and Ron with their Defense homework. Severus had set it at a ridiculously complex level, something that Hermione could have likely done in her sleep, but that was likely to stump over half the class. Sadistic git. He was definitely enjoying this a bit too much, although given the prospects he was facing at the end of the year, she could not blame him as much as she would have liked.

Potions, however, simply took the cake.

Hermione knew Dumbledore had explained Hermione's situation to Slughorn earlier, which meant her old teacher was not at all surprised to see her in the classroom again. Unspeakably amused, to be sure, but not surprised. He took care of Harry and Ron's lack of books and other supplies, and then proceeded to introduce them to the four potions he had already laid out for them to look at out of pure curiosity.

Hermione did not remember him doing anything quite like this before, but again, Slughorn had had years of retirement at his disposal to brew them, which was what allowed him to lay them out now for his class. It was actually a bit of a treat. They started with Veritaserum, moved onto recognizing Polyjuice, and then came the third potion.

"It's Amortentia," Hermione said, smiling almost lazily as she breathed in the potion's drugging scent.

"It is, indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," Slughorn said, looking rather impressed at the fact that Hermione had retained all of this information years after attending school, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world," Hermione said, inhaling deeply, the potion's fumes filling up her mind like a hazy, wonderful drink. At once, Severus's male, musky scent filled her nose, mixed with old parchment; the smell of a familiar and well-used sheepskin rug, and the faintest hint of roses…

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," Hermione said, perking up with enthusiasm on the subject, despite the sedating, sensual effect the Amortentia was having on her thought process, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us." She paused to breathe in, and then added, "I can smell roses, parchment, sheepskin, and something m—"

But at that moment, she broke off, her face suffused in an unmistakable flush of embarassment, and did not finish her sentence. Beside her, she heard Ron sniggering slightly until Harry elbowed him.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn asked, ignoring her embarrassment, and looking thoroughly bemused.

Hermione gave it, knowing very well that he already knew. But he was doing a good job of keeping up with appearances for her sake, almost as though the whole thing were a clever, well-rehearsed little one-act. Nevertheless, it was not until Slughorn had begun lecturing them on the specifics of Amortentia that Ron muttered, "So what was that last thing again?"

Hermione made a shushing gesture and refused to answer, still slightly pink in the face.

"—and now," Slughorn said, drawing their attention back to him once more, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," Ernie Macmillan said, pointing to a small black cauldron resting on Slughorn's desk. Hermione looked at it interestedly, eyes widening as she recognized what it was. The color of molten gold, with droplets jumping from the surface like leaping goldfish without spilling a drop.

"Oho," Slughorn said dramatically. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he said, turning to Hermione, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," Hermione said eagerly, peering over for a closer look at the potion in question. Calmly, fighting against the urge to burst into uncharacteristic excitement over close proximity to a valuable elixir, she clarified, "It makes you lucky."

Now the whole class seemed to straighten up, giving Slughorn—and indeed, the small cauldronful of potion—their full attention.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis…"

"Blimey," she heard Ron whisper. "That stuff must be amazing…"

"It is," Hermione said, leaning in to whisper to him. "Like Slughorn said, very hard to make, but very much worth it… the amount in that cauldron over there would probably be enough for at least half a day's worth…"

"…and that," Slughorn said, grasping their fullest attention again, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the potions in the room seemed to magnify; the tension in the room was so thick that Hermione thought it could be cut with a knife. Everyone in that room wanted to come away with that tiny cauldronful of guaranteed luck.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Slughorn said, taking a miniscule glass bottle with a cork stoppered in it out of his pocket and showing it to them. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now," he added sternly, "I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions… sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only… and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

"So," Slughorn said, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a shuffling and scraping sound as everyone hurried to set up their cauldrons and flip their books open. Hermione immediately got to work. She had brewed the Draught of Living Death Before, not only having been taught by Slughorn once before, but living with Severus meant that it was a matter of course; she had worked alongside him on his projects on rare occasions, and taking over some of the potions he brewed to sell to the local apothecary so that he could give his attention to something else was a given.

The hour progressed steadily. Ron ended up with a potion that looked like someone had melted a vat of black licorice in his cauldron and mixed it with a quart of tar for good measure. Harry was doing astonishingly well, and occasionally borrowed one of her tools to do the job. Where he had gotten the notion to crush the sopophorus bean with the flat side of the knife was beyond her at the moment; she was more focused on her cauldron than anything else, and idly suspected that he had simply copied her, given that doing so had turned her potion a light shade of lilac, just as it was described in the book.

She began stirring her cauldron, and vaguely heard Ron muttering to Harry from across the table, "How did you do that?"

"Add a clockwise stir to every seventh counter-clockwise stir… and crush your sopophorus bean with the flat side of your knife, although I think it's a bit far gone by now…"

Hermione startled at this recitation, though she did not stop attending to her own potion.

"Yeah, looks like it…" Ron sounded dejected. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him poke his potion with his wand, and come off with an unappetizing black slime dripping from the tip.

Hermione glanced over at Harry, eyes narrowing in suspicion. How did he know this? Libatius Borage's book had not been updated in years; the instructions Harry was giving were ones only Severus had taught her—

Her eyes fell upon the black scribble that filled up the margins of Harry's borrowed book, and she almost stopped stirring. She recognized that scrawl—no, scratch that. The book was unmistakable. She had first laid eyes on it during a very memorable detention with her husband almost twenty years ago…

No…

"And time's… up!" Slughorn called. "Stop stirring, please!"

Hermione stared helplessly down at the book Harry was using, fingers itching to snatch it away from him so that she could leaf through it to check—just to check—if there was something on the back cover, something that might possibly identify the owner. Just in case her mind was playing tricks on her; she missed Severus badly despite the times they got to see each other, and her role as a student was playing bloody hell on her senses in the form of déjà vu; it was possible she was mistaken, at this point she wanted to be mistaken, because if Harry had Severus's old copy of Advanced Potions-Making…

Slughorn had made it around the room to their table now, and was giving Ron's thick, black potion a rueful smile before passing over Ernie's navy concoction—and then stopping at hers, with the expression of being dumbstruck on his face. But he said nothing, not until he laid his eyes on Harry's cauldron as well.

"Oho!" he exclaimed, eyes widening, instantly the picture of pure delight. "Oho! Good lord, we have two winners here—two identically superb potions! Excellent, you two, excellent! Of course, this means we'll have to split the prize between you, but no matter, no matter… here you go!"

Hermione and Harry exchanged astonished looks with each other, albeit for different reasons, as Slughorn pulled out another tiny bottle, filled it up half-way with the Felix Felicis, and then squinted at them to ensure they were exactly even before handing them both a bottle. Hermione cradled the bottle of liquid luck in her hands before tucking it into her pocket, feeling both satisfied and disappointed as she glanced at her bespectacled friend beside her. Quite suddenly, she felt a rush of something akin to anger course through her; in a way, it felt like Harry had cheated. Hermione had a good idea of what she wanted to use the potion for, and felt that Harry had taken some of it when he should not have been able to, by all rights.

But she did not protest as they left the dungeons. She still had six hours' worth of liquid luck resting safely in her pocket. That was something, at least.

But she had no intention of using it on herself.

~o~O~o~

It soon became very clear to Hermione that Harry had no intention of willingly relinquishing the book, which had revealed itself to be the property of the Half-Blood Prince following their first Potions lesson. Hermione was tempted to steal it out of his dormitory, but had to admit to herself that this course of action was just a bit too obvious: Harry would look at the three most immediate suspects for its theft, since only three people were aware of the book's true value: Hermione, Ron, and Ginny (who had overheard the short argument that had ensued following the lesson.)

She would have to speak to Severus about the book. There had to be a way for him to confiscate it. He was a teacher, after all; furthermore, it was his book, and he had every right to take it back. But things were not so simple. If Hermione didn't know better, she would almost suspect that Harry was having a one-sided love affair with Severus's dog-eared textbook. It was both absurd and laughable, yet disturbingly true. While Severus had great difficulty in getting Harry to take anything away from his lessons over the past five years, his book was having a good deal more success.

It was difficult to get Harry to shut up about the book. The Prince said this… The Prince wrote that… there, in the margins—he suggested that… it was almost, but not quite, as bad as Percy Weasley and his report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms. And yet, in some ways, it was infinitely worse. If there was one comfort Hermione had been counting on to help her get through the year, it would be her superior skills in every class. She felt it was well deserved; she did, after all, work hard for those grades, and the acknowledgement she received.

But by the end of the week, Slughorn was raving about Harry's abilities, saying he had rarely taught anyone so talented. He acknowledged Hermione's equally good work, but since it was Harry who was apparently the young prodigy while Hermione was merely the older mind— not to mention Harry's fame as the 'Chosen One'— he often passed over her in favor of praising Harry. Something very much like jealousy began to take shape in Hermione at being pushed aside.

Hermione was almost tempted to subtly set the book on fire one Potions class and get it out of the way for good, but the fact that it belonged to Severus stayed her hand. It was her husband's hard work that was written in there, and if they could get it back intact, that would be much more preferable than losing it all in a fit of temper.

In Harry's favor, he had offered to share the book with her as well as Ron, but Hermione saw no point in it; she had read that book front to back several times before, and knew all of Severus's tips and tricks by heart.

But when Harry confronted her about why she was being so bad-tempered, Hermione did lash out at him.

"Why do you think?" she snapped. "You cheated, Harry! You shouldn't have known half those tips that got you through the first lesson, where I had to actually take the time to learn them… so why do you think?" she continued, her voice chilly. "You got six hours' worth of Felix Felicis for almost no real work on your part. Don't you think I feel robbed?"

A look of genuine guilt flashed across his face, but Ron jumped in to defend him. "He only followed different instructions to ours," Ron pointed out. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off—even if it wasn't much of a risk, given you already knew most of the tips he was using…" he heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, and I think someone might have actually eaten the dedication page, but—"

"But it still doesn't change the fact that Harry didn't have to put in any effort," Hermione said, gritting her teeth.

"Well, what d'you expect him to do?" Ron retorted. "Go back to Slughorn and say, 'sorry Professor, I was using someone else's book and it had all these really great tips'—or what, give you the Felix Felicis he got?"

Hermione stared stonily at her friend, refusing to respond, but that was exactly what she wished would happen. The minute Slughorn had shown them the potion, Hermione had been planning on nicking or asking Slughorn for some of it, given she was a member of the Order and had a perfectly legitimate reason to requisition it. Furthermore, when Slughorn had given her the perfect option to win it, she had already had her mind set that she would have it. After all, she was the best in class. Whatever Harry or Ron said to the contrary, Harry had won it unfairly.

And there were two very important people to her who could use it. Six hours' worth of luck, used at the right time, could save Selenius's life if he was attacked. Six hours' worth of luck, used carefully, could help Severus navigate through the Dark Lord's graces when he was being particularly treacherous about it. She had been planning on splitting it evenly between them, although Selenius would require a stern lecture on what the potion was supposed to be used for…

"No," Hermione said finally, lying through her teeth. "But he should give that graffitied copy back."

"Come off it," Ron said. "You're just jealous."

Hermione gave him an affronted look, for lack of being able to express what she really thought, and twitched her essay on The Principals of Rematerialization away from him, preventing him from reading it upside-down. Ron looked about to protest, and Hermione was ready to continue lambasting them both, when Harry suddenly stood up and began packing his things. "It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore."

"Good luck," Hermione said, her ire not forgotten, but relenting slightly in the face of Harry's upcoming –and undoubtedly informative— lesson. "We'll wait up—we want to hear what he teaches you."

"Hope it goes okay," Ron said, glancing back at Hermione's essay.

Harry left, and then Hermione got up as well.

"Come on, let me have a look, Hermione—" Ron weedled.

"No," Hermione said sourly, putting her essay away. "You can learn what it's like to have to use your own work to get things done. I'm going for a walk."

"A walk?" Ron said, bewildered. "You're mad—curfew's in an hour—"

"That's right," Hermione said pleasantly, shouldering her bag. "Have fun."

She left Ron still gaping at her in disbelief, and as soon as she had made it down the first staircase, she tapped her ring with her wand. I'm coming. Are you free?

The words faded a few seconds later, and Hermione had descended another staircase before the reply came. Yes.

Hermione Disillusioned herself before making her way down to the dungeons, where she found the door to their quarters and slipped inside without incident. The rooms were empty, but Hermione set her bag down, pulled out her essay, and got to work finishing it up before Severus arrived.

He appeared fifteen minutes later, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. When he saw her sitting in her favorite armchair, paper and quill out and working, his expression changed from one of frustration to merely tired resignation. He joined her a moment later after kicking off his boots, removing his robes, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"How was your week?" he asked wearily, sitting in the other armchair.

"Frustrating, to say the least," Hermione began, and then proceeded to tell him everything—from the competition over the Felix Felicis in Slughorn's first Potions class to the fact that Harry now had Severus's old Potions book, and the ensuing issues that followed Harry taking possession of the Half-Blood Prince's book.

Severus let out a vehement exclamation of fury when he learned that 'Harry bloody Potter' now had his old copy of Advanced Potion-Making, and his contemptuous sneer deepened into a scowl of utmost loathing when he learned that the book had helped him unfairly win six hours' worth of liquid luck.

"Blasted Potter, just like his father—"

"James would have used the book, yes, but James had a better sense of fairness," Hermione said, jumping to her friend's defense.

"I suppose you consider it fair, then, to dangle me helplessly in the air without my wand with my own spell?"

"No," Hermione conceded unhappily, "but the James I grew up with was a lot kinder than that. He was more… sensitive, by then. But either way, this is Harry we're talking about, not James."

Severus turned his ire to the fire instead, flicking his wand to forcefully shove another log into it, causing sparks and ashes to fly. He took a moment to breathe in deeply, and then said, "I will have Slughorn give him a different book, and then confiscate that one from the classroom. Permanently."

"Good idea," Hermione said, feeling relieved. "That's one problem taken care of. As for the Felix Felicis—"

"Give it all to Selenius," Severus said quietly. "I can take care of myself. But if the Burrow were attacked, or if something were to happen to him, being able to drink some liquid luck might save his life."

Hermione bit her lower lip, but the decision was made. The potion would go to Selenius.

"As for Malfoy—the issue you brought up with me at the beginning of the week," Severus murmured, calmer now that they were not discussing Harry. "I have tried to speak to him, but he has been avoiding me."

Hermione grimaced. "Nothing seems to be going our way, does it?"

"There is one thing," Severus said grimly. "The Dark Lord does not plan to summon me often during term. He intends for me to keep my cover as much as possible, up until the moment I must break it."

Hermione shook her head, with something akin to a resigned sigh. "I don't know whether that's good news or bad news," she said heavily.

~o~O~o~

Classes resumed on Monday as expected, but not before Harry's new copy of Advanced Potion-Making had arrived. Hedwig delivered it in the middle of breakfast that morning, carrying a large square package; Pigwidgeon appeared a moment later carrying an identical package, although he crash-landed at the table, twittering feebly as the wrapped book nearly crushed him. Ron hurried to help his owl while Harry tore open his parcel with an exclamation of delight.

"Oh good," Hermione said, delighted. "Now you can give that graffitied copy back."

"Are you mad?" Harry said. "I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out—"

He pulled out Severus's copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag, and tapped the cover with his wand with a muttered, "Diffindo!" He did the exact same to the new copy, ignoring Hermione's scandalized look, and then swapped the covers, tapping both, and saying, "Reparo!"

Hermione stared at Severus's copy, now disguised as a new book, while the one from Flourish and Blott's sat there looking thoroughly secondhand.

"I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin, angry line, and got up to leave, silently rethinking how they were going to get that book back. Ron reached across her seat to grab her copy of the Prophet, opening it up to read between mouthfuls of toast, apparently unconcerned.

Defense Against the Dark Arts took place before Potions on a Monday, as usual, and Hermione managed to convey what new curveball Harry had thrown them while in class. Through eye contact, Hermione could hear Severus practically spitting with rage, and it was no surprise to her when he docked Harry twenty points for incompetency when he failed to block a hex nonverbally. Harry did not defend himself out loud, but was the one slammed into the desk this time around, looking just as furious and sullen as the Potions Master undoubtedly felt. He also assigned anyone who had not succeeded in casting nonverbally additional homework, which spared Hermione, but deluged the entire class.

"Come off it!" Ron groaned as they left. "We've got loads as it is! And Quidditch tryouts this weekend!"

"Why doesn't he pick someone else?" Harry demanded angrily, rubbing his shoulder from where it had knocked into the desk. "I still don't know what Dumbledore thinks he's playing at, letting Snape teach Defense… the greasy git's just getting off on pushing us around."

"You wouldn't get pushed around if you learned to do what he's trying to teach you," Hermione said, at little too smugly. "You can't do everything by using other peoples' work, you know."

"Hermione, are you ever going to let that drop?" Harry said irritably.

"No," Hermione said sourly. "Not until you return that book."

Ron gave Harry an uneasy look. "Well…" he said uncomfortably. "I mean, maybe you should—it's not worth keeping it at this point, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked roughly.

Ron gestured at Hermione, who looked surprised to finally be given some support on the matter. "I mean, come on, mate. If it bothers her this much, shouldn't you just—I mean, she's got a good reason for not liking it, doesn't she? Anyway, when has our experience with mysterious books and instructions ever ended well?" Ron mused. "Remember our second year? I told you not to pick it up."

Harry glared at Hermione, and then turned to Ron. "So I should just give up the book because she's being a bad sport about it, is that it? Or because it's got some good tips, that somehow makes it dangerous?"

"Well—"

At that point, they had reached the Potions classroom, and their conversation was cut short. Hermione threw Ron an appreciative look, and took a seat on his other side in class to avoid having to sit next to Harry, who merely looked disgruntled. Slughorn did indeed ask Harry for his book at the start of the lesson, and Hermione merely bit the inside of her cheek as he took the wrong book and put it away.

But Ron's support was not forgotten later at the end of the week during Quidditch tryouts. She sat in the stands with everyone else, if only to support him, which he seemed to appreciate. She was there for Ginny, too. Unfortunately, she was sitting rather close to where the Keepers were waiting to try out, which meant that she had to listen to Cormac McLaggen's every swaggering word.

"Weasley's too weedy to make it as Keeper," McLaggen drawled. "I'm surprised his sister made it on the team, but when you're friends with the Boy-Who-Lived… perhaps she is quick, but she's got poor broom control… but I suppose being pretty has its compensations…"

Hermione felt very satisfied with herself when they left the Quidditch Pitch that evening to go down to Hagrid's, not feeling the least bit guilty about Confunding McLaggen during his own tryout. Ron stumbled upon the truth unknowingly, however, and when they left Hagrid's several hours later, Harry stopped her to confront her about it.

"What?" Hermione said defensively.

"If you ask me," Harry said quietly, "McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting."

Hermione's face turned red. She had been caught. To be fair, she had been a bit obvious about it, but…

"Oh, all right then, I did it," she whispered. "But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway," she added, "he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in—you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team."

"No," Harry said. "No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she snapped, and he smirked.

They hurried up to the castle at Ron's impatient glance, and despite the fact that Hermione was still angry with Harry about the Potions book, she was starting to let it go, just a bit. She would certainly do her best to get it out of his grasp, but at this point, there was no reason to continuing to be completely sour about it. It wasn't going to make Harry change his mind. They would have to get the book away from him some other way.

Once they were inside, however, their path to the Great Hall was impeded by Slughorn's arrival.

"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the end of his enormous mustache and puffing out his enormous belly. Resemblance to a walrus or not, he was effectively blocking their path. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries—and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too."

Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as she finished speaking, and she was actually a bit flattered. She was fully familiar with the way he operated, and it was clear that he had his eyes set on ensnaring Harry, but she was glad that she was not being completely overlooked. Oddly enough, it made her feel slightly better, until it became obvious to her that he was ignoring Ron.

Well, she thought, looking at Slughorn consideringly, we can't have that.

"I can't come, Professor," Harry said at once, before Hermione could reply. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh dear!" Slughorn said dramatically, his face falling. "Dear, dear. I was counting on you, Harry! Well, I'll just have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!

"Wait, Professor," Hermione said, stopping him.

"Yes, m'dear?"

"I doubt Harry will be able to come—you know Professor Snape is ever so strict—but I'd like to bring Ron along."

Slughorn eyed Ron apprehensively, but it was only for a split second. He smiled genially at her. "Of course, Miss Granger, of course. The more the merrier! I still hope Severus will change his mind, but in that case, I'll see the three of you later!"

"Thank you, sir."

Ron, who had looked sullen and not at all pleased at being ignored, looked Hermione in amazement.

"Blimey… thanks," he said, looking awkward.

"Just because you're not good at Potions is no reason for him to ignore you," Hermione responded coolly. "He just doesn't know what you're capable of. I'm sure if you showed him a chess game or your Keeping skills, he'd be impressed."

"It's not like I care about what he thinks of me," Ron said, trying to act unconcerned.

"It's good to have someone well-connected interested in you," Hermione told him firmly. "It gets you places. It'll give you a chance to let others see your talents when they might otherwise be overlooked—even if you don't like him very much, he's useful."

Ron goggled at her. Harry shook his head, smirking but clearly impressed.

"I…" Ron said, but Hermione cut it off.

"Ron, do you remember something you told me once about your dad? That he could get a promotion anytime he wanted—that he just likes being where he is?"

"Of course!" Ron said, a bit too defensively.

"Well," Hermione said, "that's all very well for your dad, but I know there's a lot you want to do with your life. You know that as well as I do—" Ron was nodding eagerly at this "—but it helps if you start planning how you're going to go out there beforehand."

Ron was eyeing her appreciatively now. "Thanks, Hermione."

After dinner, they made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. They found a spot in the crowded common room, and Ron, who was in a bit of a better mood now, passed Hermione a copy of the Evening Prophet to read. Ron was at first alarmed—but once appeased, merely surprised—to find mention of his father in the paper, although when Harry confessed that the confidential tip-off Arthur had been working off of was him, Hermione took issue with it.

"Yeah, mine!" Harry said. "I told him at King's Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him—"

"But how can he have done, Harry?" Hermione asked sternly. "We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?"

"Were you?" Harry said, taken aback. "I wasn't!"

Hermione had nearly forgotten that; since Harry was late, naturally, Filch had not had a chance to jab him with Secrecy Sensors, and she told him so. For a moment, Harry looked stymied, before he suggested, "Someone's sent it to him by owl, then. His mother or someone."

"All the owls are being checked too," Hermione said.

Harry finally looked stumped, and at last, turned to Ron.

"Can you think of any way Malfoy—"

"Just drop it, Harry," Ron said, with a meaningful glance at Hermione. "If there were a way for Malfoy to sneak something into the school, Hermione would have thought of it."

"But—"

Harry was interrupted by the arrival of Demelza Robins, who Hermione recognized as one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's new chasers, with a message.

"From Professor Slughorn?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No… from Professor Snape," Demelza said. "He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention—er—no matter how many party invitations you've received." She paused, and then said, "He wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and—and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."

"Right," Harry said grimly. "Thanks, Demelza."

Hermione was the only one who understood precisely where Severus's particularly vindictive streak was coming from, and said nothing as she and Ron got up to leave for Slughorn's after-dinner supper. Ron had clearly not forgiven Slughorn for snubbing him earlier, but he was willing to put on a good face to try and prove to him that his first assessment of him as inconsequential was wrong.

"Miss Granger!" Slughorn greeted, when she arrived. He nodded to Ron, and welcomed them both inside. He was using the same room had had used to host his parties as last time, all cozy tables and stuffed armchairs with a roaring fire. As promised, McLaggen was there, and Hermione immediately dragged Ron over to the armchairs, finding them a good seat before they could be filled up.

"Wait here," she told him quietly, and then got up to find a way to talk to Slughorn privately.

She did. Taking him aside as the last guest entered, and talking in a low voice, she asked him if he had checked the book he had taken from Harry.

"Harry gave the book back, no trouble, no trouble at all!" Slughorn said, twirling his great walrus mustache.

Hermione shook her head. "Did Severus come to collect it?" she hissed quietly.

"Why, yes—he came to take a look, to check it—but he seems to think I got the wrong one—"

"You did. Harry gave you the one he got from Flourish and Blott's."

"Well, I can't complain, then," Slughorn said genially. "Severus shouldn't, either. A brand new one, he should be happy—"

"He's not," Hermione said sourly.

"Well, that's Severus for you."

Hermione didn't think it was safe to comment farther on this line of questioning. Instead, she backtracked slightly on it. "You know how possessive Severus is about his things. It shouldn't surprise you that he wants his copy back, not the new one from Flourish and Blott's."

"Well," Slughorn said, looking slightly taken aback. "Well, yes, I suppose I'll see what I can do then…"

"Thank you."

"Now I have a question for you, Hermione," Slughorn said, addressing her by her name, as his colleague. "Why did you bring Mr. Weasley with you?"

"You shouldn't underestimate Ron," Hermione said quietly. "He's useless at Potions, but he's got good talents elsewhere."

"I see, I see…" Slughorn looked thoughtful, glancing back at the group of students now chattering amiably together. "Well, I suppose I will see, won't I?"

Hermione gave him a tight little smile, and the two of them returned to the fire, where Slughorn's collection was waiting for him.

~o~O~o~

The weeks passed by agonizingly. By October, the weather had turned wet and cold, and when Hogsmeade weekend finally came, it was not a peaceful day. Hermione was regaled at the breakfast table with the tale of what had happened that morning—namely, Harry had accidentally hexed Ron into being levitated by his ankle—and neither of them seemed to see the seriousness of the situation.

A few days after her talk with Slughorn, however, Harry had slumped down in the seat next to her at dinner, looking thoroughly unsettled.

"Slughorn held me back after class to ask if I'd made a mistake and returned the wrong book," he muttered, just loudly enough for Hermione and Ron to hear. "D'you think he suspects something?"

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, buttering a roll for herself.

Harry looked uncomfortable at this, and did not respond immediately, which Hermione took as a bad sign.

"I told him I hadn't," he said at last, somewhat evasively.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but wisely said nothing. At least, not yet.

And then there was the trip to Hogsmeade itself, which was an exercise in masochism and determination. As soon as the students got there, however, it became clear to them that Hogsmeade was no longer destined to be fun when the boarded up windows of Zonko's hailed their arrival. The Three Broomsticks was open, thankfully, which allowed them to pull off a few of their layers and dry off in the warmth of the establishment after a cursory visit to Honeydukes. Hermione and Ron were both invited to another supper party of Slughorn's while the man was visiting Honeydukes to stock up on boxes of crystalized pineapple, but Harry hastily made an excuse not to go—one that included Ron, much to Hermione's exasperation, since Quidditch practice included him.

Which meant Hermione would be expected to go alone.

"Bugger," she muttered as they made their way to the Three Broomsticks.

They were passing the Hog's Head when they caught sight of Mundungus fumbling with something in his arms. The squat, bandy-legged man jumped and dropped an ancient, tattered-looking suitcase at the sight of them, and it burst open. He hurried to gather his things up, carrying the air of a man who was eager to be gone, and it was not until Ron bent down to retrieve a silver goblet that Hermione understood why.

"You took that from Sirius's house!" Harry bellowed, struggling to he heard over the howling of the wind around them as he pinned Mundungus to the wall. "That had the Black family crest on it!"

Mundungus spluttered in protest, turning slowly purple as Harry laid on the accusations; but he had not survived as a thief for long without learning how to extricate himself from such situations, because a loud bang later, he had freed himself from Harry's grasp, grabbed his suitcase, and Disapparated with an audible crack.

Harry swore at the top of his lungs, spinning around on the spot as though hoping to find Mundungus.

"COME BACK, YOU THIEVING—!"

"There's no point, Harry."

Hermione whirled around in time to seek Tonks standing there, her mousy brown hair wet with sleet. She looked, if possible, even more tired and careworn than when Hermione had last seen her.

"Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling."

"He's nicked Sirius's stuff!" Harry protested angrily. "Nicked it!"

"Yes, but still," Tonks said, looking perfectly untroubled and merely weary at this piece of information, "you should get out of the cold."

She watched them leave, and when Hermione turned around, she was still standing there, looking rather forlorn. She cursed silently to herself at this, and vowed that she was going to find a way to talk to Remus at the soonest opportunity.

But it was their return to Hogwarts that was the most eventful and troubling, resulting in Katie Bell being carried up to the castle by Hagrid after the rather disturbing, eerie sight of her being lifted up into the air, screaming all the while. Harry, thankfully, demonstrated some common sense when he took off his scarf to wrap up the necklace and package that Katie had dropped rather than picking it up by hand, and the three of them returned to the castle with it.

It was one of those days that was unable to stop worsening on its own.

"Good lord," Minerva said upon their arrival, as she took the necklace from Harry. She quickly dissuaded Filch from interfering by sending him off to deliver the necklace to Severus, before taking them to her office, where they proceeded to explain to her what had happened, as they witnessed it. Katie Bell's friend, who had witnessed the whole thing and been a part of the ensuing argument that had ended in Katie ripping the package, was eventually sent to the Hospital Wing for shock; this left Hermione, Ron, and Harry in the office.

Harry continued to explain what they had seen, and then made the request to see Professor Dumbledore.

"The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter," Minerva told him, looking rather surprised.

"Away?" Harry repeated angrily.

"Yes, Potter, away!" Minerva said tartly, "but anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!"

Harry hesitated, clearly thinking it over, and then said, "I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor."

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Ron rubbing his nose in apparent embarrassment, and Hermione shuffling her feet as though to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry. She closed her eyes in exasperation.

Because it was true.

There was no one else who could have given that necklace to Katie.

The question, however, was how?

And furthermore, Malfoy was being so ridiculously sloppy that even Harry was able to figure it out. Draco was starting to put not just himself, but other students, at risk.

"—you saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?" Minerva asked, looking frankly surprised.

"No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him—"

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no—"

"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!"

"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street'?" Hermione said quietly.

"Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace," Ron interjected.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly, "it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it. I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street—and in any case," she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin only told me the price, in addition to the fact that it was cursed, he didn't say it was already sold—"

"Because you didn't ask!" Harry said heatedly. "You only asked him the price and what it did—"

Hermione placed her hand on her hips. "Oh, yes, I should have strode in and pretended to be interested in the weather before asking him if anyone had already bought it—"

"That's enough!" Minerva said, silencing their argument. "Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people—"

"That's what I said," Ron muttered.

"—and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe this necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge—"

"But—" Harry tried.

"—and what is more," Minerva said, with an air of awful finality, "Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."

Harry gaped at her, deflating at once.

"How do you know, Professor?"

"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she said, marching past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all."

She held open the office door, and they had no choice but to file past her without another word. Hermione exchanged glances with her colleague as she left last, and Minerva gave her the subtlest of nods before closing the door behind her.

Hermione followed Harry and Ron back to Gryffindor Tower, speculating who the necklace was for (and Hermione had a very shrewd idea who) and siding with Ron when Harry continued to insist that it must have been Malfoy. She ensured the two of them made it back to Gryffindor without further incident, and then quietly left.

When she arrived at the hospital wing, it was to find Minerva, Severus, and Poppy standing around one of the beds closest to the end of the ward. Hermione strode in, closing the door behind her, and—shedding her student role—walked confidently over toward them, her back stiff with anger—though it was directed not at them, but at Harry and Malfoy both.

"Well, Minerva," Hermione said conversationally, "Mr. Malfoy may not have been in Hogsmeade today, but Harry still thinks he's the culprit, and frankly, I think he's right."

"I don't see how," Minerva murmured, as Severus pressed the tip of his wand against Katie's hand—the hand that she had brushed the necklace with—and began muttering incantations, much like he had with Dumbledore's curse. Katie, who had been twitching on the bed, jerking occasionally, grew utterly quiescent, almost peaceful. "He was in detention with me all afternoon… and he could not have brought it into the school—"

"Firstly, Minerva, Malfoy has other people at his disposal," Hermione said, striding to one side of the bed to look down at Katie. She did not know what to do the same way Severus did; she could have, if she had to, but she preferred to let Severus do his work unimpeded. "He need not be in Hogsmeade in order for his work to be done. Secondly, the point of this was to bring the necklace into the castle, from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts— Katie was not his target. She was just a means to an end. I have to say, though, that this was poorly planned."

"If you are so certain that Mr. Malfoy is responsible, we ought to hold him—"

"No, Minerva," Severus said quietly, looking up at last.

Minerva pressed her lips into a thin line. "If Mr. Malfoy is, indeed, the culprit as Hermione suggests—"

"—then we will leave it up to Professor Dumbledore to handle, when he gets back," Hermione said firmly. "He knows best what to do. Malfoy needs to be handled delicately, Minerva. This is more than just an issue of school discipline. Dumbledore—Dumbledore knows what's going on." She looked down at Katie. "He only wished that other students might not get caught in the crossfire."

Minerva gave Hermione a frank, bewildered look, and looked ready to ask, but Hermione shook her head.

"You know how the headmaster is," she said finally. "He only tells us so much."

Poppy, who had remained silent during this exchange, looked up.

"How many more students do you expect to get caught in the crossfire?" Her tone was calm, but there was a note of concern to it.

Hermione bit her lower lip.

"We're dealing with a frightened and desperate sixteen-year-old boy," she said carefully. "He's not exactly predictable, is he?"

She gestured at the opal necklace, which lay on a levitated cushion ten feet away. "This was no doubt expensive, and clearly planned in advance since he looked into it before term started, but this wasn't his first plan. It's—I don't know," she said, glancing at Severus. "It seems to me like he's trying to repair something here, at Hogwarts, that has a fully functional twin elsewhere—at Borgin and Burkes, perhaps—and when it seems like that might not work, he tries something else in the interim, a shot in the dark. That's my guess, anyway."

There was a moment of silence, and then Severus straightened.

"I've done what I can for her, Poppy, although I still recommend you send her to St. Mungo's—"

"The curse?" Poppy asked sharply. "Is it gone?"

"I've stopped it from spreading, and done what I can to cancel it," Severus said curtly. "I presume it to be gone, but that does not reverse the damage already done."

"Well then," Minerva said, straightening, "I shall go contact St. Mungo's. In the meantime, how are we to handle Mr. Malfoy?"

"Severus should be the one to do any questioning, as his Head of House," Hermione said at once. "He's Draco's godfather, to boot—he knows how to handle the boy. In the meantime," she added, "he mustn't suspect that we know it was him. He should be on his guard knowing that he was careless," Hermione continued, with a meaningful nod at Severus, "but in every day interaction… we must act as though everything is normal, as though he's just another student…"

"And Professor Dumbledore…"

"When the Headmaster returns, we'll tell him of course."

Minerva narrowed her eyes at Hermione, giving her the impression that the older woman was assessing both her and her words; a moment later, however, the Transfiguration professor seemed to accept this, for she left without another word or indication to the contrary.

Hermione glanced back at the opal necklace, her expression thoughtful; then she pulled out her wand and summoned a small matchbox. Lifting the necklace carefully with the tip of her wand, and under Severus's watchful eye, slid it inside and shut it. She tapped the box once, and it turned into slate-gray stone, sealing the necklace inside it. She cast another spell, to render it shatterproof, and then a third to ensure that none other than herself could open it. Finally, she pocketed it.

"I'll have this with me, next time I visit Borgin and Burkes," she said quietly. "I may get some answers then."

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~Anubis Ankh