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...

38. Chapter 38 and 39

A/N: So today, it turns out I do NOT have my huge memorize-and-deliver speech to give. It turns out I have that on Thursday. Therefore, I am able to upload this today! Huzzah! And as an added bonus, I'm combining chapter 38 and 39 into one long chapter together for maximum enjoyment, and so that we can get things moving along a bit quicker. This means there will be no update on Friday.

On another note, if any of you have been following the SSHG_Exchange on Livejournal, the big reveal is up. Which means the amazing person who did my gift, Cabepfir, is up there for you to see... and you can also have a good chuckle at my experiments with photoshop. Next year, I am totally drawing nudes. By hand. On old-fashioned paper instead.

Big thanks to my amazing beta, SSB!

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review!

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Harry approached Hermione after their Herbology class, the night after his session with Dumbledore, to confide in her what he had learned and to ask her about what Horcruxes were. Hermione's eyebrows had shot up at this, but she quickly feigned ignorance. The headmaster had enlightened her on this subject, but had requested that she not share the same information with Harry, and in truth, Hermione was inclined to agree. Harry didn't need to know what kind of Dark Magic that was in order to retrieve the memory from Slughorn, and she trusted Dumbledore's judgment on the matter.

But still, she needed to give Harry a faint inkling of what the word might entail.

"They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort want to know about them?" she asked rhetorically, adjusting her grip on her book bag. Her tone became warningly serious, however, when she added, "I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy… after all," she reminded him pointedly, when he opened his mouth to speak, "Dumbledore had a lot of trouble getting it out of him the first time. He'll be on his guard, won't he?" she pressed on, and added, "You'll have to be charming and coaxing, Harry. Be persuasive. Say the right thing, be convincing… he'll be wary about approaching the subject at all…"

"Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon…"

Hermione felt her temper flare up at this, but beat it into submission. Right now, she needed to guide Harry into the right direction on how to get that memory from Slughorn.

Still, she couldn't keep her ire from surfacing.

"Well," she snapped, "do you really expect you'll just be able to walk up to Slughorn and off-handedly ask if he wouldn't mind giving you that memory? Just hang back after class, and casually wonder if he'd be willing? He altered the one he gave to Dumbledore, Harry! He's not a man prepared to give it up without a fight!"

Harry looked uneasy. "I don't want to fight Slughorn, Hermione—"

"I'm not telling you to whip out your wand and hex him," she said, tactfully leaving off the implied, appended you dunderhead. "I'm telling you to treat him like a skittish animal. I already told you—be charming, be coaxing. Watch his body language, try to soothe him, convince him that what he's doing is right…"

"How can he believe that it's not right?" Harry demanded. "I'm trying to kill Voldemort!"

"Look, Harry," Hermione said, setting her bookbag aside and grasping his shoulders, forcing him to face her squarely. "Slughorn isn't a brave man. He returned to Hogwarts for protection and comfort. He's terrified of Voldemort, and frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's ashamed of the fact that the Dark Lord used to be a favorite of his. He's a man who wants nothing more than to drown out the voices in his head that are constantly reminding him of his wrongdoings by pretending it never happened, by pushing it aside and ignoring it. Whatever he did, whatever he really said in that memory Dumbledore showed you, it must surely haunt him." Seeing that she had Harry's full attention, she pressed on. "Why else would he tamper with it?"

Harry looked disturbed at this, and Hermione continued, "Slughorn isn't a bad man either, Harry. Don't get me wrong. By all accounts, he's a good person, skilled at what he teaches, and gives people leg-ups in life—even if he reaps a little reward in return. But he's just not a daring or courageous man, Harry. It's not his first inclination. That's why you have to coax him, tug on his heartstrings, and be firm but gentle with him." Seeing the doubtful look on her friend's face, Hermione added determinedly, "You'll have to teach him to be brave, Harry. That's what you need to do. Help him learn to be brave so that he can help you by giving you that memory."

Harry looked thoughtful, but also wary and uncertain. "I don't know…" he said. Seeing her flare up at once, he added hastily, "I mean, everything you've said makes sense, but I don't know how I'm supposed to do that."

"Well," Hermione said, turning to trudge through the snow back up to the castle, "that's what you've got to figure out. You'll need to learn to be Slytherin with Slughorn, and Slughorn's going to have to learn to tap into his inner Gryffindor. How you do that is entirely up to you."

~o~O~o~

Potions that afternoon was something of a disastrous irritation.

Hermione quickly moved her cauldron to Ernie's other side so as to avoid sitting next to Ron, earning a mutinous mutter from the red-head. Slughorn immediately got them to work, reviewing Golpalott's Third Law, and Hermione was certain she was the only one who understood. The principal of it was simple to her, really. A poison concocted of two or more other poisons would have an antidote composed of more than just the antidotes for each individual poison combined, which was simply explained by the fact that the components of each poison would react with each other; this was what made a blended poison more difficult to deal with in the first place.

If Hermione had cared to explain it to Harry and Ron, she would have told them that this was the very reason Arthur Weasley had difficulty recovering from Nagini's venom: Nagini was a combination of at least two different kinds of venomous snake, and each snake's respective natural poison had combined within her to make her venom completely unique and more toxic than had been the original snakes', even combined. Harry would have understood that. Ron would have wrapped his head around it. It would have made them understand it better, to have that kind of reference.

But Hermione was still not on speaking terms, and for once, she was gleeful when she saw that there were no tips in the Half-Blood Prince's book on the matter.

"It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry," she said brightly, as she straightened up and poured the contents of a large vial which contained her assigned poisons into her cauldron. "You have to understand the principals involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!"

Harry gave her an annoyed look, and then got to work, clearly ready to give it a shot in the dark nonetheless.

Pleased, Hermione silently waved her wand over her cauldron, identifying the poisons within before lighting a fire underneath and moving to the store cupboard.

"Just shove a bezoar down their throat."

"That is the singularly most unhelpful thing I've ever heard!"

"Really? Even a dunderhead could follow those instructions. Sounds rather helpful to me, if you've been poisoned and are trying communicate to the idiot next to you that you need help."

"Yes, but what about when bezoars don't work?"

"You die."

"Severus!"

"Fine. Sit down and I'll show you."

Now Hermione retrieved several ingredients, laid them out on the table, and waved a spell over her cauldron to separate the different poisons, decanting them all into ten different phials. There was no wiping the smug expression off her face, not even Harry's irritated look in her direction, as she got to work on crushing her poppy seeds and mixing them with chopped salamander liver, turning it into a thick, congealed, light red paste. She dropped the sluggish goop into the cauldron, and then got to work on her fern leaves. Those were added, and then she took each phial and emptied it, one by one, into the cauldron.

The potion immediately began to fizzle and hiss, turning a shade of poisonous-looking green. It emitted a few sparks, and Hermione began stirring it until it settled into a light lime color. Powered root of Asphodel was added shortly, turning the concoction bright orange, and gradually, Hermione was able to skillfully detoxify the contents. Daisy roots cut into neat slivers, crushed milkweed, a measure of buggane bile, and then she got to work on turning porcupine quills into a fine powder.

When Slughorn finally called, "Time's… UP!" Hermione was nearly finished. She managed to cram two final ingredients into her cauldron, turning the potion within it a dull shade of pale yellow, and sat back to examine her work while Slughorn moved around the room. No one else had managed to complete their antidote, yet when Slughorn passed over her potion, he merely gave it a cursory nod.

Despite herself, Hermione felt her stomach sink to the floor, along with her spirits. She had succeeded—in something that was difficult even for adults—yet, Slughorn had barely acknowledged it. Why? Was it because she was in the Order? Was it because she had too much of Dumbledore's ear, that Slughorn was now more wary than ever that the headmaster might employ her to get the full memory? He wasn't making eye contact with her—he was avoiding her—and as Hermione watched him move to Harry's cauldron, it finally struck her.

Slughorn was afraid of her.

He was avoiding her because he was just as hunted in Hogwarts as he had been while on the run, and trying to resist giving her an opening to wheedle her way in and charm information out of him. He knew her work in the Order; he also knew Severus, too. He remembered them both from their days as students. And whatever else Slughorn was, he was no fool.

Of course, Hermione had not been charged with any task by Dumbledore whatsoever regarding Slughorn and the memory he had shown Harry, but Slughorn did not necessarily know that.

Still, Hermione could not help but be thoroughly put-out that her effort was entirely ignored.

In favor of Harry, of course. Her jaw nearly dropped when Harry presented a sweaty-palmed hand to Slughorn, and what should he have to show for his efforts but a single bezoar. She watched as Slughorn stared at Harry for a moment, just as taken by surprise as she herself was, and then he started laughing.

"You've got nerve, boy!" he boomed, holding up the bezoar so that the entire class could see it. "Oh, you're like your mother… well, I can't fault you… a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote for all these poisons!"

Hermione was livid. "And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry?" she gritted out.

"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!" Slughorn said happily and, Hermione thought, a bit too enthusiastically.

Hermione pursed her lips, too angry to say anything else, and when class ended, she packed up her things and left without another word. Ron followed, but Harry stayed behind, and it was all Hermione could do to privately hope he failed for his sheer audacity in using a bezoar, followed by a silent prayer that he would succeed. Nevertheless, she stomped past Ron, and headed for the library.

She was surprised, however, when someone shoved past her on the way in. She nearly dropped her book bag as Draco Malfoy stormed past her, not caring about the fact that he had knocked into her. He hardly gave her a second glance as he left, and to her surprise, two nervous-looking girls were following him. They cast her odd looks, and then hurried after him.

Hermione stood there, collecting her stuff, and wondering what on earth Draco thought he was doing; those girls didn't look much older than thirteen or fourteen. Why on earth was he taking them with him? She wasn't stupid; older boys typically didn't hang around younger girls unless exploitation was on their mind, and those girls were definitely too young. Setting her jaw, she discreetly Disillusioned herself, and followed.

They made their way up one floor, and then another, and then the next. She heard one of the girls grunt in exasperation when Malfoy sped up, and when they had reached the seventh floor, Malfoy made a dash for the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Right… in front… of…

"Alright," Malfoy snapped, wheeling around on them. "Goyle, if someone approaches, drop that pair of scales you've got—you did bring them, didn't you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at one of the girls.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

Goyle-as-a-little-girl nodded, and pulled out a pair of brass scales.

"Right. Crabbe, you'll go down toward the other end of the corridor…"

Well, Hermione thought, this certainly saved her the trouble of going after Malfoy for preying on underage girls. She had never really considered Draco the type for that—he was a little gobshite and a bully, but he preferred tormenting people with insults and hexes and abusing his status as a prefect in those manners. And clearly, so far, she had judged him mostly right on that regard.

But she had never really thought he would order Crabbe and Goyle to Polyjuice themselves into girls.

The thought almost made her snicker, but she refrained as the two transformed Slytherins sulkily went to their posts. Malfoy began pacing in front of the tapestry, and Hermione chose at that moment to remove her Disillusionment and step in. The opportunity was too good to pass up. She had a free period, but thanks to Severus, she knew Malfoy's schedule, and knew that he did not. He was supposed to be in class—as were his two cohorts.

Goyle let out a little shriek, dropping the brass scales unnecessarily. Malfoy jumped and wheeled around, wand raised, but Hermione got there first.

"You should be in class, Malfoy," she said authoritatively, "not skulking up here. Move along now."

Draco's pale, drawn, tired face suddenly hardened. In fact, he looked about ready to crack. "Go away, Mudblood."

"I'll have to report you for skiving class," Hermione riposted loftily. "I'm sure you don't want that."

"I said—" Malfoy's hiss suddenly broke off, and his eyes snapped behind her. Hermione took a step back, craning her head around, and promptly knocked into Professor Snape. She stumbled back, and found herself staring into cold, black, pitiless, and thoroughly unamused eyes.

"Ten points for carelessness, Miss Granger," Severus snapped, sidestepping her and placing himself between Hermione and Draco. "Another ten for not being where you should. Surely you have class to attend."

"I have a free period, sir—"

He cut her off. "—which does not include harassing other students. Twenty points for abusing your status as a prefect," he added silkily. "A further five for contradicting me. My, Gryffindor does seem to be getting a bit low on points, doesn't it?"

Hermione felt her face grow hot, but it was more out of arousal than anger. His voice had a tendency to do that to her—a rich, deep, and damnably silky baritone. And when he put it to good use at moments like these…

"Run along now, Miss Granger," Severus continued smoothly. "I don't think you want to be caught here again."

She locked gazes with him for a moment, silently conveying her thoughts, and then obediently turned to leave. She had been patrolling the upper corridors for the past few nights as planned, but they had not caught Malfoy yet, and it was only now that their suspicions were being proven true. She had not, however, expected it to be verified in the middle of the day. While classes were still in session. Merlin's undershorts, Malfoy needed some serious lessons in subtlety.

She rounded the corner, fully intending to go full-circle and spy on Malfoy's cronies while Disillusioned, and had just reapplied the spell and turning the next corner when a hand clamped itself over her mouth. She opened her mouth to speak, but the prickle of magic sweeping up her spine told her that a Silencing Spell had been applied. She twisted, trying to turn around to see who her attacker was, when she felt a pair of familiar lips descend upon her neck. Hot, warm, familiar breath blew gently over her shoulder. Chameleon-like fingers slid away from her mouth, caressing her cheek for a moment, and then he whirled her around.

Severus had also seen fit to Disillusion himself, for she could only detect slight, shimmery movement from the man next to her. A strong grip encircled her wrist, and a moment later, she was being half-dragged, half-led back the way she had come. Their feet fell silently upon the floor as they walked, and she found herself being directed down to the corridor below, leaving Malfoy and his plans behind. It was difficult to read Severus's behavior, as he led her away; his demeanor was difficult to define. Was he angry at her interference or jubilant?

And why was he not in class? She wracked her brains for an answer, and the solution came quickly; he had a free period now. Even teachers were granted this much; there were only so many students to take so many classes, which meant he probably had the afternoon off—at least, she was pretty sure he did—

Further consideration on the matter was quickly snuffed out when he pushed her into a shadowy niche along the sixth floor corridor they were in, and promptly snogged her senseless. With such a reaction, it was now abundantly clear to her that he was not angry—in fact, from the murmurs of praise interspersed between the caresses of his lips, he was downright pleased.

"You caught him… at just the right time… mmh…"

"I—I saw him, and knew he was supposed to be in class," Hermione breathed, pulling away long enough to look at his face, trying to read him while she reached for her wand to remove both their Disillusionment Charms. An icy trickle ran up her body as it dissipated, even as color swirled back into view on her husband's face. "I probably wouldn't have bothered, except that he was with those two—he's been polyjuicing Crabbe and Goyle into girls, by the way—"

"So I noticed. I saw you follow them, and ended up following you."

What a sight that must have been. Hermione almost laughed out loud. Severus following her, when she was following two little girls who were really Crabbe and Goyle in disguise, who were tagging after Malfoy…

"By sending you away, and telling him to carry on with whatever it was that he was doing, I created an opening," Severus murmured, nuzzling and licking at her neck hungrily. "I even offered to give him an excuse for missing class. It will take work, but it's exactly what I needed. Good timing, love."

Hermione smiled. "You've made him question whether or not he should keep you out of the loop, if you've proven helpful."

"Precisely." With reluctance, he pulled away. "Although I must ask why you were up there, rather than your common room—that's where you usually are, at this time."

Hermione's lips twitched, but the look she gave him was a level one. "Another bad day at work, love."

"Do tell."

"Dumbledore's charged Harry with the task of retrieving a certain memory from Slughorn, and more likely than not, Harry's going to bungle his first attempt," she said, with a frustrated sigh. "Furthermore… I know it doesn't matter at this point, really, but Slughorn doesn't give my work the acknowledgement it's due, and after an hour of class today, he gave Harry more praise for using a single bezoar than he even looked in my direction for succeeding."

Severus gave her a look of pure contempt. "A bezoar? Potter pulled out a bezoar?"

"That's right."

"But where would he ever get the idea? I never had the impression he ever paid attention to me when I taught it to you lot in your first year—"

Hermione gave him a sour look. "A certain graffitied copy of Advanced Potion-Making gave him the idea, obviously." Severus gave her a startled look, and Hermione could tell he was mentally reviewing what he must have written on that particular page, for she enlightened him by adding, "The Half-Blood Prince apparently thought that shoving a bezoar down someone's throat was a more expedient solution to brewing the actual antidote."

Severus smirked at the memory, but then it was quickly replaced with a sneer. "Potter. Always breezing through Potions on my work, getting more credit for half-baked attempts than he rightfully deserves…"

"I still haven't found a way to nick the book from him," Hermione said miserably. "He keeps it with him at all times. He's obsessed with it—the way he talks about it, you'd think it were his best friend. He's desperate to find out who owned it before, you know," she added, her nose twitching with irritation. She began twisting her watch around her wrist, and continued, "He talks about the Half-Blood Prince as though he's the authority on the universe itself—not that he knows it's really you, of course."

Severus gave her a nasty grin, and then drawled. "You must admit that my creations and annotations are rather… useful."

"Oh, yes," Hermione snapped. "I can hardly breathe for laughing. I haven't forgotten how you hung me upside-down during my sixth-year exam."

"It was well deserved," Severus murmured. "Particularly after you kicked me in the groin. That bit of vengeance was a long time in coming."

"I still won our duel," Hermione said smugly.

He scowled at her. "I haven't forgotten."

Hermione smiled at the memory for a moment, but then her cheer faded. "I know we've been doing duel practice over the years, but you're a good deal better now than I am."

"And what, precisely, is wrong with that?"

"It's depressing to know that I can no longer keep my husband in line through fear," she joked.

Severus's expression changed dramatically, but when he spoke, his face was perfectly straight. "You don't have to be a better duelist in order to terrify me, Hermione. You do that well enough just by being my wife."

Hermione laughed. "Flatterer. But I was much better twenty, even fifteen years ago." Another thought occurred to her, and for the moment, her bad mood was lifted as she registered the familiar, trouble-making smirk on her husband's face. The very same that had coaxed her into sneaking out to Diagon Alley with him on his birthday. She was transported back to that moment and down memory lane, before her thoughts returned to Harry—promptly vanishing her cheerfulness, again.

Severus watched the myriad of expressions cross her face, and she murmured in explanation, "Harry. We've created an opening for you to worm your way into Malfoy's trust, but we still have Harry to deal with."

At the mention of her lightning-scarred friend, Severus's face blackened considerably. Hermione sighed, and plowed on before he could start disparaging him again.

"I love Harry like a brother, Severus, and he is also my godson, but you'll understand me when I say there are moments when I really hate that he can be an immature prat. Ron, too," she added as an afterthought. "Right now, the both of them are difficult to deal with."

"You have my pity." Severus gave her a contemptuous look. "For suffering the brain damage it must take to think of Potter as a brother."

Hermione smacked him lightly on the shoulder, and then checked her watch. Classes were very nearly over for the day now, which meant that she needed to start heading back to Gryffindor Tower. She bit her lower lip, and then turned to look at Severus.

"I need to see how Harry's attempt with Slughorn went, but I'll try to sneak out and see you tonight," she said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Our exams are five months away—that's a good enough excuse for Harry and Ron to believe that I'd sleep in the library."

"Five months," Severus said quietly. There was a trace of pain and mournfulness to his expression, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. "Five months until…"

He trailed off. Hermione didn't bother trying to finish the sentence, either. There weren't enough words to convey it all. Five months until everything went to hell in a handbasket, before Dumbledore would be dead, before they would have to part ways, make additional arrangements for Selenius, have to strike out on their quest to destroy the Dark Lord on opposite sides of the war, before they would have neither plausible excuse nor reason to be seen in the other's company by anyone on any side…

It was like being told that they only had five months to live. They might as well. As soon as they left the school, the protections afforded by it would be forfeit.

Hermione closed her eyes.

"Your birthday is in a week," she whispered. "How do we celebrate it?"

Severus's eyes snapped open in surprise, and he stared down at her. "We can't."

"Yes we can," Hermione said determinedly. "I'll argue it with the headmaster if I must, but we're celebrating your birthday this year even if I have to buy a set of Skiving Snackboxes for myself to excuse my absence."

Severus gazed at her blankly for a moment, and then let out a sigh.

"Fortescue's is closed, Hermione. A trip to a bookstore hardly seems worth it, and there is nowhere else—"

"We don't have to leave the castle."

"Besides, it doesn't seem fair, particularly since we didn't celebrate your birthday—"

"Rubbish," Hermione said coolly. "I was dealing with Harry and Ron and a host of other things. I was far too busy for that. But things are a bit calmer just after New Years Eve—if that really bothers you, we can celebrate enough for the both of us."

A pause, and then Severus capitulated, like a man who knew he shouldn't have something, but was far too tempted by the offer of it to resist anymore. "We'll celebrate your birthday, mine, and our anniversary," he whispered. "We won't have a chance to do so in June, and in truth, I consider my birthday to be our real anniversary—after all," he said with dry amusement, "that was the day I first realized I liked you, after you snuck out to London with me."

Hermione nuzzled his cheek, and then kissed him. "Then that's what we'll do."

~o~O~o~

When Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower, it was to find Harry arguing with Ron. Ron was annoyed that Harry had not slipped him a bezoar, and Harry was frustrated at his apparent failure with Slughorn. Hermione dropped her stuff on the armchair, folded her arms across her chest, and directed Harry to tell her exactly what had happened.

When he had finished, she gave him an arch look.

"I suppose it wouldn't do much good to say, 'I told you so', would it?" she said coldly.

"Drop it, Hermione," Harry said angrily.

"No, Harry, I don't think I will," Hermione said stiffly. "I told you to be careful, I told you to be cautious, and you disregarded every piece of advice I gave, and blew it. You're becoming lazy, Harry, and frankly, you're starting to act like Malfoy." This caused Harry and Ron's heads to jerk up in her direction, mouths agape in horror at this proclamation. "Yes, Harry, it's true! Malfoy was always sucking up to Professor Snape, getting by on easy work and favors, and now you're expecting the exact same thing—just from Professor Slughorn."

Harry, who had opened his mouth to protest, snapped it shut without a word.

"I know you're not going to want to hear this, Harry, but getting that memory from Slughorn is going to take more effort and devotion than you've been willing to put forth so far," Hermione said warningly. "You won't be able to get it by offering him crystalized pineapple and attending his parties and being his little Potions prince. I told you that you were going to have to use every ounce of cunning and coaxing skills at your disposal, and by making a half-baked effort, you've effectively ruined your chances of catching him off his guard—which would have made it far easier for you, if you had actually bothered to come up with a plan like I told you to!"

"Come off it, Hermione," Ron said bitterly. "Who could have known that Slughorn would react like that?"

Hermione felt herself inflate with anger, ready to let loose, but she calmed herself. Her hands balled into fists, and she resisted the urge to fiddle with her watch. Instead, she asked tightly, "Have you been listening to a single word I've said, Ron?"

"Of course!" Ron said with a scowl. "You told Harry to be careful—coax—plan—whatever—"

"And dear Ronald, why would I give Harry that advice if I wasn't expecting Slughorn to react badly to such advances without careful preparation?" Hermione asked bitingly.

"You would have said that even if you didn't!" Ron protested hotly.

"Well, Won-Won," Hermione said scathingly, her temper rising, "I would expect any sensible person would recognize that, given what Dumbledore told Harry about how difficult it was to even get the tampered memory to begin with—and also given the fact that Dumbledore already tried and failed, Ron!"

Ron looked momentarily taken aback. "Well…"

"Well nothing!" Hermione snapped. "I gave my advice, Harry chose to ignore it, and now he's paying the consequences. I don't know what else there is to say."

"Wait," Harry said, getting to his feet. "If you've got advice, lay it on me now. I messed up this time, so how do I get it from him now?"

Hermione threw her hands up into the air. "How should I know, Harry?"

"Hello?" Ron said, tapping her book bag with his quill. "Know-it-all."

Hermione's face flushed. "Well," she said icily, "if you want my advice, Harry, my suggestion would be for you to use your Felix Felicis."

At once, both rose up in protest.

"Are you mad?" Harry said. "I'm saving it—there's got to be a better use for it than Slughorn—"

"Like Harry's going to waste something that good!" Ron scoffed. He squinted at her, and said, "Anyway, you're still just mad that you didn't get all of it. If you think it's such a good idea, why don't you share some of yours with Harry, eh?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "I can't."

"Why not?" Ron demanded.

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then it dawned on him. "She can't because she's already used it, Ron."

"So what if I have?" Hermione countered, suddenly very aware of the phial that hung from her neck, attached to the chain that held her locket. She had placed an Unbreakable Charm on it, and given the phial was about the size of her thumb, it was very easy to keep tucked away. "Besides, you have your own perfectly good stock—and furthermore," she said, rounding on Ron, "I may be upset that Harry got his bottle by unfair means, but that doesn't mean I don't care about what I'm asking him to use it for! Harry," she said, turning back to her other friend, "This memory—Dumbledore himself asked you to get it! He's teaching you about Voldemort's past, how to defeat him—it's important, and it's vital that you get it as quickly as possible. Felix Felicis is the best way to do it."

"Like you wouldn't know," Ron said sullenly. "Why didn't you tell us that you'd used yours?"

"Because it was none of your business," Hermione said hotly.

"Well, what did you use it for?"

"That's none of your business either." She turned away, snatching up her book bag. "I'm done here. Harry, if you want that memory, you'll use Felix Felicis—but at this point, I don't know why I even bother with either of you," she said, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. "You're both such immature arseholes. If it's not one conspiracy theory against me, it's another, and I'm sick of it!"

"Hey," Harry said, holding his hands up in a gesture of placation. "I don't have a problem with you on that front—I just wish—" he broke off.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said with quiet fury in her voice. "You wish you'd listened to me the first time, and now you're ignoring me the second. When will you learn, Harry?"

"Lay off him, Hermione," Ron said. His face had turned an unflattering shade of red, and was competing with his freckles for color. "Besides," he added accusingly, "why won't you tell us what you used yours for? It was a bloke, wasn't it?"

Hermione lost her temper. "Of course it was a bloke!" she snapped. "I took a gulp of Felix, sought him out, seduced him, and then we had wild, rabid, bookworm sex. I now plan to marry him, have a Quidditch team of his children, and you're most certainly not invited to the wedding!" she let out a huff, and shouldered her bag. "Any other questions, Won-Won?"

Ron stared at her, dumbfounded. And then he turned to Harry.

"She's joking, right?"

Hermione gave Ron a look that suggested she was very much tempted to smack him on the side of the head with her book bag, but was refraining for civility's sake. Instead, she merely closed her eyes, mentally rattled off the first few runes from the Futhark alphabet. She willed herself to be calm, took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes. Her lips parted to speak, but Harry got there first.

Surprisingly, his voice, too, was calm.

"I'll think it over, Hermione," he said. "About whether to use a bit of Felix Felicis, I mean."

Hermione breathed in a massive sigh of relief, and then turned to leave.

"That's all I ask, Harry."

~o~O~o~

The week breezed by with surprising quickness, but still, Harry made no mention nor gave any indication that he was prepared to use some of his Felix Felicis. Ron spent those days sulking, although he occasionally tried to catch her off guard by ambushing her with the question of what she had used her liquid luck for. By the end of the week, Hermione was so fed up that she again lost her temper.

"Fine!" she cried. "I never drank it. I gave it away!"

Harry and Ron's jaws had dropped.

"Blimey, Hermione, if you didn't want it that much, you could have given it to me!"

"I gave it to my family!" Hermione snapped, only telling the partial truth. "It's the only protection they've got!"

Ron stared at her, his mouth open like a fish for a moment, and then he closed it.

"Oh," he said weakly.

"Yes, 'oh'," Hermione snarled. "Now if you're done interrogating me, I'm going off to bed."

As she left, she heard Ron muttering to Harry, "At least it wasn't for a bloke, then."

Hermione spent the weekend avoiding them both. On Monday, however, Harry cornered her at lunch just before she walked into the Great Hall, carrying two plates laden with food.

"I—d'you want to go for a walk around the lake for a bit?"

Hermione assessed the offer carefully, and then tiredly took her plate and followed Harry. She was disturbingly reminded of the time she had intercepted Harry just before breakfast with a napkin and toast after his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and Ron wasn't on speaking terms with him. Now she wasn't on speaking terms with Ron, and barely so with Harry. Yet, she grudgingly accepted the proffered olive branch, and made her way down to the lake.

"I—Hermione, I'm sorry for my behavior earlier," Harry muttered, taking a bite of shepherd's pie and swallowing. "It's just that there's a lot going on, and sometimes it's hard to tell where you're really coming from…"

"Your best interests have always been my priority, Harry," Hermione said, a bit stiffly. Her breath was coming out in cloudy puffs of air, and the lake was frosted over. She shuffled her feet a bit in the snow still littering the ground.

"Yeah, but sometimes, I forget," Harry admitted. "Especially when—you know, when we're arguing over stuff like the Prince's book."

"I don't trust the book, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "And I think you're being especially unfair to those of us who work hard by using it. But that's beside the point, since I haven't bothered you about the book in ages," she said listlessly. "But that doesn't mean—merlin, I don't even feel like rehashing it out now—it doesn't mean I don't care for your well-being."

"I'm going to try again without Felix Felicis," Harry said determinedly. "I'll plan it out this time, see where it gets me. And if it doesn't work…" he trailed off.

"All right," Hermione said tiredly.

Harry examined her face for a moment, as she took a bite of bacon sandwich, and then added, "Ron likes you."

Bugger. "He has a funny way of showing it."

Harry didn't seem to know what to say to this. Hermione took another bite, chewed, swallowed, and then turned to look at him.

"I don't like Ron like that, Harry."

"I—oh," Harry said, staring at her. "You don't?"

"No," Hermione said shortly. "That's why I don't care who he dates. What bothers me," she continued, taking a stab at the sauce on her plate, "is the fact that he feels the need to throw her in my face, and generally be an arse to me about it. And that he's acting like a cad, using her to try and get to me."

"I see," Harry said. A moment's pause, and then he added cautiously, "and—me?"

"I don't like you like that either, Harry."

"Good," Harry said, sounding relieved. "Because that would be—" he broke off.

"Awkward," Hermione supplied, with a faint smile.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "Just weird, because I can't really think of you as anything other than a sister." He sighed, and then said, "Ron's going to be really disappointed, though."

"I'm not interested in dating Ron," Hermione said softly. "I just want my friend back. I just—I just want things to go back the way they were before, at the beginning of the year, when we were all getting along just fine."

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, and gave it a friendly squeeze. "I'll try not to doubt you again."

Hermione nodded. At this moment, she wished for nothing more than to be back in sixth-year with James and Sirius. Those two, for all the trouble they ever gotten into, had never doubted her.

~o~O~o~

Hermione left her last class complaining of a headache, five minutes before it was due to end, and paid a visit to the Infirmary. She signed in, asked Poppy to kindly not let anyone in to see her and to tell any curious busybodies that she was contagiously ill. She wrapped a curtain around one of the beds to make it appear as though it were occupied, and then left to make her way down to their quarters. She slipped inside, and the moment the door clicked shut, she let out an enormous sigh of relief.

And then made her way to the bathroom. She got the hot water running on the tub, stripped off her clothes, and then slowly sat on the edge. The tile was freezing cold, but the minute her legs sank into the water, she felt a dizzying sense of tingling warmth. She slowly eased her way in, the hot water washing away the stress and tension from her body. Eventually, she slipped down entirely, until the water reached up to her chin, and she let out a sigh of pure, unadulterated bliss.

She soaked in the tub for several minutes, her eyes half-closed in lazy contentment, before she pulled a towel into reach to dry her hands off. She picked up her wand, summoned a book, and leaned back to read and relax. The bathroom was quiet, save for the occasional sounds of water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, and time passed by for Hermione with uncharacteristic indolence.

Eventually, the sound of the bathroom door creaking open and then closing caught Hermione's attention, and she looked up from her book. Craning around to look behind her, she watched Severus take a seat and begin stripping off his robes, kicking off his boots and tugging off the clothes underneath before he set down a bottle of champagne on the side of the tub. A stack of several thick, choice tomes joined it, topped by two empty champagne flutes.

Hermione absorbed the sight of him, pale skinned and dark-haired, as he climbed in next to her and sank into the water. The exhalation of sudden, appreciative relief was not lost on her as he too absorbed the relaxing warmth of the bathwater. They sat there in quiet, languid, and companionable silence for several long moments, and then Hermione set her book aside and leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and felt him lower his lips to the top of her head, resting lightly against her.

"Happy birthday, Severus," she whispered.

"Happy birthday, love," he murmured, nuzzling her. "However belated it may be."

Hermione smiled, and then reached over for the champagne and a glass. She poured, and then handed the glass to Severus before reaching for the other glass for herself. She set the bottle down, and they clinked glasses lightly before taking a sip. The silence stretched, and then the glasses were set down, and Hermione looked down at the books Severus had brought.

"Did you expect us to do much reading tonight?" she asked, amused.

"Yes." He poured champagne in both of their glasses, and then pulled one of the books off the stack and, careful not to get it wet, flipped it open. "Some. A chance to de-stress would not go amiss."

Hermione let out a contented little sigh, and leaned against him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I agree."

The better part of their evening together was spent together in the bathtub, each with a book and a glass of champagne. It was nothing fancy, and frankly, neither of them had the energy to entertain anything more than this. They were both tired, overworked, and—if they were honest with themselves—lonely. Merely spending time with the person they loved and who they knew unequivocally loved and cherished them back was a far more welcome balm to soothe their frazzled nerves than the other alternatives they could dream up.

At one point, Hermione drifted to the other end so that she was facing him, drawing her legs up and bracing her feet against her husband's shins as he rested them on either side of her hips. It was a comfortable position, one that allowed Hermione to brace her book on her knee and lower her other hand into the water to caress the ankle pressed against her. Occasionally, they would look up from their reading to glance at the other, or for another sip of champagne. But eventually, the champagne burned its way through their bodies enough to loosen their tension, and Hermione daringly moved one foot off of her husband's leg and instead slid it down, until it was placed against his groin.

He took his time in looking up at her, giving her an inscrutable look; she smiled, and then lightly pressed the heel of her foot against his flaccid cock. One eyebrow shot up at this, inquiring, but instead of pulling back or pushing her away, he merely leaned back and settled himself more comfortably against the tub. Encouraging her to continue. And she did; returning her gaze back to her book, but not really reading, she slowly massaged him with her foot, pressing and rubbing gently.

His one hand nearly lost its grip on his book—causing it to dangle dangerously from the other—as he thrust the other into the water to grip her foot. Struggling not to drop his reading material into the tub, he set it aside on the edge before turning to give his wife his full attention. Hermione merely smiled at him as his expression morphed from determinedly aloof to irritated as she leaned forward and took his hardening cock into her hands, drawing a reaction out of him that he simply could not conceal. Minutes later, however, his annoyance abated as he conceded defeat; he quite contentedly allowed her to set her own reading aside and drift through the water toward him, draping herself against his chest and kissing him as she continued to fondle and stroke him.

Contrary to popular belief, sex in the water was not easy; nor was it good lubrication for a hand-job. The two of them thus decided, judging by the pruning of their hands, that they had been in the bath long enough and at that point, got up and left. They dried off the Muggle way, with warm fluffy towels that the house elves thoughtfully supplied them with, and without bothering to clean up their books or their champagne, retired not to their bedroom but the living room.

The dungeons were as cold as ever during the winter, but the fire was ablaze, bathing the room in appreciable warmth. From its constant position in front of the hearth, the sheepskin felt like a blanket that had been pulled fresh from the dryer; it was soft and pleasant to the touch, and Hermione quite happily laid back to enjoy it with a taste of hedonism. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and then opened them to meet her husband's.

With mixed feelings of lassitude and eagerness, she reached forward and pulled him down to kiss him. It was languid; it tasted of another time when it had felt they had all the time in the world to do this. To be a young couple so very in love and ready to explore. But they were no longer young, their love not new, and their time short.

Yet, the first did not matter; the last could be ignored. But the second was something to be grateful for, Hermione decided, as Severus covered her body with his and began to kiss her with increasing fervor; their love was not the loose, carefree thing it had been before, but was now something strong, dependable, and just as passionate. Something precious and reliable. Whatever else happened, they both knew that as long as the other drew breath, there was someone they could trust with all their heart—someone who kept their secrets, soothed their fears, and made love with them.

As they were doing now; Hermione's head thumped back against the rug as Severus took a nipple into his mouth, biting down lightly at the same moment that he pushed into her. Twenty years. They had been doing this for almost twenty years, and they both loved it still. Found mutual, electric, spine-shocking pleasure as their limbs tangled and twisted against each other, seeking, yearning, searching for the nirvana of completion. This time, however, Severus slowed just as Hermione felt herself nearing climax; her eyes flew open to meet her husband's, and found him bending over her, cupping her face in his hands, and placing a tender kiss on her lips.

Hermione still found it incongruously odd that a man with such a sharp tongue was able to soften his entire demeanor enough to demonstrate his love and passion to her. Even after all these years, the disparities between the two personalities he presented still brought a quirk of wry amusement to her lips. Not that they mattered now; it inconsequential to this moment. Her fingers, which were gripping his shoulders, slid down to his face to cup his face in turn. She caressed his cheek with her thumb, and urged him to pull away just enough for her to be able to see his eyes.

Two deep black eyes surveyed her face; often empty and chasm-like, they were now the most expressive things she had ever seen. Passion. Tenderness. Arousal. Smugness. Lust and love; for the two of them, those came hand in hand. She felt him start to move again, stroking her from the inside and rubbing deliberately against her clitoris, and let out a whimper that fell somewhere between a sigh and a moan. In retaliation, she deliberately squeezed him, causing him to jerk his hips in surprise. After that, there was no more moments set aside for deliberate observation. They moved against each other, desperate yet deliberate, and when they both finally reached completion, they wound up pressed tightly against each other still, winded, sweaty, tired and with the air permeated with the musk of sex—the way they liked it.

They spent the night on that sheepskin rug, making love again and again. With their tongues, their lips, their hands, their bodies. They left every mark on the other that they could in the name of pleasure, whispered every endearment that they wished, and drank each other as though it were for the last time, and shared in their own taste. It was like nothing they had ever done, and yet everything they had.

At one point, late in the night, when they were finally spent and curled up in each other's arms—not even bothering to get up and retreat to their bedroom—Hermione inhaled the scent of the sheepskin underneath them, breathing it in deeply as though it were perfumed by a heady flower. She gave it a moment to wrap around her senses, and then turned tired, thoroughly sated eyes onto her husband, who was watching her with lazy curiosity.

"It smells of you," she said, with the smile of a woman faintly stoned on pleasure.

Severus buried his face in her curls for a moment, and then with a sigh bent low to compare it to the sheepskin. "Indeed—of you. Of course," he added with a drawl, pulling her closer and nuzzling her cheek like a large cat, "this means I'll have to take it with me, when we leave… for the summer…"

Hermione closed her eyes, burying her face in his chest, as though to imprint it in her mind for the umpteenth time, for fear that she might forget it. "Before I leave, I want to cut off a bit of this rug to take with me."

Severus did not respond to this, and Hermione peeked up at him to see his face. It was curtained by his hair, and what she could see of it displayed an expression somewhere between a scowl, and a furrow of confusion and inquiry. She clarified: "When all of this is over, I'll sew it back on. But I want to have a piece of this to carry with me. It's—well, it's been with us for so long, it's just one of those things that always reminds me of us. Of… you."

Severus understood. Shifting so that he could rest his head comfortably on her shoulder, buried in the tangled mess of her curls, he murmured, "Carry it with you. But we won't sew it back on until after it's all over… and the three of us are together again. As a family."

"A family," Hermione echoed softly, her voice a low sigh. She closed her eyes. "Yes."

~o~O~o~

Hermione sprinted up towards the hospital wing, white-faced and panicked, as soon as the trickle of news reached her ears that Ron was in the infirmary. Word spread fast, and even though the day had not quite yet passed morning, half the school already seemed to know that something had happened earlier. She hurtled down the corridor, worst-case scenarios running through her head, and banged her shoulder against the wall as she turned the corner, nearly colliding with Harry. He let out on 'oof!' of surprise as she knocked his glasses askew on his face, and quickly held out a hand to settle her.

The fact that Harry was standing outside the doors, rather than being in the ward with Ron, was enough to override the comforting gesture. "What happened?" she demanded.

Harry told her. He was just finishing up his tale, explaining to Hermione's increasingly horror-stricken face how he had managed to force a bezoar down Ron's throat, when the door creaked open slightly and Minerva stepped out, looking pale and solemn.

Harry jumped up to speak to her. "How is he, Professor?"

"He will be all right, Potter," Minerva said, but the look in her eyes told Hermione that she was just as shaken by this as she was pretending to be calm. She gave them both a stern look. "You two ought to be heading back to your dormitories now. He will not be receiving visitors today."

"We're his friends!" Harry said determinedly. "Why can't we see him?"

"Because Madam Pomfrey is tending to him, Potter," Minerva said sharply. "Mr. Weasley will make a full recovery, I assure you, but while your quick thinking with the bezoar saved his life, he still needs to be administered the antidote—which will take some time to brew. Until then, he is not out of the woods and will not be receiving visitors."

Seeing the distressed looks on both Harry and Hermione's faces at this, she added, her tone softening just a bit, "You may wait here until Madam Pomfrey lets you in."

Grateful that she was not sending them away, Harry and Hermione both waited outside the hospital wing. Time passed mind-numbingly for them; Ginny arrived shortly after, and while she and Harry debated Ron's poisoning, Hermione merely slumped to the ground in relief. Teachers occasionally came in and out; they tried to peer inside on these occasions, but never saw much.

Eventually, the hour grew late, and they were finally allowed inside.

~o~O~o~

"…But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny said, reiterating what had already been said for the umpteenth time now, "so the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore."

Hermione, who had sat through the entirety of the discussion on Ron's poisoning without making a single sound other than to sniffle, finally spoke up. Her voice was hoarse, and even to herself, she sounded as though she were a bit ill with a head cold.

"Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," she said quietly, immediately thinking of Malfoy. "Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known he'd keep something that tasty for himself."

"But then how did Harry and Ron get thrown into the mix?" Ginny argued. "If Slughorn didn't know it was poison, wouldn't he have drunk it before then?"

"Ginny's got a fair point," Fred said, arms folded around the back of his chair as he turned to look at Hermione.

"Slughorn said he meant to give it to Dumbledore," Harry said, as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. "He forgot about it. Sounds an awful lot like an accident, to me." He nodded at Ron. "Sort of like how I forgot about those spiked Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda Vane gave me until today."

"Spiked?" George inquired.

"With your love potions," Ginny said, looking just a bit sour at this.

"Besides, Dumbledore trusts Slughorn," Hermione said stubbornly. As did she. Slughorn simply didn't have the spine to attempt assassination, nor was he so spineless as to turn on his own friends. He was the kind who ran when the going got tough, as evidenced by the fact that he had been in hiding for over a year, not the kind who turned on others when he got desperate.

"Dumbledore trusts Snape, too," Harry reminded her. "And at Slughorn's Christmas Party—"

"Harry, we already agreed that he was just trying to trick Malfoy—"

"Wait, what's this about?" Ginny interrupted.

"But what if he's not?" Harry retorted, ignoring the Weasleys, and the fact that they were all listening in avidly now.

Hermione's temper flared, but almost immediately, it died away. She gave Harry a weary look. She was worn out from her earlier distress, and was not in any shape to get into this argument now. She was angry at Harry's insistence about Severus, but from his perspective, she could understand it.

And given what was to happen at the end of the school year, it was fast becoming perceived reality.

"Whether or not we trust Slughorn or Snape doesn't matter right now," she said tiredly. "We trust Dumbledore, and if… Harry, if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anybody."

Silence fell over the room, broken moments later by Ron croaking "Er—my—nee," in his sleep.

And then the door burst open, and Hagrid walked in. A trail of muddy footprints resulted, and Poppy rushed out of her office upon his arrival, looking positively alarmed.

"No more than six visitors at a time!"

"Hagrid makes six," George pointed out.

"No, that's okay," Hermione said, getting to her feet before Poppy could register the reason for her confusion; Hagrid took up the space of several men. "I need to go. Now that—now that Ron's all right. I'll see you all later."

She Scourgified the muddy footprints behind her as she left, and closed the door.

As soon as she was clear of the corridor, she whipped out her wand and tapped her ring. The smooth, silvery surface rippled for a moment, and then the words, 'We need to talk' began to scrawl themselves out onto it in her neat handwriting. She hurried down the corridor, not wanting to be caught by Filch, and was on her way up the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower when it burned in reply.

The response was simple, but ominous: 'I know.'

~o~O~o~

"Malfoy's getting desperate," Hermione said, ducking her head as they veered down a deserted corridor, "and dangerous. That's twice he's tried something else, without concern for who might get caught instead."

"First Bell, now Weasley," Severus sneered, as they ascended the steps to the Astronomy Tower. "Yes, I know."

"What did you get out of him?"

"He was reluctant to confess, but eventually did," Severus conceded, striding to the far parapet before turning to face her. "I've gained enough of his trust that he would admit such a thing to me."

"At least we know it's him," Hermione said in an undertone. "If we didn't, I'd be concerned that we might have another suspect. The uncertainty would be…" she trailed off.

"Unpleasant," Severus responded silkily. "Yes, I can imagine. Nevertheless, Draco has assured me that he will not be making other such attempts. Not that he needs to," he added snidely. "He's almost finished with his… project."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she joined him, gazing out across the darkened grounds. In the distance, Hagrid's hut flickered with light. "It's March. Three months until term ends. That's still too much time between now and when—"

"I didn't say he had finished," Severus interrupted. "I said that he's almost finished. Given the rate of progress he has made over the year, I rather wonder whether he will make the deadline at all."

"But it still leaves the school vulnerable," Hermione argued. "We don't know when he might strike."

"As a matter of fact," Severus responded coolly, "we do."

Hermione gave him a sharp, skeptical look, and he explained, "Draco intends to wait until the school is undefended before he puts his plan into place. He wants his accomplices to be in place after Dumbledore leaves the school, and before he returns."

"An ambush," Hermione realized. "Dumbledore's appearances at the Great Hall have been inconsistent, to say the least—it's an easy guess even for Draco that he's not always at the school."

"It's not much comfort, but it does give us some control over the circumstances," Severus muttered.

"Speaking of circumstances," Hermione said, snapping her head up to look at him, "Harry told me about something interesting that Hagrid let slip to him last night. About an argument you and Dumbledore had."

Severus's eyes narrowed at this, and she saw something very much like rage glitter in them. "Hagrid and his overgrown mouth, I take it?"

Hermione winced. "It was just a little mistake—I think he was talking about… well, about the concerns Dumbledore and the Board of Governors were expressing about the school, and your name came up in passing…"

"And Potter, ever so eager to dig up the evidence against me, pursued the line of questioning," Severus interpreted, his lips curling into a sneer. "Naturally."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Well, that's what I heard at the breakfast table. Harry seemingly couldn't wait to tell me."

"I see," Severus said coldly.

They stood there in silence for a moment, a silence which stretched on for several minutes. A breeze gusted through, brushing past their cloaks, and whistling tunelessly in the night.

"We were discussing Potter," Severus said at last, sounding frustrated. "I asked him what he was doing, those evenings they spend closeted in his office. The headmaster was aggravatingly vague, and then could not have put it any more plainly that he does not trust me."

"Dumbledore trusts you!" Hermione said, stepping up to the old man's defense at once.

Severus sneered. "It's not an issue of trust in regards to loyalty, Hermione. It's an issue of trust regarding my capabilities as a spy—most particularly, in keeping certain things from the Dark Lord."

"Rubbish!" Hermione snapped coldly. "He tells Harry far more important things, and they have a direct connection!"

"The difference, however, is that Dumbledore does not fear that the Dark Lord will try to invade Potter's mind again," Severus said bitingly. "He seems to think that the Dark Lord did not enjoy the experience enough to try it again in the near future."

Hermione peered at him perceptively. "That's not all that's bothering you."

Severus shook his head. "That's all I can tell you."

"What a reversal of roles," Hermione said dryly, "now you're the one keeping secrets from me."

She saw a flicker of something pass over her husband's face. It was an odd, indecipherable expression, but Hermione thought she detected a trace of mixed anger and muted pain before he schooled his face blank once more.

"The headmaster saw fit to give me enough information to provide me with reassurance of his faith in me." The words came out as a quiet, dejected hiss. "I can only confess that I left his office less than pleased. Nothing more."

"He didn't tell you enough," Hermione guessed, with a sigh.

Severus's eyes glittered strangely at this, and then he turned away.

"When I told him that he took too much for granted, and that I had perhaps changed my mind, he reminded me that I had given my word," he said bitterly. "As if that were not enough, he saw fit to point out that should I fail to carry out my task… I have a wife who is more than willing to follow it through."

Hermione grasped his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly when he yanked it back reflexively, and took a step forward until she was pressed up against him. Not sexually, but comfortingly; a solid, familiar presence. He was the one keeping secrets from her now, and she was the one providing what bit of security she could.

"Severus, we're all under stress here," she said quietly. "Even the headmaster, though he's so dotty that we don't always notice it. We're all—we're just waiting for the catalyst." She felt tension drain reluctantly out of her husband's body, and continued gently, "It's true that if you can't carry out your task, that I will step in to do it for you—but we both know that you will do it, because you want to contribute to the Dark Lord's demise just as much as I do… and spare Dumbledore a slow death." She squeezed his hand again, and with a sigh of capitulation, he allowed her to drape his arm around her shoulder. She pressed her cheek against his side. "But whatever I do, Severus, I do it for you."

Severus's thumb absently stroked the side of her cheek. "I know," he whispered.

Silence followed, no longer tense, but merely tinged with sadness, as they stood there on the Astronomy Tower. Pale light washed over them from the full moon that sailed overhead, the only observer to this moment. And then his hand dipped lower, and retrieved the chain around Hermione's neck, pulling it up so that he could see it.

On the back of the locket, she had attached a bit of sheepskin, which explained the small piece missing from the rug in his rooms; the rug now looked as though it had been attacked by a wool-eating cookie-cutter shark. But the missing piece was neatly attached to the pewter backing of the locket, and when he flicked it open, the age-worn picture's silent occupants greeted him.

"You still wear this?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"Of course," Hermione said. Almost humorously, she added, "I haven't changed the photograph because I can never seem to get the three of us smiling in the same picture. And even here," she said, pointing at Selenius's face, "he's pouting a bit. And here," she said, pointing to another picture, which had been added to the inside of the lid, "I got a picture of Selenius with Sirius, from last year."

Severus snorted, and then clicked the locket shut, tucking it back under the neck of his wife's robes. "I was only smiling under duress."

Hermione laughed softly, adjusting the collar of her robes around her neck before leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. "That doesn't make it any less precious to me."

~o~O~o~

Ron's recovery from his poisoning was now one of speedy assurance, but he was not released before Harry wound up in a bed next to him after being struck in the head by a Bludger, which had been aimed at him—however unintentionally—by none other than McLaggen. Aside from the issues regarding McLaggen's continued membership on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as well as Harry's health, Hermione and Ron had not spoken to each other since he had awoken. Certainly, she stopped by to say hello, but any conversations they had were short and stilted, and accompanied with determined avoiding of the other's eyes.

Hermione frankly did not want to have a discussion with Ron, given the multitude of more important things on her mind, and was grateful to find that Ron was seemingly too shy and too nervous to even try. It seemed, however, that such a thing would work itself out on its own; at the very least, Ron seemed happy enough knowing that Hermione had been worried when he had been poisoned. She had no idea what he and Harry talked about, all those hours they were cooped up together in the same room with nothing to do, but it seemed that their friendship was beginning to repair itself at least.

On the downside, Lavender Brown took the fact that Ron had not informed her of when he had been released from the Hospital Wing very hard, and seemed to finger Hermione as the culprit. All in all, this was not such a bad trade-off; Hermione had very little to do with Lavender to begin with, and was not the least bit interested in what the other girl thought of her. She was a grown woman with a husband and son; right now, the squabbles of young couples still trying to find their footing in the dating scene seemed distant and inconsequential to her.

Whether Ron would finally get around to admitting to Lavender that he did not want to date her anymore, or got back together with her, was not Hermione's concern in the least—that was, as long as it did not strain their friendship again. She had had quite enough of that.

Still, she found herself in an extraordinarily good mood for the rest of the day when it seemed that the three of them were back to normal again. An episode of poisoning and a bludger to the head seemed to have done wonders.

Harry left that evening for another private lesson with Dumbledore, and returned with renewed determination to finish the task Dumbledore had assigned him, with regards to retrieving the memory from Slughorn. Hermione saw him poring through his illegitimate copy of Advanced Potion-Making over the next few days, brow furrowed, clearly searching desperately for the answer to his problem. He did not quite seem to take Hermione's word for it when she told him he wouldn't find what he needed in there. She certainly didn't expect Severus to have scribbled a note out in the margins about how to charm and flatter people.

It was highly disconcerting when Hermione discovered that Slughorn was not the only one on Harry's radar of focus, when Dobby and Kreacher appeared one evening to report the results of their observations. Harry was now several steps closer to cracking the mystery surrounding Draco Malfoy's suspicious behavior, and what was worse—he was now more obsessed with his blond-haired enemy than ever.

Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were not much better. Following Mundungus's attempted stunt impersonating of an Inferius, something that had thrown the whole Order into something of an outrage, Severus seemed to be trying to use Harry as a verbal punching bag as a means of de-stressing. While it seemed to be working brilliantly for him, judging by the look of smug self-satisfaction on his face as they left his classroom, it left both Harry and Ron in a correspondingly cranky and depressed mood.

At the next opportunity to visit Hogsmeade, Harry decided to lag behind in order to try and get into the Room of Requirement to see what Malfoy was up to. Hermione grew cross at this, and followed him as they headed up to Gryffindor Tower so that Harry could retrieve his Invisibility Cloak.

"You should be trying to get that memory from Slughorn, Harry," Hermione told him as Harry walked faster, forcing her to jog in order to catch up. "That should come first to this—this thing you've got about Malfoy—"

"I've been trying!" Harry answered hotly. "He doesn't want to talk to me, Hermione! He can tell I've been trying to get him on his own again, and he's not going to let it happen!"

Hermione pursed her lips in an effort to stifle her next response, which would have likely been said more out of pent-up frustration than any desire to convince Harry otherwise, and she turned around and began stalking off in the direction of the dungeons.

"Wait," Harry said, stopping to look over his shoulder at her. "Where—what are you doing?"

"The dungeons," Hermione challenged him, stopping as the staircase she was on began to move. "If you won't do it, Harry, then I will!"

Harry gaped at her for a moment. The staircase stopped, and Hermione stepped off, striding purposefully down toward the entrance hall. She hoped that her goading would convince him otherwise, but as she stopped at the bottom of the last staircase, she saw that Harry had gone. She frowned. Normally, Harry was one to rise to such bait, but just when she was counting on it most, it seemed that he had chickened out.

Determined to give it a try anyway, Hermione made her way to Slughorn's office.

The corridors were, for the most part, thankfully deserted. Most of the students had gone to Hogsmeade. Hermione had been planning to go, mostly with the intent of finding a chance to talk to Ron in a neutral setting where they could clear some things up between them, but this was more important. She stopped in front of Slughorn's office, and knocked.

There was a pause, and then what sounded like the hasty silencing of a gramophone and papers shuffling. Hermione frowned, and knocked again. No response. She was tempted to pull out her wand and demand Slughorn open the door on pain of having it blasted open, but she was not certain she would be able to get away with it. There was no point in forcing her way in; the point of Dumbledore assigning the task to Harry was to not force Slughorn, but coax him.

She stood there helplessly, not entirely sure what she should do. Now she almost wished that she had gone down to Hogsmeade with Ron. But a moment later, the thought was pushed from her mind. She had no homework and no Order business to attend to. Deciding to take advantage of the freedom of this weekend, she tapped her ring with her wand.

It's the weekend. I can sneak over. May I?

The words burned brightly for a moment, and then disappeared. Hermione began to make her way down to their quarters, but it the response she got was a delayed one.

Yes. And then, as a desperate afterthought, the word please appeared after it.

Hermione's pace quickened. She had not visited Severus often, even though they had agreed that she could sneak over on rare occasions during the weekend. She could count the number of times that year on one hand, and they had usually been planned in advance. Now, however, she had a free moment. A glaring opportunity that she was now grasping to take advantage of.

When she got to their quarters and slipped inside, it was to find Severus in their bedroom, grading; he sat cross-legged on the bed, the essays of various years spread out in neat stacks, and with a bottle of red ink and the flat surface of a cutting board floating helpfully in front of him. It was a slightly bizarre scene, as it was more reminiscent of a fifth year with too much homework than a grown man with work to do. But Hermione brushed that aside as she shrugged off her robes, adjusting the sleeves of her shirt for comfort, before gingerly climbing on top of the covers without disrupting the neat stacks Severus had laid out.

He shifted over to give her more room, and Hermione curled up next to him, resting her head against his shoulder. They stayed like this for several minutes, before Severus stretched and leaned against the headboard, uncrossing his legs without knocking over his essays.

"Work," he said tiredly. There were shadows under his eyes, which suggested a lack of sleep, and he looked more pale and drawn than she had ever seen him.

"I'll help," Hermione offered. Humorously, she added, "I used to teach the class, after all."

"Not to my standards," Severus responded shortly, but there was an edge of grateful amusement to his tone.

Hermione elbowed him. "Close enough. They came away with the important stuff, although I admit that I never reached the same level as Professor Faulkner."

"Ah, yes. Our favorite professor."

Hermione grinned at him. "For different reasons, I'll bet."

This elicited a chuckle from Severus, surprisingly enough.

They spent the morning finishing up Severus's grading, which was a surprisingly pleasant affair when they were in each other's company. The scratching of quills was interspersed with remarks about the essays themselves, which ranged from obviously incorrect information to places where the charm on someone's Spell-Checking Quill had begun to wear out.

They finished by the time lunch rolled around, but Hermione did not leave for the Great Hall, even though she knew Harry and Ron had likely returned by now. They could do without her for a few hours. It was her husband who needed her most right now, and Hermione went about this by insisting he shower first, order a filling meal from the kitchen second, and get some early sleep later. He protested this, digging his heels in at the prospect, but he relented soon enough when it became clear that Hermione was not going to let him weasel his way out.

He became more interested in complying when he realized that she meant to join him. Hermione had him kneel under the spray while she washed his back, and pulled his head out from underneath it long enough to scrub his hair, getting rid of as much oil and grease from it as possible. He grimaced and snarled at her when she used her nails on his scalp, letting out a splutter of surprise when she promptly pushed his head back under the spray to rinse. As soon as she was done, he dragged her down to the floor with him, and promptly reversed the scene, pinning her unnecessarily on her belly while he took the washcloth to her back. There was definitely a bit of hair-pulling while he ran his fingers through, but he gentled it quickly as he lathered it with soap and then worked it in.

In this time, he had been holding her down by straddling her lower back, keeping his weight on his knees and the soles of his feet. Hermione had not held still; she struggled and writhed underneath him, trying to get out from him and recapture the upper hand, just to see if she could. But without a wand, the advantage was clearly with her husband, and he enjoyed his victory by releasing her when he saw fit, and when she tried to get to her feet, promptly grabbing her by the foot and sliding her across the slippery tile toward him.

"Hey!" Hermione cried, as he bent over to kiss her neck, despite the spray. "That's not fair!"

"You married a Slytherin, Hermione," Severus purred, cupping a breast and stroking it. "We're known for being distinctly unfair."

In retaliation, Hermione reached out and grabbed his scrotum. Severus froze at this, not daring to move a muscle as his wife threw him a mischievous look.

"And you married a Gryffindor," she said evenly. "We're known for grabbing a bull by the balls rather than just the horns." She rolled them gently between her fingers, stroking them, causing his erection to swell even further, and added, "We're a bit reckless that way."

Severus let out a hissed exclamation at this, but did not protest; rather, he grabbed hold of his wife's hair and shifted closer, blocking the shower spray with his body as he urged her to take him in her mouth. She did not hesitate to do so, wrapping her lips around the head and gradually taking him in deeper as she worked him. He bent over her, pressing her against his groin, panting hard as he thrust and bucked erratically under his wife's ministrations.

Hermione ignored him when he began trying to get her to pull away, latching on more determinedly than before and applying suction and pressure to his most sensitive spots, scraping her teeth lightly in warning when the hair-pulling became more insistent. She even went so far as to slide a hand out from under herself to grab hold of his balls again, squeezing and playing with them, in an effort to make him climax.

It worked. Hermione found herself being forced to take more of him in again as he pressed her closer, hips jerking erratically, and then hastily tried to find her rhythm again even as she swallowed the bitter, milky substance that filled her mouth. He held himself there for several minutes, resting his cock in the warmth of her mouth, and then reluctantly withdrew. Hermione sat up immediately and filled her mouth with some of the shower water, gargling for a moment and then aiming for the drain.

"I haven't taken any sort of contraceptive," she explained, as soon as she looked up. Severus's eyes glittered at this, though he had not moved from where he knelt, still panting from pleasure and exertion. "We couldn't have sex." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then added, "But that doesn't mean we can't still do this."

In response, Severus pulled her closer to him, and began kissing her with renewed fervor.

The shower took much longer to finish than Hermione had originally anticipated. The rest of the time, aside from rinsing off, was spent with gentle caresses and massages, veritable lovemaking by touch alone. But once they were out and dressed, she ordered food from the kitchen. It was still a bit early for dinner, and Hermione knew Harry and Ron would be no doubt wondering what she was doing, and that she would have to come up with a very good lie, but Hermione paid it little mind as she shared a meal of lamb chops and Yorkshire pudding with her husband.

Despite the levity of their shower, the discussion came to a fairly serious turn as they both registered that June was soon bearing down on them. They sat on the couch and put their heads together to consider other options for Selenius other than the Burrow for the following year, but nothing seemed very promising.

"I'm not prepared to leave my son in the care of people who believe me to be their enemy," Severus said, his tone brooking no argument. But Hermione still rose up in Molly's defense.

"Molly and Arthur wouldn't pay attention to that," she argued. "They wouldn't hurt him just because you're his father. Besides—there's me. He's my son, too, and no matter how they feel about you—"

"We don't know what the precise situation will be next year," Severus responded tightly. "We could both very well be on the run, depending on how the headmaster's death goes down. Furthermore, they may be more forgiving than most, but there are other members of the Order who would not be—and if Selenius stays, they will most certainly find out about him."

Hermione's heart sank, knowing Severus was right. While most of the Order were people who would not hold a child's parentage against him, there were a few she could name who would not hesitate to consider trying to use Selenius as leverage if they thought they could get away with it. The world was not divided between good people and Death Eaters; the only thing everyone in the Order had in common was the desire to work toward the downfall of Lord Voldemort. While Molly and Arthur were examples of some of the best, most kind-hearted people in the Order, Mundungus was one person Hermione could name off the top of her head who was less than reliable. Even if the Weasleys were happy to look after Selenius, Hermione could not trust that they would be able to keep an eye on him every time an Order member visited their home.

Hermione slowly rotated her watch around her wrist thoughtfully, the way she did when she was thinking hard. "We can't send him back to George and Diane. They're Muggles—they've got no protection, and I'm sending my parents to Australia. We need Selenius close, with someone we trust, somewhere safe."

Severus closed his eyes. "As much as I hate to admit it, it is at times like these that I wish Black were still alive."

"Tine Cottage," Hermione suggested.

"Oh, yes," Severus said, sarcasm lacing his every word. "We could leave a twelve-year-old boy to look after himself for a year."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "We could leave a house-elf with him, possibly. There's always Dobby—"

"Tine Cottage is compromised. Anyone in the Order could drop by unannounced."

"What are our other options?" Hermione asked worriedly. "The Dark Lord foresees a time in the near future when he'll have control of the school, which means Hogwarts isn't an option, either—"

"On the contrary," Severus said, sitting up suddenly, "Hogwarts may possibly be an option. The Dark Lord will need someone to run the school."

"Once Dumbledore's dead, he won't need a spy," Hermione agreed, cottoning on at once. "You'll be the perfect man to put in that position—you've been here for over a decade and a half, he believes you're loyal to his cause, you know the students, you know how to maintain discipline… if you played your cards right, he would probably pick you."

"If that's the case, it may be possible to hide Selenius in the castle," Severus allowed, "but that requires further thought, and we would still need a contingency plan should the Dark Lord not assign me."

Hermione sighed and buried her face in his shoulder. "And now we're back to square one."

They cleaned up their plates shortly after, stacking them to the side for the house elves, and Hermione followed her husband to bed. At first, he was reluctant to let her stay, not because he did not want her there, but because he was certain she had no excuse for not making an appearance in Gryffindor Tower. His reticence only lasted for so long, because as far as his wife was concerned, as long as she had confidence that she could come up with a good excuse for her absence, that should be enough for him.

This time, it was. As enjoyable as their celebration had been three months ago, they were both still lonely and stressed, and were a little too willing to risk questions being asked if it meant some relief and connection. If it meant another night spent curled up and spooned against each other, with Severus's arms wrapped possessively around Hermione, and his shoulder being substituted for a pillow. In the morning, they would part ways again, but not tonight—neither of them had what it took to resist what they both badly needed most.

~o~O~o~

"If you ask me," Ron said, helping himself to a Sunday breakfast of eggs and ham, "Tonks is cracking up a bit, after what happened at the Ministry. You said she was looking for Dumbledore?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "She said he wasn't here, though. She didn't look all that well."

"It's odd," Hermione said, biting her lower lip in concern as she absorbed Harry's report, "she's supposed to be guarding the school. Why would she suddenly abandon her post?"

Harry and Ron had met her at breakfast this morning, and much to Hermione's relief, were too focused on the mystery surrounding Tonks's odd behavior to question where she had been. As it turned out, while trying to get into the Room of Requirement yesterday, Harry had run into Tonks. According to him, the Auror resembled nothing so much as a watering pot. Reluctant as she was to leave Severus's side, she got up early enough to make it to breakfast on time to catch up with the other students. But now that was one hurdle put aside, Hermione had another object on her plate to deal with. What was Tonks up to? What was wrong with her?

"I had a thought," Harry said quietly. "You don't think she can have been… you know… in love with Sirius?"

Hermione stared at him, not quite expecting this piece of absurdity.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"I dunno," Harry said, shrugging. He seemed to be hoping for some sort of insight from her. "It's just… she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name, and her patronus changed…"

"I don't think it had anything to do with Sirius," Hermione said slowly, not really wanting to discuss the Auror's private life. It really was not Harry or Ron's business. "Tonks hardly knew him. I think she would have been nearly crying no matter whose name you threw out. Besides," she added briskly, "It's not our job to be figuring out other peoples' business."

"Sirius is my business!" Harry said hotly.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said, exasperated, "I don't think Sirius has anything to do with this."

"Then what do you think it is?" Harry challenged.

Hermione hesitated.

"I think she's in love with someone, but he's not returning her affections the way she hoped," she said quietly. "That's a sort of private thing for a person to deal with, Harry."

Ron shifted uncomfortably at this, and at once, Hermione was grateful when he abruptly changed the subject by asking, "So, hey—did I tell you two the joke I told Madam Rosmerta about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia?"

"Did she laugh?" Harry asked, suddenly interested.

Ron scowled. "No."

Classes the next day were a bit of a confusing affair, because so many of the upperclassmen were absent from their afternoon classes in order to take their Apparition tests. Hermione already had her license, which was filed in the Ministry's directory even if no one remembered, but she was going to take the test again regardless so that there would be an updated record that would hopefully help further hide the knowledge of her earlier existence. Thus, she and Ron were among the other seventeen-year-olds slated to take their tests that marched down to Hogsmeade.

The weather was turning surprisingly temperate, the boundaries between April and May becoming blurred, and the day was thus only mildly wet and chilly. A bit of fog had risen up over the village, but it vanished in the weak sunlight by the time they arrived. The students were allowed to linger and mill about in front of the Three Broomsticks while they waited for their name to be called for testing, and Hermione decided to help herself to a butterbeer while she waited for 'Granger, Hermione' to be called.

She had not seen Rosmerta in what seemed like ages. Thus, when she saw her old employer, she was surprised when she got nothing more than a curt, cursory nod from her as she took her order. Hermione was used to getting a friendly greeting, but it was as though Rosmerta hardly knew her. She contemplated the barmaid's odd behavior as she sipped her drink, and found herself idly observing her as she served the other of-age students, all of whom it seemed wanted some bit of liquid courage to help them pass.

When Ron reached to ask for a firewhiskey, Hermione stopped him.

"Don't get anything stronger than a butterbeer," she said, gesturing at her own drink. "You don't want to be too impaired."

"You're not my mother," Ron grumbled, but relented.

No, but I'm old enough to be, Hermione thought with a sigh as Rosmerta passed them by. Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto the other woman. She was acting oddly, which could mean any number of things, and after the incident of Katie Bell being cursed, there were no doubt questions being raised about the security of her establishment—

Acting oddly—

Cursed—

Hermione stared, struck by sudden realization.

Draco Malfoy had an accomplice in Hogsmeade. The necklace had originated in the girls bathroom of the Three Broomsticks. Malfoy had not been in Hogsmeade, which distanced immediate suspicion from himself, but—

"Granger, Hermione!"

—she and Severus had already covered the possibility that he had placed someone under the Imperius Curse—

"Hermione, you're up!" Ron hissed, jabbing her in the side with his elbow.

Hermione startled, thrusting her butterbeer into Ron's hands as she quickly stepped forward to answer the examiner's summons. She quickly smoothed herself down, calming her nerves—not that she was nervous about the test, but that she was now jittery about the sudden realization that had struck her not but a moment ago.

Malfoy had Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse.

"Just remember the three 'D's," Twycross said dispassionately, as Hermione got into position. She steadied herself. "And on the count of three, I want you to Apparate to your assigned destination. One—two—"

On 'three', Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and spun into the ether. The next moment, she disappeared with a loud crack, and the familiar sensation of being squeezed took over until it finally released her, and she landed gracefully on a patch of grass, just outside of Hogsmeade, where another examiner was waiting for her.

"Excellent, Miss Granger!" the wizened-looking woman who met her there said, stepping forward to check and see if she had left anything behind. "Got all your bits and bobbles?" Hermione nodded, and the woman brushed the hair out of her face to peer closer. "No missing eyebrows, got your teeth and tonsils? Everything? Wonderful!"

Three minutes later, Hermione was cleared to Apparate back. She landed exactly where she has disappeared from five minutes ago, and handed Professor Twycross the slip of parchment informing him that the other examiner had passed her. She hardly registered the delighted look on the wispy man's face as he put her license together with a wave of his wand; now that she had passed, her focus was all on Rosmerta.

"Yes!" Ron crowed, as soon as she was free to join the crowd again. "I knew you'd pass, Hermione! Flying colors!"

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said distractedly, hoping she passed off as modest rather than aloof as her mind continued to whirl over possibilities. She knew Rosmerta well; there was no way she would ever willingly assist Malfoy. It had to be the Imperius, if she judged her behavior correctly, which common sense and experience told her she had. "You'll be up in a few—I'm sure you'll do well, too—"

As it turned out, Ron did not pass. He passed the first examiner, but when he Apparated back, Twycross noted that in his excitement to return, he had left behind half an eyebrow. The examiner was sympathetic but unwilling to pass him, and the two left Hogsmeade with Ron looking sulky.

When Ron was not looking, however, Hermione lagged back to discreetly tap her ring with her wand.

I think I found Malfoy's accomplice, she said.

The words remained etched in place for a moment, and then melted away as Severus's reply came through. Who?

Madam Rosmerta, Hermione replied. Imperiused.

---

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~Anubis Ankh