Disclaimer: Of course it doesn't belong to me. I wouldn't be a starving student if it did.

October 30, 5:59 pm. Severus waited rigidly, leaning back into the embrace of the cold shadows of his house that he now knew almost as well as he did the back of his hand. One minute. The manor was, for once, eerily quiet in a way that didn't make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in warning. He was alone—all his "house guests" had left and would not be stumbling back until around midnight or later, having gone to Lucius' and Narcissa's dinner party. The Dark Lord would make a brief appearance at the gala, but most likely continue with his aloof higher-than-thou standard. Severus had already pleaded off the night in stating that he had much brewing to do to restock his healing potions in preparation for…tomorrow's events. It was a good excuse—no one, not even a Dark Lord, would dare interrupt a Potions Master in his work when what he was making could very well save your life. Or a follower's life. Wouldn't do to waste an already recruited able body, after all.

He was waiting for Hermione.

They had a meeting scheduled, to go over any last minute plans, changes, and information for the upcoming Azkaban prison break on the morrow. So soon after his abrupt and unpleasant realization of the nature of his attachment to the infuriating, amazing woman whose mind rivaled his own—Severus thought that he would either be confronted with the truth that he really wasn't infatuated with the chit, but rather the fantasy of her which the human would not, could not, live up to, or the confirmation of his worst fears and his own unexpected and unwelcome susceptibility.

The Tempus he had cast shimmered and faded as the numbers finally inched, curled, and clicked over to 6:00, and not two breaths later, the wards on his home signaled the impending arrival of the witch. Blue, tonight. She chose blue, was his first thought upon seeing the familiar-but-strange and ill-fitting form of the woman that had seized the entirety of his mind and soul and dumped it upside down and inside out. The slight twinge of wrongness made him slightly irritable, though Severus knew that it was an irrational feeling. Hermione had had no choice, really, but to use Polyjuice. There was no other ruse effective enough to place her beneath the notice of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord and yet able to slip in and out with relevant information and knowledge that could save lives. So why did he feel disgruntled, angered on her part that she would have to demean herself thus by utilizing the experienced, lean body of a common call girl?

No reason at all. Just a means to an end. But he did, feel dismay on her behalf that she had to endure the denial of herself, even if it was just her physical body, for even the slightest amount of time. And denial to such a lower level! Oh, this Milena creature was gorgeous, almost Veela-like in sexual aura and practically sculpted by the gods. Severus didn't doubt that the French pastry that had come to Hogwarts for the Triwizard competition some years ago would have found Milena a threatening rival. But for all that, the stranger did not have the warmth or spark in Hermione's brown eyes, nor the natural wildness and freedom evoked by Hermione's soft and untamed hair, the intelligent quirk to small, pink lips when appreciating some dry sarcasm, or anything else that made Hermione Granger a special witch indeed. Indeed, in Milena's body, all of these looked foreign and awkward.

Tonight, she wore a shimmering royal blue, just a touch brighter and more brazen than that of the Ravenclaw shield. The cut of the robes allowed tantalizing glimpses of a long leg and foot, the many yards of silk in the skirt alternated with small panels of fine black lace. He wished that she were in her own body, and not someone else's impersonal one.

"Good evening, Milena," he murmured. Well, it wouldn't do to drop appearances even if there is no one around to observe us. I may have missed a listening device or two after all. No sense in taking that risk. "You are a sight for sore eyes. I need a break from brewing."

"Good as ever to see you again, Severus," she responded, taking his proffered arm and allowing him to pull her closer and sweep them down the customary corridor to his room. He wasted no time, but hurried her down and into the by now familiar, comfortable quarters, tonight equipped with a dancing, crackling fire and hot tea already ready to be poured on the table. Thank you, Mippy. He'd have to remember to find enough time to teach the dratted house elf how to play checkers, now that the little creature had mastered chess. With a vengeance too, gave me a run for my money! I'd like to see him play against the Weasley boy. That would be an amusing sight indeed…

With the door shut and the chances of an eavesdropping spell greatly lessened, he relaxed a fraction, and looked down with a more welcoming shade to his eyes, trying valiantly not to show his bloody damn heart on his sleeve. "It truly is good to see you again, Hermione," he said.

Her unfamiliar face brightened. "I've missed you as well, Severus. It's such a pity our chances to talk are so far and few between, and in the 'enemy's territory'. It's quieter than normal, though—where are the Death Eaters?"

That's my girl, always observant. Dammit, she isn't 'my girl'! Get a hold of yourself, Severus! "They are enjoying a dinner party courtesy of the Malfoys. All terribly boring, and which will involve far too much alcohol and backstabbing—hopefully figuratively only, though one never knows with these types of events," he informed her, absently guiding her with the hand still on her elbow to her customary seat before he himself settled down.

"I see. Well, that's a relief," she replied wryly, kicking off the contraptions on her feet with evident relief and reaching for the tea. "The Polyjuice should wear off within a half-hour. I didn't want to take a risk and be caught out of form before we'd made it to relative safety, but I will admit no matter how beautiful F—Milena is, I also much prefer my plain, old, bookish self."

Severus nearly flushed uncharacteristically at the memory of his completely impulsive action in telling her how he'd preferred Hermione as herself and not some…some bimbo. At the same time, his cooler logic filed away that tidbit of information should he ever need it: the girl whose body Hermione is using has a name beginning with an "F". Possibly a "Ph". "Well, there truly is not much news on this end of things to convey," he mentioned in an entirely un-Snape-worthy change of subject. "Nothing else has been shared with me, except for the insistence that I stock up on standard healing potions, most especially ones that deal with emotional disorders. It wasn't specifically stated, but most definitely implied, that they might be needed for our escapees from Azkaban. I sincerely hope you have everything set on your end, Hermione. They're sending a large contingent of Death Eaters there, and the last time they attacked Azkaban was at the beginning of the summer and they were quite successful."

"We are as prepared as we can, without knowing the exact time or number of people we're up against," Hermione assured him. Sighing, she placed her cup back down on the table and curled her feet up under her. "I won't tell you the specific details, but Hestia Jones and Alastor Moody are on point for this one, and through Hestia's…connections…they have the full support of the Ministry. The few people that know about the coming attack, anyway. Hestia's favors are good, but not that good to make Minister Scrimgeour risk ridicule in the public eye if it leaks that the Aurors might have an anonymous tip that Azkaban might be broken into, so soon after the last one. There are really not that many Death Eaters in Azkaban, not since the last break out."

"Ah, Hestia's useful proclivities…" Severus murmured in a humor-laced tone, his face straight and blank as a stone. "Such a sacrifice she makes to have the right…connections."

Hermione broke out into surprised laughter, and despite the slightly superior look he gave her—which was lost to the giggling witch—he gave in, and an instant later his own rich baritone laugh had joined hers.

After the exchange of general news, updates on the Order and Hogwarts and, on his part, the sudden liking Bella seemed to have taken to him—bloody creepy, he stated frankly, to Dolohov's enraged frustration at Snape's reticence on the subject of the Life Debt he owed the Potions Master, they had fallen to discussing with some spirit the latest Potions Periodical and the controversial article on just how useful newts eyes really were in Potions—none at all, Severus dismissed. You had a jar of them in your classroom! Hermione had protested. For show and intimidation tactics, he'd responded with a daring quirk of his eyebrow. She'd groaned in exasperation.

She'd just taken a sip from her by-now tepid tea when he blinked, and she rippled and seemed to both draw in on herself and also expand, and then she was sitting before him with a bemused smile on her lips, hair a familiar mane around her small, sweet, stubborn face, and Severus swallowed hard, suddenly aware of a buzzing noise and the heat of the room suffocating him. So much for hoping that it would go away if I saw her, some distant part of him remarked while another part of him begin to ring with warning bells aplenty. They go rather nicely with the buzzing, at least. Merciful Merlin, does she have to look so…wanton? The blue robes, that had looked impersonal and costume-like on Milena, though not cut exactly right for Hermione, made her look like some sort of mischievous but royal goddess—Venus, perhaps. And the way the black lace panel carelessly let the hint of an expanse of smooth, soft flesh up her thigh, which had done nothing for him when that leg had been Milena's, now had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat and praying to whatever gods there were that his robes were concealing him…ah, adequately.

"I felt it, this time," Hermione noted, tilting her head to one side and putting the mug back down. She patted perfunctorily at the sudden growth of hair, brown and glorious, and winced a little before shrugging. "I do apologize you have to see my hair au naturale, though. Usually I do have a bit of stuff in it to keep it to minimum proportions, but I didn't have time after my shower this evening to do more than dress and take the Polyjuice, which solved that problem temporarily anyway."

"It suits you," he found himself saying, and if his voice was just a touch huskier than normal, well, the fire was unnaturally hot and he hadn't touched his tea for a while. The delight in her cinnamon-heated eyes and the beaming smile she gave him dissolved any regrets that he might have had for saying such a, Salazar forgive him, a nice compliment.

Abruptly, he cleared his throat, feeling awkward and altogether too much like a randy teenager on his first date. This is not a date. And I am not a pimply-faced teenager who wants a grope in the dark or a roll in the hay! You may be infatuated, man, but you will bloody well keep hold of what dignity you can salvage out of this deal. "I know this was an inconvenient time for you to come. You've of all likelihoods missed dinner. Would you care to join me in mine? My…house guests, should not be home before midnight at the earliest."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose on you or anything…" she fluttered, looking anxious and as uncertain as he'd seen her for some time. And…it had to be just the fire, for it was affecting him adversely as well, but had he seen the tiniest glimpse of color riding high on Hermione Granger's cheeks?

"No trouble at all," Severus assured her. "If you don't mind a slightly more exotic fare than Hogwarts offers?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked as she followed his lead in standing. He courteously offered her his arm to take, and was taken aback by the sudden surge of emotion that threatened to knock him flat on his arse when she, without hesitating, despite not needing to put on a show, took it and tucked her arm securely in his. He did detect the slightest tremble of her body, and he wondered what it meant. She felt hot—hot to his touch, even through the barely semi-respectable fabric of the robes, and her eyes were unnaturally bright. Was she coming down with a fever? Surreptitiously, he examined her as he led her to the next room over, which contained a small reading room with a square, four-person dark wood dining table and matching chairs. No, she doesn't feel hot enough for it to be a fever, and if she were feeling ill I'm sure she'd mention something. She knows I'd have a potion to fix just about any small ailment, anyway. It must be simply sitting too close to the fire for too long. Or perhaps being overtired. She has far too many responsibilities for one so young. That reminded him of her true age, which despite any gains through time-turners and spending months in an alternate universe, was still roughly two decades behind him, which in turn flooded Severus with shame and guilt once more for his now undeniable attraction to the young woman.

Trying not to choke on the guilt, Severus answered her with a mysterious, "You'll see," before calling for Mippy.

The house-elf, wearing a lurid purple tea towel in a style all too reminiscent of Albus' unfortunate color choices, was delighted at being able to serve not just the master and his unwelcome house guests. "Mippy is making special meal for Master! Master has not those nasties in his rightful house tonight so Master and Mippy is celebrating, and Missy is very welcome!"

Severus blinked at Mippy's exuberance. Perhaps the isolation in Prince Manor was not good for his house-elf, who was now bubbling over Hermione, who took it all with a bemused grace though he thought he detected the glimmer of a grimace—no doubt she still did not enjoy the thought of abject servitude no matter the species. He could still remember Minerva speaking with some mingled amusement and respect, if not agreement, about "Miss Granger's ideals and the group she's trying to start up—SPEW, I believe."

A noble motivation, and a cause that I wouldn't mind seeing, but she went about it the wrong way. She was naïve then. Today, I think that she would know to start more subtly, and start at the basic level of influence—the house-elves themselves. Perhaps after the war…but that was an unimaginable point of time away, and Severus dismissed it.

Mippy had taken some care with the presentation of the dining atmosphere more so than usual. A candle flickered and created a soft aura of shadows and light on the table. The lamps around the room had been dimmed as well, and there was a bottle of elf-made red wine already breathing in a decanter. He raised an eyebrow. Alcohol, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Especially since this is still a dangerous place for Hermione to be in, even if the Death Eaters are all out. Not to mention elf-made wine is potent and loosens the tongue quite easily…

Hermione had, apparently, also been taken aback by the sight of the wine and the altogether lovely set up which veered too close to a romantic dinner date atmosphere than Severus was comfortable with. But she took it in stride with aplomb, gamely sitting opposite of Severus. She cast an undecipherable look at the decanter before she said slowly, "If it does not offend you I would rather not risk any mind-altering substances tonight while I am still technically out on an assignment and in the enemy's territory."

"Precisely my thought. I don't know why Mippy brought it out," Severus jumped in hastily. "Perhaps tea, or coffee then?" He refrained from asking if she wanted juice. It reminded him too much of the fact that if it hadn't been for special circumstances she would still be a student—his student—this year.

"Water, actually, please," Hermione said with a sweet smile. "Hogwarts always offers pumpkin juice as the primary drink and I'm beginning to feel as if I never drink plain old water anymore."

"Mippy, water for both of us please," Severus asked as the little creature popped back into existence carrying a silver serving tray laden with food that he had dug out of the kitchen somewhere.

"Mippy is being right back with it," Mippy squeaked cheerily. "Master and Missy be enjoying meal from Middle Kingdom!"

"Middle Kingdom?" Hermione queried quizzically, her eyes fixated in fascination to her dish. It smelt heavenly—like exotic spices and a foreign land, or sea rather.

"Scallops, shrimp, and mushrooms—all traditionally Chinese, although neither I nor my house-elf are particular connosseirs of its actual authenticity," he informed her. "The name the Mandarin people give China in their language can be roughly translated to 'middle kingdom' or 'central country' in prosaic English. Mippy and I have been experimenting with different cuisines."

"I can see that," she breathed. "It looks good. I've never had much opportunity other than the occasional Muggle restaurant to eat anything other than British fare."

There was a slight pause, where they both contemplated the steaming food. Mippy brought them both glasses of water which Hermione gratefully sipped at, before they both stared at each other again. Struggling not to drown in her warm eyes, Severus self-consciously cleared his throat. "Please, begin," he said, feeling extremely ridiculous. Almost as if he were back in his classroom telling his students to begin brewing, except for that he'd never have said please to that rabble.

There was another fleeting instant of being drawn inexorably to meet her eyes again, and then the spell was broken when Hermione herself pulled a wry face and divulged, "Well, I can't—I mean—I—uh, I don't know how to use chopsticks." She motioned at the smooth wooden pair next to her plate, and shrugged, looking back up to him with a rueful, self-deprecating air.

The unexpectedness of her announcement, when he'd half-expected something monumental—something significant, meaningful—to occur, broke some of the quiet, fairy-tale ambiance and Severus was not able to hold back his relieved chuckle before picking up his own, resuming once more the role of teacher to explain how to hold and utilize the alien cutlery.

--break--

The first thing she'd noticed about the room were the books. Hermione thought that they overshadowed everything, including the beautiful settings and mood of the room. They were in shadows, so she could not catch the titles, only the flickers that denoted the ending of one book and the beginning of another. She had to severely chasten herself to stifle to urge to ask Severus to brighten the lamps so she could peruse his shelves to see both the books and to gage his own literary leanings.

But if the books had been the first to capture her attention, for once they did not overwhelm the rest of her impressions by much. The second thing to strike her eye was the decanter and the beautiful, ruby-colored liquid that seemed to have a life of its own in the inconstant light, glittering and sparking and hinting at deeper depths, reminding her oddly of Severus' eyes despite the wrong color. The Dark Lord's eyes may have been red, but they were superficial, cold, and flat, nothing like the teasing, melting depths of Severus' eyes…er, the wine she meant. There is absolutely no reason for you to develop butterflies in your stomach and get sweaty palms over a simple dinner in a nicely decorated atmosphere, she scolded herself fiercely, but she could not get up the strength of will to quite trivialize their meal-taking and the almost sensuous air that seemed to permeate the quiet peace of the obviously well-used dining-room and study.

When she realized that Severus probably knew his way around unfamiliar food and the even more unfamiliar chopsticks and she didn't, Hermione was glad for the shadows and the dimmed light. It effectively hid her blush, a color that only intensified when, as the meal progressed, more food found its way to the table than her mouth. The lower lights did nothing to hide Severus' smirk as he watched her struggle with the ridiculous flimsy sticks while he smoothly ferried food to his own mouth with ease. Of course, the arrogant air about him only made the man more infuriatingly damn sexy. Hermione was appalled to find that she was hungry for something else altogether, even as she fell into soft discourse with Severus and alternately shot glares at him for laughing at her predicament.

The subjects they spoke of were wide and varied. They had a fiery argument about the latest findings of a renowned pioneer of Magical theory in healing and mental disorders which Hermione thought might be the first step towards helping, ultimately, people like Neville's parents and Severus thought was too fantastical and not entirely supported. They discussed why Hermione found her first year Potions class much more tolerable and cooperative than the older years (It's because they all don't have House affiliations and so no bias and no dictated enemy, Hermione asserted. What about those who have older siblings already at Hogwarts, or those whose parents went to Hogwarts? Severus pointed out.) They talked soberly of the progress or non-progress made on either side in the war that dominated their lives, and Severus thankfully refrained from sneering and insulting Harry and Ron although Hermione could see the strain on his face and body and steered the topic away from her friends. Severus remarked on Bellatrix' unusual and unexpected politeness to him as well as Viktor Krum's dour silence in the few meetings their research group had had. Hermione was certain that Severus noticed her reluctance to speak of the boy she'd once been friends with and considered an intellectual peer, because he did not dwell on that subject long either. They spoke of light things, like Tonks' latest yelling match with the painting of the Black matriarch which had ended in Tonks changing the color of the cloth that covered the shrill woman to a disgusting puce color and leaving the old biddy to stare at the vomit-inducing haze over her portrait and scream some more.

At some point, their empty plates had been taken away by a suspiciously silent and almost dignified Mippy (well, it would have been dignified if he had emitted a muffled, rapturous cackle of glee just before vanishing in his odd mode of house-elf instant transportation.) Hermione was astounded to find out that Severus had a working, if slightly antiquated and outdated, knowledge of famed Muggle movies and books.

"You liked 'Lord of the Flies'?" Hermione asked, aghast. "It was a horrid book! They had twelve-year-old boys murdering each other without the slightest hint of remorse!"

"I find it an interesting and quite a realist study of the psychological states of men," Severus rejoined. He raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you might recognize some of the impulses of the boys to reflect your experiences."

Hermione paused. Slowly, she said, "Is that how you think it starts, with those that become Death Eaters then? They had no one to answer to, and the Dark Lord was like them being wrecked on an island with no law or man to answer to?"

"It is a heady thing to hold the power of a life in one's palm to save or crush as you will, and liberating to be set free from the chains of society's laws and expectations," Severus responded. His voice was low, his shoulders hunched a little as he tended to do when he was tense or blaming himself for something. Hermione knew that he was speaking from his own experience. On an impulse, she stood from her seat and rounded the small table to where Severus was sitting. In an unconscious mirror of what he had done for her in what seemed years ago to comfort her, she laid her hand gently on his shoulder, facing him, her head a little higher than his.

His breath quickened—so did hers. He swallowed noticeably, and shifted a little in his seat, his eyes shooting up to meet hers. She flushed, but was unable to tear her gaze away from the hold of his, nor did her hand seem to retain any connection to her body anymore because it disobeyed her original intention of simply squeezing and letting go by remaining on his shoulder, cradling the firm muscle encased in casual black fabric, a lighter material than his stiff teaching robes.

They must have remained like that, a frozen tableau, for only several seconds at most but it felt like an eternity. "Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, and he—oh, Merlin, reached out with a hand for the merest soft brush of her cheekbone, skimming along barely against her face until it reached the lock of unruly frizz that had, as always, disobeyed her tie and sprung free. He hesitated, then with the careful motions of a man handling a precious treasure, tucked it behind her ear.

Her limbs were both leaden and yet so sensitive that the rasp of her robes against her skin was intensified. The silly urge to sneeze suddenly bloomed. Something of the involuntary urge must have shown on her face in annoyance because Severus' features went impassive and he immediately drew his hand back, dislodging her hand when he stood abruptly. "My apologies. I have been inexcusable in my actions," he said tightly, backing away and heading for the door.

"No!" Hermione called before he could reach the entrance. "Severus—I—" she faltered, and he turned fiercely to glare at her, his entire demeanor one of cold fury that made her shiver and her bones turn to water in an entirely different way than just minutes ago.

"I—I—"

"Leave," he ordered. "We are done here. You need no other information. Go back to Potter and Weasley. Just get out of my house, damn you!" The room filled with the crackling energy of his anger, his truly terrible, icy anger that threatened to pierce Hermione's soul. And beneath that wrath, black despair lurked, in his eyes and his rigid stance and the paleness of his cheeks and his white lips.

Somehow, somewhere, Hermione summoned all the courage she could find. "No," she stated. It came out uncertain and wavery. Disgusted, she tried again, finding it easier a second time. "No." She straightened, and placed her hands on her hips. "I just needed to sneeze, that's all!"

He stared at her as if she had spoken Greek, or Swahili. "Excuse me?"

Well that wasn't exactly the most eloquent of explanations, but what the heck. "I never explicitly said that your…your actions weren't welcomed, even looked for," Hermione pronounced. She looked at him with a dare in her eyes and a challenge in her firmed jaw. "You just took me by surprise. And I needed to sneeze. It's a human response that we can't control. You read my facial expressions wrong, overreacted badly, and…and I never said I didn't welcome your attention!"

A little on the whiny side at the end, but that's frankly the best that's going to come out of my mouth while my heart feels like it's dangling off the edge of a cliff and all that descriptive drivel in romance novels that Sofi likes to read and I'm going to die of embarrassment and hurt if he rejects me now…Hermione waited breathlessly for Severus' response.

The normally inscrutable man seemed…well, he seemed beyond stunned. Was he in shock? Hermione began to worry when it seemed as if he hadn't taken a breath in ages. Just as she began to step forward cautiously to make sure he was okay, he started breathing again more or less normally as he focused once more on her. "And…do you…welcome these…my…attention?" he asked somberly, so tentative-soft that Hermione had to strain to hear each word.

"If you meant them truly, then I would welcome them happily," Hermione whispered.

He began to shake his head, almost mechanically and in denial. It felt like a physical blow. "No, you cannot possibly," he murmured. "Even if…you are two decades younger than I. I am a man hovering on the abyss of dark, Hermione, with very little chance of full redemption or surviving this war. I have tortured people until they died unable to scream anymore. I have murdered—I killed Albus Dumbledore!"

"You put a suffering man out of his agony and doomed fate. You might once have been a man that walked in the dark and reveled in it, but you are no longer that man. You became a new man when you realized your mistakes and chose to confess them and work to mend them instead of continuing along the easy path of evil. You are a great man, Severus Snape, far greater than Albus Dumbledore because you were strong enough to ask for forgiveness and change your life, yet go back into the dark and risk yourself once more to protect others so they never have to be threatened by it." Hermione stopped, out of breath after her impassioned speech. Severus seemed both disbelieving and riveted. Oh, Merlin take it. Now or never, girl. Her feet felt like they were buried in quicksand, but she pried them up off the floor and moved firmly in his direction. He backed up, looking for the first time almost ungainly in his movements as she advanced on him.

When his back hit the wall, part of his spine pressed uncomfortably against the raised door-frame, Severus struggled to regain his equilibrium by fixing her with scowl. She ignored it, steeled herself, and strode forward until she was millimeters away from his black-clad chest, and had to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. Just before she leaned up and in, the foreign glitter in Severus' eyes had her flashing back to a similar situation yet completely flipped, when he'd attacked her because she'd startled him forever ago. The thought of the odd role reversal put the tiniest smile in the corners of Hermione's lips as she finally gathered the nerve to succumb to her foolish, illogical, stubborn heart and place her hands on his shoulders and press her lips to his.

The same mouth that had voiced the insults that made Harry and Ron furious and her cry; the same mouth that had uttered curses she didn't want to imagine him capable of, had uttered the curse that ended the headmaster's life in a flash of ugly green light; the same mouth that had confessed a love for another woman, a dead woman whom Hermione was jealous of; the same mouth that had whispered secrets to high places and said what was expected of him, spoken both truth and lies—

The faintest hint of a tremble—at this close quarters, no slight emotion or tremor can go undetected. Cool, firm, an instant of impassiveness and then his mouth responds to her initial touch, covering her lips in warmth as sweet as sunshine and with a marveling sensation that trickles from each point of contact: his hands now cupping her face and chin tenderly, their bodies not quite crushed together but neither existing in two separate and disjoint entities, but most especially from their caressing kiss which tastes of wonder, exploration, and scallops-shrimps-mushrooms.

It was a short kiss by most standards, almost over before it had begun and yet it held the promise of something like eternity that Hermione was afraid to let herself contemplate. As they slowly drifted apart, Hermione realized that she'd kept her eyes open the entire time, mesmerized by Severus' intensity and emotion.

What might have happened next Hermione would speculate on for years to come. What might have happened if Severus had not started like he had had cold water thrown on him. She took a step back, concerned, dread once more pulling at her. "What's wrong?" Oh gods don't say no, don't tell me to leave…

But his answer was entirely different and filled her with a new alarm. "The others—they're back. And so is—"

"Master and Missy must hurry!" screeched a worried voice from behind them both. Mippy was wringing his hands and hopping up and down, his tea towel askew and his pallor evident. "Bad evil nameless-one is back!"

"The Dark Lord," Severus finished. They stared at each other, and icy fear gripped at Hermione's heart. It was reflected in Severus' features. What were they going to do?

A.N.: First of all, my apologies. Last chapter I introduced the concept of cell phones in Hogwarts and possible usage in the Order. This idea was not mine—it was Requiem for a Sunburst's idea in a review she gave all the way back in chapter 17 when Hermione first meets Lionel. All due credit for this brilliant idea goes to Req. Thanks!

Second of all—well, I am super nervous about this chapter. Obviously, since this is the actual start of something solid and tangible for our favorite people here, and I don't know if I rushed it (even after 54 chapter!) and if it was realistic, if it was satisfactory and didn't disappoint people. I hope you all liked it, because I'm biting my nails off about this chapter. And I never bite my nails.

Anyway, drop me a review and tell me what you thought. Flames will be sent direct to Lucifer as per our arrangement.