Chapter 39

Hermione closes the book and tears up the parchment she was writing on. Useless. The book is useless, and all the notes she took are useless. With an angry wave of her wand, she sends the useless, pointless notes flying across the room and into the hearth, where she casts a vicious Incendio that turns them immediately to ash.

This bit of minor violence makes her feel marginally better, but only for a moment. The fact is, there is no way to get a piece of someone's soul out of a living host. She was sure there would be some ritual or spell or potion. How could there not be? If there's a way to get the thing in, there must be a way to get it out, right?

Well, there is. But only the one the Headmaster already knows about. Harry has to sacrifice himself, let the Dark Lord kill him—or appear to do so—and then the soul fragment in Harry dies while Harry lives. It seems so unfair that the element of self-sacrifice is necessary, but her reading confirms what Severus saw in the Headmaster's mind.

They do need the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, and the destruction of the other two remaining Horcruxes has to be timed just so. Destroying the cup means killing the Lestranges and having the Malfoys retrieve it from Gringott's, and doing so close enough to the final confrontation that there isn't time for the Dark Lord to demand it be brought to him. Killing the snake can only be done in Voldemort's presence, since he never lets the beast out of his sight, according to Lucius Malfoy, hence their tentative plan to Imperius Goyle and have him do it. Whether to do that at the time of the confrontation between Harry and the Dark Lord or sometime before they haven't worked out.

There are so many moving parts to work out. Hermione's brain hurts from thinking about it so much. She checks the time. Severus is always back by this time on nights he doesn't have patrol. When she finishes brushing her teeth and washing her face, he's still not back. She starts toward the door to his office, then realizes she should probably get her dressing gown. She doubts he'd have anyone in there this late, but still, it is his office.

Wrapping the dressing gown around her, she knocks before opening the door to his office. She pulls the gown tighter around her when she sees that he is not in fact alone in the office. Draco Malfoy sits across the desk from him, looking at her in that smug, contemptuous way of his. "Malfoy."

"Granger." His tone is neutral, but his eyes move briefly over her body before returning to her face.

She looks at Severus, who is looking at Malfoy as though he'd like to use him for potions ingredients. When Severus turns to look back at her, his expression softens. "I'll be finished shortly."

Hermione nods and leaves the office without looking at Draco again. But Draco never takes his eyes from her until the door closes behind her. Severus, who has been watching his godson looking at his wife, feels the twin knives of jealousy and shame twisting in his gut. Jealousy because it is obvious that Draco—handsome, rich, and the right age for her—is still interested in Hermione. Shame because he knows what Draco must think of him—what everyone must think—that he's a besotted fool, believing she cares for him when she's just making the best of a bad situation. She needs his protection, and she's sensible enough to want to make the arrangement as tolerable as possible for the time she needs him. She enjoys the sex, he knows that, but that means nothing—she's curious and intelligent and open-minded, and he's good at it. When he was younger, he studied sex the way he did Potions, determined to compensate in skill for his unfortunate appearance.

When he's with Hermione, these thoughts are easily banished. It's when they're apart that the doubts begin to seep in and poison his thoughts. Now, sitting across the desk from a young man who intends to actively pursue her once she is free from their forced marriage, the doubts consume him.

"You've done well tonight," he says, taking care to keep his tone neutral. "We can continue tomorrow at the same time."

Draco's eyes slide briefly to the door to Severus's quarters before he stands and heads for the door that opens onto the corridor. "Have a pleasant evening, Uncle."

Like both Lucius and Narcissa—like most Slytherins, really, including Severus—Draco is very good at saying a great deal by what he leaves unsaid. Feeling very much like the dirty old man Draco clearly thinks he is, Severus locks his office and returns to his quarters. The light in their bedroom—no, his bedroom, despite the fact that Hermione has made herself at home here for the time being—has been dimmed.

Hermione, lying on what has become her side of the bed, sits up. "Come here."

He looks at her, beautiful and wanton with her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, eyes dark with desire. He wants to rush to her, pounce on her like an animal, ravish her. But instead, he begins untying his cravat. "I will once I've changed and brushed my teeth."

"Now."

He removes his frock coat and hangs it up, then walks to her side of the bed and sits down beside her. "What's the emergency?"

"This." She puts her arms around his neck and kisses him. Her lips are parted, her tongue seeking entrance, which he allows. At first, he lets her set the pace, until something in him ignites and one of his arms circles her waist, pulling her closer as the other slides into that riotous mane of curls that she complains of but he finds intoxicating. He lets himself sink into the kiss, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and beyond it that taste that is simply her, one he's grown to know and to crave. He feels her short nails scrape his scalp as her fingers comb through his hair and he groans.

How did she know that this was what he needed, to feel her desire, let it wash away the worry and uncertainty that plagues him? When he is away from her, he convinces himself that what is between them is ordinary, that it means nothing, that it does not mean that he is the one she wants, only him, no other. When he is with her, like this, he knows better. He knows that she wants him as much as he wants her, and he doesn't give a good goddamn what anyone else thinks. He knows this is real, and that if he has to give her up, it will be like losing a part of his soul.