A/N: I will be updating this, though it will be sporadic. The Five Winters is still my priority. However, once that is complete, updates to this story will become more regular.

Thank you for the great reviews last chapter. Please, keep them up. They encourage me to write. I don't write automatically- I'm not a machine. It DOES take inspiration and motivation to keep them coming out.

Due to the frantic rate in which I have been pouring out chapters for TFW, this story wasn't update for a few weeks.

Thanks to April93 for her awesome beta-ing skills. =) Seriously, she is absolutely amazing. Please give her a round of well-deserved applause.

Please review!

Hermione sat on her bed, Crookshanks on her lap, brooding quietly.

She had not imagined… not even conceived that things might not be as they seemed. But of course—Snape was the consummate Slytherin. Nothing was simple with him, and now that she couldn't talk, he was clearly using her as an outlet for the things that he kept secret. People often needed a way to vent and she was now his metaphorical shoulder to cry on. The entire situation unbelievable and improbable.

And in the space of that one hour in which Hermione's tongue had been sealed—and when she stared at it in the mirror, she could see the black coils that had wrapped themselves around it, giving her tongue thin, black stripes—she had learned more about the man than she could have possibly guessed from her seven years as a student and five months as his teahouse girl.

She no longer wanted to kill him.

In fact, she was now grateful to Crookshanks for staying her hand. She suspected her cat knew more about Snape than she did and had stopped her from murdering a man for crimes he was not guilty of—at least not entirely. He was still a git, still cruel, rough, and forceful with her and very likely his followers. But there were no denying his good qualities, which were starting to outweigh the bad in her opinion.

She no longer wanted to kill him.

What was her purpose now?

She was no longer useful as an informant. She couldn't even warn the Order of Snape's intentions. And she was no longer poised to be his assailant.

She hugged Crookshanks to her chest, eliciting a mew of complaint.

She was not going to kill him.

But when the Order arrived to do so, she was going to have to stop them.

With her tied tongue.

~o~O~o~

As a result of her Silencing, Snape seemed to tell her just about everything. She couldn't revile or reject him, given that he owned her, and he therefore had no compunctions about telling her things as they were. Surprisingly, his advances became more pronounced as a result, and he expected her to be waiting for him with a kiss, as though she were his wife waiting for her husband to return home from work.

She suspected he was using her to satisfy a fantasy. Of Lily? Possibly. Of himself, living a life where he was not the ruler of Britain, but an ordinary man living a normal existence? Most likely. But as always, she acquiesced, and when they were not working, he expected her to be with him, tousling his hair, running her hands along his body, giving him human contact that he had gone from detesting to desiring; with the exception of Lucius, he had absolutely no normal human contact, not with his followers, not with his bodyguards, and not with his subjects. He craved the normalcy she represented. She was his only good vice.

She realized that she was becoming a drug for him; he would indulge himself with her, feeding on their witty conversation, her innuendous touches and sultry smiles, enjoying his immunity from rejection, and otherwise everything else she could offer. Music. Something pretty to look at. Someone to vent to. She was everything he wanted.

His advances were unmistakable, and though Hermione no longer found him as revolting or reviling as she had the first day she'd met him as a customer of the teahouse, she felt she could not break her mask and simply give in to him. Part of her job was to make him want her, and though she was starting to feel guilty about manipulating him so, she would continue to do her work.

The second project was finished about a month after it had started, and Hermione was horribly reminded of precisely what the potion was for. There was no one to test it on except for lab rats, for Snape had no intention of using political prisoners. Umbridge had been disposed of three weeks before by a cellmate who finally snapped and strangled her or he would very likely have used it on her, poetic revenge for the near-fiasco of 1995.

The test on rats were successful, though Hermione was not certain how one could tell if a rat was spilling his deepest secrets as they squeaked their last, and Snape had informed her that he would not be available for a week. Hermione was grateful for the time, for although she enjoyed his company, the down time would help her to collect herself properly.

Seven days passed. The Daily Prophet was running wild stories, something that was most unusual given that Snape's officers kept them rather quiet most of the time, but the gist that Hermione could get was that Walden Macnair had been poisoned. The rest of the stories were merely speculation. Hermione received a letter from Harry and Ron in that span of time, and she felt helpless as she penned her reply.

I have… idea what's going on… probably poison. Don't know precisely why yet. Won't be able to tell for awhile… doesn't travel with Lucius to… teahouse. She was going to use a lot of ellipses and would not be able to write them in direct reference to Snape, but she hoped to at least circumvent part of the spell's restrictions somehow. Situation's been compromised, but cover is still thoroughly intact. Unable to speak freely, but the owls are not being watched. Things are… complicated.

And on the eighth day, her danna returned.

He entered the room after knocking twice, and as soon as the door was securely locked behind him, Hermione had wrapped her arms around his shoulders and was kissing him very thoroughly. She had missed him, but she was also dying to know precisely what happened. He shrugged off his robes, as well as his shirt, and lay down on the bed, chin resting on his arms, and Hermione moved to sit next to him and ease the knotted coils of muscle from his back and shoulders.

The room was silent for several minutes, save for the occasional sound of relief from her danna, before Hermione prompted him to tell her about the potion's success.

"Macnair was getting too bold," Snape mumbled into his arms, eyes half-closed in enjoyment. "And he's caused our relationship with a select few countries to become strained. He was too much of a liability. Japan was getting ready to withdraw their support, but after the poisoning—where he confessed to the recent rapes and murders that occurred there during the timeframe of our international conferences—I was able to point out to the Onishogun that all of the evidence pointed to their country as the culprit. They were very eager to resume relations after that, and I got rid of a troublemaker in the process."

Hermione was stunned by the sneakiness and underhandedness he had displayed. He'd manipulated an entire country at the cost of getting rid of a man who had become a liability and proven himself a burden. Two birds with one well-engineered stone. It was mind-blowing.

And Mulciber had mysteriously vanished during a solo potions-gather expedition on the Isle of Drear.

The number of Snape's officers was dwindling rather quickly, as though they were the last grains of sand in an hourglass.

"The Order will be moving soon," he murmured after turning over on his back and prompting Hermione to prop herself on one elbow so that she could face him properly. "They'll be after my head. Most likely, they'll try to storm Hogwarts if they catch me visiting—all I need to do is appear on Potter's map without my contingent of guards." Musingly, he added, "Lucius knows about the plan. He'll be moving to France, where he's got some strong family and business ties. Draco will likely go with him." He smirked to himself. "The only difficulty will be getting out of Hogwarts alive when the score is about two dozen to one."

"What about me?"

Snape turned to look at her.

"I want you to come with me."

Hermione stroked his cheek. "I wanted to apprentice in Transfiguration or Charms, but I couldn't afford it." Actually, she didn't want to risk Snape seeing her name on the registrar. The contract an apprentice would sign forced them to write their real name. "If I come with you, will you let me help you with your Potions research?"

"For free? Certainly."

"We'll see, then."

~o~O~o~

Snape returned nine days later, in as rotten a mood as she had ever seen him. Hermione could practically see the waves of animosity rolling off of him, and when he entered the room, she actually backed away in fear rather than risk approaching him. This only seemed to foul his mood further, for he reached out a hand for her, summoning her wandlessly from across the room—Hermione felt her feet being dragged across the floor—and while she stumbled to regain her footing, he grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her roughly to him.

"I've spent a week and a half taking care of several distinctly unpleasant situations that have all arisen simultaneously with the Order," he sneered, his left eye twitching as though in pain. Hermione stared up at him, her face a mask of stony fright, though the grip on her arm was painful and she wanted to pull back, get away from him— "I can see it in your eyes that you don't want me here. Why?"

Hermione grimaced as he unconsciously tightened his grip on her arm. The room was hot from the heat of the summer infusing the wood of the teahouse, he was cutting off blood flow in her wrist, and the room was starting to spin just a little. He said something else to her, but Hermione didn't quite catch it, and whimpered in response as his hand tightened yet again.

And then he suddenly let go, causing Hermione to stumble forward unsteadily. She might have hit the floor if he hadn't grabbed her, this time in a less punishing grip.

She closed her eyes, willing the dizziness away, and once she felt steady enough, she opened them to look at Snape, whose expression had gone from enraged to angry but puzzled.

"We really need to talk about you and your habit of holding me in a vice-like grip," she said weakly.

She felt herself be pulled against him again, and this time she welcomed the support, closing her eyes slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He didn't seem to mind entirely, nor did he seem uncomfortable; and when she felt his hands start to wander lower down her back, she encouraged this change of mood, not wanting to be confronted with his rage again. She kissed him, sensuously, having regained her balance and ability for clear thought, and he responded most eagerly.

She felt his hand move to the front of her tokuemon and slip through the open gap, sliding along her belly. "If I agree to keep my temper in check," he drawled, "can I have this?"

"It's always been yours," Hermione replied, her mask of cheekiness once again back in place. "You own me, after all."

"I'm distinctly remembering—"

Hermione silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips, and then pressed her body more firmly against his, trapping his hand in place between them. She stood on her toes, reaching up so that she could nibble on the lobe of his ear, before purring sensuously: "You only have to ask."

Hoping to retain some control over the situation, she began pulling off his robes, undoing the buttons with a kind of ferocity that she knew would turn him on. It did. As soon as his robes hit the floor, and he was able to tug off his boots so that they could join them, it became apparent that for all those years that he had been her professor, the gossipy speculation of the girls up in Gryffindor tower that he probably didn't have a package to speak was shot in the chest and in the head; not only did he have a cock, but he was also eager to use it.

Her tokuemon was ripped off by his hands with little care as to whether they were still intact or not, and Hermione suspected he hadn't even stopped for a single moment to look at her body; his attention was focused on getting her to the bed, but Hermione once again stopped him by pressing a finger to his lips.

"Slow down," she suggested, slowly getting on her knees to undo the flak of his trousers.

"I have no intention of slowing down," he snapped, though his expression had become pensive. "Unless you'd like to give me relief some other way?"

Hermione wasn't exactly eager to put her lips around a man's cock, particularly since she found it far too submissive and demeaning for her liking—how could she get her customers to respect her if all it took was a bit of money for her to kneel before them with their trousers open? She shook her head and took a step back, sitting down on the bed with her legs spread open in an almost casually inviting manner. "No."

He quirked an eyebrow at this statement, but he wasted no time or words while he pulled his trousers down, and then his boxers, and Hermione suddenly felt like prey under his gaze as he stalked over to her. He looked so very determined, and when Hermione scooted backwards on the bed to give him room to sit, she was surprised when he grabbed both of her legs—though she was thankful it was not in a painful grip—and pulled her back toward him.

She hadn't been wearing a bra, which left him with full access to her nipples, one of which he took into his mouth as he wandlessly Vanished her panties, something Hermione sincerely hoped would not become a habit. The lacy underwear she wore while working was a tad more expensive than the plain ones, and Hermione didn't care for having to buy or transfigure more on a regular basis.

He pulled away, giving her a chance to look at him fully. His erection was heavy and swollen with arousal, weeping slightly at the tip, but it was not bigger or more impressive than the others Hermione had invariably encountered, for which she was grateful; contrary to popular belief, bigger was not always better. He didn't ask her if it was alright as he pushed her backwards onto the bed. She felt a finger probe her entrance, and watched as he brought it to his face for inspection, as though checking how aroused she was. And then, as though satisfied with what he saw, he climbed over her and sheathed himself in her without further ceremony.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips as he began pumping into her straightaway, clearly not caring as to how she liked it. It didn't bother her, really, given that all the men she'd encountered so far were selfish as to their sexual wants. Why should Snape be any different? He wasn't here to make love with her, he was here for release. She amusingly thought it lucky that he wasn't into using chains from the dungeons of Hogwarts—even that might be a bit too kinky for her.

She gave a squeak of surprise that he either did not hear or ignored when he began pounding into her with harder, faster strokes. Now that she knew why he had checked for her arousal, she was grateful. Had there been little to no lubrication, it would most certainly hurt, perhaps even cause internal damage, and Hermione was aware that most customers wouldn't have cared a bit for that. Selfish about his wants, but responsible enough to make sure his partner wouldn't get injured in the process. That wasn't too bad, given her situation. Most men wouldn't have bothered.

It was over quickly. It had probably not even lasted a full minute. He gave a grunt, his face twisting into a grimace of pleasure, and Hermione felt him shudder as he emptied himself into her. His cock softened while still in her, and he didn't even bother to pull out as he collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his weight. His body was sweaty, and he was breathing hard from exertion, but Hermione could see a look of bliss calm take possession of his eyes. They were relaxed, half-closed, and as he rested his head on her chest, she managed to wriggle one arm out from under his weight to push a lock of oily hair from his face.

He didn't say a word and Hermione watched his eyes slowly close of their own accord after another minute or two. He was a light sleeper, she knew, and was most likely just dozing. That was another thing she discovered men invariably did; after sex, they either jumped off of her as though burned and prepared to get dressed (though this was the point at which she usually Obliviated them) or they fell asleep right after, without bothering to push themselves off of her.

Snape was thankfully lighter and less bulky than the other men Hermione had solicited. Most of them had been to the build of Viktor Krum without the muscles and athlete's body—stocky in build, and for a small woman like her, very heavy. Snape was wiry and pathetically thin despite the weight he'd put on, which made Hermione suspect that they were marks of starvation as a child and later self-neglect as an adult, perhaps during his years as a spy. But it was to her advantage right now; he was not too heavy for her to lie back comfortably while waiting for him to awaken.

His eyes reopened perhaps fifteen minutes later, and he lifted his head slightly to look up at her.

"Am I too heavy?" Probably the only considerate thing he'd asked her the entire time.

"No," Hermione replied honestly.

He nodded and settled himself back in a resting position.

"I'll be staying the night."

Hermione resisted the urge to giggle at this. Of course he was.

"So I gathered."

~o~O~o~

Hermione was unsurprised when Snape's visits resulted with her lying flat on her back at some time or another. It was a trend that lasted perhaps two weeks before it started to taper off. She wasn't surprised; she was under the impression that he hadn't had sex for years, and given the opportunity presented now, it seemed he wanted to make up for lost pleasure. She couldn't blame him.

She predictably found him most vulnerable after sex. He would be sleepy, his guard would be down, and his wand would be in the pocket of his robes, in a heap on the other side of the room. Hermione also suspected his reaction time would be cut, too, if he was as boneless and sated as he looked.

On one occasion, she had wriggled out from underneath him, convinced him to roll over onto his back, and rested on top of him, observing the calm, almost peaceful expression on his face. She still didn't know what to do with herself anymore; Harry and Ron's most recent letters expressed their concern at her inexplicable situation. And as the mental hourglass that she had conjured for the time of Snape's regime was running out, she wasn't certain what she would do once the war was over. She had done her job. She had spied, seduced, assisted in murder, and become emotionally attached to her danna in a way that was unbusinesslike.

She didn't love him. That was what she told herself. He was a selfish, temperamental man. But there was no denying that she liked the picture he'd painted—prospering on some remote island and living a life in the pursuit of knowledge, with his company. Hermione could not imagine life after the war. Ron still wanted to make a go of things, but Hermione couldn't see it working out. She would never be able to treat Ron as more than just another patron, and she couldn't imagine living the rest of her life pretending that there was more. With Snape, she was no longer acting. The mask and the real face underneath were fusing together most uncomfortably, and Hermione didn't know how to stop it.

She had managed to stay somewhat detached up until now. After discovering his real role in the war, she had become genuinely sympathetic to his feelings and understood him better. She had barely known the other men she'd encountered and afterwards, had Obliviated them. She rarely, if ever, saw them again, and if she did, she never engaged them. This was entirely different, and she had been unable to remain emotionally distant.

She was aware of reasons why she was feeling very charitable toward her danna. Endorphins and chemicals such as oxytocin were probably among the top culprits, and she suspected it was similar for Snape. There was also the fact that she found him, both in personality and intelligence, to be a very engaging man. She suspected that had she been younger, more naïve, she might have fancied herself in love. However, there was nothing romantic about their liaison. She was not as disillusioned as to the reality of the situation.

Which was why she found herself in such an untenable situation to begin with.

She was twenty-three. She wasn't too old to become an apprentice, but things would have gone much more favourably had she found a master to take her on right out of school. She couldn't imagine being a part of the Wizarding World as she had known it as a child. What would she do—get a job at the Ministry of Magic, assuming they still had a Ministry? Work at an Apothecary? Become a Healer at St. Mungos? Be a teacher? She couldn't imagine any of those things anymore. SPEW? That was laughable.

Her life would be turned upside-down. The Order would become the leading political party of Britain and pick up where Snape left off, make a few changes to his laws, and life would settle down at last. The Prophet would go wild, people would want interviews from the great Harry Potter and his friends on how they had saved the Wizarding World for good, and Hermione would never get a moment's peace. She would never be judged on her own merits. And the world would never know the truth, the complexity, about the man who would be written in history as the Tyrant who succeeded the Dark Lord.

She would be expected to marry Ron. It kept coming down to that. The press would make a big deal out of it. The Weasley family would celebrate it. The world would take their marriage to be a good omen. And Hermione would mourn what could have been.

She looked down at Snape's sleepy face.

If she knew Harry and Ron as well as she thought she did, she suspected they would become Aurors for a time, help Kingsley or whoever was planning to take the mantle of Minister keep the country stable, use their press influence to encourage the people into returning to a normal life, and then promptly retire to play Quidditch and start a family of their own. It sounded precisely like what they would do. They had a future. Hermione didn't like the one she knew would be waiting for her.

You already told us that he comes without Malfoy anymore—if you can keep working on him, six months from now, we can kill him.

Four months to go.

The clock was ticking.

The Wizarding World was waiting.

Hermione suddenly found herself flat on her back, her musing brought to an abrupt halt, as Snape rolled them over and ground himself against her, making it very clear he was waiting for a response from her on other matters.

Hermione smiled before reaching up to kiss him.

~o~O~o~

"I hate summer," Snape muttered two weeks later as he shrugged off his robes. "Gods, woman, haven't you got Air-Cooling Spells?"

Hermione grinned mischievously as she greeted him with a kiss. Pulling back, she added as innocently as she could muster, "But if you're cold, you won't take your robes off."

"Don't be foolish," he growled, casting the spells himself. The room instantly cooled by twenty degrees, making it distinctly more comfortable. "I always take them off." Tossing them aside, he reached into the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a small, unadorned white box and handed it to her. "We will begin another project today. But first—your payment."

Hermione took the box and opened it. Sifting aside the cotton, she pulled out a silver chain, which slithered out of the box like scales before ending in a large, curved tooth that was topped with a pointed, silver cap. The tooth itself was perhaps two and a half inches long, and three centimetres down from the base, the tooth had been encrusted with tiny emeralds the size of a child's smallest fingernail. She looked up at him, awaiting an explanation.

"Japan was very eager to amend international relations," Snape said, smirking. "Basilisks have rows of smaller teeth in the back of their mouth besides their four prominent front fangs. The tooth you see here is one such tooth that was taken from the infamous beast that was found in Yamanouchi."

"I've heard of it," Hermione said, turning the tooth over in her hand, remembering the same Basilisk tooth she and Ron had used to destroy the Horcrux in Hufflepuff's Cup. The venom in this tooth would still be potent, which was why it had a silver cap charmed to stick solidly to it. "The Basilisk that was using the monkeys living near the hot springs as its personal feeding grounds for five hundred years until it finally got taken care of by a Japanese warlock—and then the Monkeys began using the hot springs regularly again."

"Basilisk parts are very rare, given their creation is illegal internationally except in parts of Africa, and they take hundreds of years to mature," Snape lectured, taking the necklace from her and undoing the clasp. "This was one of the few pieces that still remained in Japan's international wizarding collection until now. The others were initially bought or stolen as ingredients, or, like this one, given away." Placing the chain around her neck, he added, "The cap will only come off in response to the owner's intention. However, I don't suggest sleeping with it—it could still poke you."

"Of course," Hermione said, stepping back to examine herself in the mirror hanging above her dresser. In truth, the entire piece was very pretty. But Hermione's mind was focusing on the implications that the cap could be taken off. It meant this could be used as a weapon. Snape was giving her a weapon. Snape, who feared constantly for his life, trusted her enough to give her a tool for killing that had only one very rare, very select antidote. "This is a very generous gift. Thank you."

"It was useless to me with the jewels in it," Snape replied dismissively. "It can't be used for potions now." His eyes glittered appreciatively at her. "But it does look rather becoming on you."

He stalked around her like a panther observing its companion with wary respect, before stopping in front of her.

"There is another matter to attend to, other than our upcoming third project." His face morphed into a sneer, but almost immediately subsided. "Lucius's birthday is in a month, and would like for you and your sister—Mitsuki, was it?—to sing. In short, he has asked that you be present as entertainment."

Hermione didn't mind a chance to sing for Lucius again. But there was something in Severus's tone that caught her attention. "Why, Severus, I do believe that you are jealous!"

"You're mine," he replied coolly. "I don't like sharing."

"Look at it this way," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It's not like he wants me for the same reasons you do. He only wants music."

"I wouldn't be too certain about that," he muttered, turning away sullenly.

"He has never attempted to solicit me before," Hermione reassured him, moving to nuzzle her nose with his. She pressed her body firmly against his, a move that always elicited a reaction from him. "Not even before you became my danna. And if he did, I would refuse."

Snape's eyes closed slightly, his breathing becoming slightly heavier with arousal. "He knows that you are more than just an investment—that you've gone beyond that. He teases me about it every chance he gets."

"Boys do that," she told him firmly, peppering his neck with open-mouthed kisses. "Men do the same. I have a feeling that if he had designs on me, he wouldn't be discussing me with you. He's a smart man, Lucius. The only reason you suspect him is because he's acting as though he has nothing for you to be suspicious of." Smirking at him, she added, "Surely you've teased him about Mrs. Malfoy from time to time?"

"I never dared to when they first married, and I haven't had any inclination to do so now." Snape's hands were now pulling at the sash holding Hermione's tokuemon in place around her waist. "Although I must admit that it is not Lucius I am worried about. He's a Slytherin, but also a loyal friend. We don't touch each others' property." Pulling her arms free of the sleeves, baring her to him, he added, "It is Draco I am worried about."

"What about him?" Hermione said as she reached for his hand, holding his fingers to her lips so that she could suckle them one at a time.

"Draco has no such compunctions," he rumbled, pulling his arm free of one sleeve while the rest of his shirt hung scrunched up on the arm that was currently being held in Hermione's possession. His eyes closed at the sensation of her tongue scraping across the pads of his fingers. "You are property that can still be bought, and though Lucius has done his utmost to discourage him, he is an adult and quite capable of paying enough to have you for one night."

"I wouldn't accept," Hermione replied immediately, pulling away from his fingers so that he could slide the rest of his shirt off. The upper part of her tokuemon had fallen t her legs, still held messily in place by the sash which had not been entirely undone, revealing her upper body in its curved glory. "I have no interest in Draco Malfoy."

"He still wants you," Snape said, his face twisting into a sneer. "He had your sister, Mitsuki, and claims that not only does he want the complete collection, but that you remind him of his classmate, Granger."

Oh, God. "If he hates Granger as much as you claim he does, I have doubts that he would be gentle with me," Hermione told him truthfully, trailing her hands along his belly in a maddeningly slow pattern. "I can't be bought by Draco. I will sing for Lucius, and as he had been a long-time and faithful customer here, I will sing for him as best I can. But Draco—forgive me—will have to look elsewhere for entertainment."

Snape's sneer deepened. "He is not used to being refused."

"Then it will be a learning experience for him," Hermione replied haughtily. "Lucius knows my reputation—even before you, I did not make a habit of taking men to my bed on a whim, and never to my room." Cupping his growing erection in her hands and squeezing it invitingly, she added, "Tell Draco that he is to stay away from me under no uncertain terms."

"Do you think I haven't?" he growled, grabbing her shoulders in a tight grip, though without the punishing force that he had used on previous occasions. "However, I have reasonable doubts as to whether he will listen to me."

"If he asks, I will refuse," Hermione said, undoing the flak of his trousers with one hand. She had been resistant at first, but Snape had insisted, and she now sucked him off if he made it clear that he wanted it. She was grateful, at least, that he didn't seem to gloat about it. "If he persists, I will hex him. If he disarms me," Hermione continued, bending down to press a kiss to his uncovered balls, making him jump slightly, "I will wreck his pretty face with my bare hands. That is my final word on the matter."

Snape groaned. "You are a vicious thing."

Hermione smiled against him, and then took his cock into her mouth.

~o~O~o~

We managed to lure him out two weeks ago—we almost got him. There's something wrong with his left eye, I'm sure of it, Harry's next letter wrote. It's the same eye I injured the last time we fought. I think I managed to hit it again, but I'm not certain—he fled pretty quickly. I know you're in a difficult situation, but can you at least tell me if I blinded him?

Hermione stared at the letter in her hand. Severus had not been to see her in two weeks.

Frantically, she pulled out another sheet of parchment and began writing a response.

What had Harry done?