A/N: Thanks to Meladara, for getting this to me on such a tight schedule!

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

"The Present has passed—the Past has gone!
The Future will come—once Two become One."

-Matthew Skelton

It was the last day of Easter break, which had been surprisingly quiet. No more fireworks had been set off, but if you walked through the wrong door, you might occasionally come across a flying, sparkling pig gone feral or a lone whiz-bang still rocketing through its last moments. All in all, the castle had fallen eerily silent. Yet, despite the odd quiet, Harry and Ron finally seemed to notice that something was amiss. They had gone through the castle searching for her, had reportedly questioned her roommates if they had seen her, and finally checked with Professor McGonagall to see if she was on the list of students who had signed up to leave Hogwarts for the week-long holiday.

From her hidden observation, Hermione could see that the two of them had gone from annoyed to worried and had finally reached distraught over the next two days. Minerva had made a show of double-checking her list, and voicing suggestions on Hermione's whereabouts, she finally dismissed their concerns, telling them that if Granger didn't show up for supper, she would look into the matter more thoroughly. Harry and Ron both readily agreed to this, and Hermione could see why: They were still under the delusion that she might have simply ensconced herself an obscure corner of the library and not yet surfaced.

Yet, it was clear that her two best friends were trying to keep her disappearance quiet, for they were especially mum about what they were skulking around the castle for when confronted by Filch, Umbridge, or a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"We're just taking a walk," Ron sniped at Malfoy when the blond-haired Slytherin had intercepted the two of them, no doubt itching to write them up for a petty infraction and point-loss. "Not a crime, is it?"

Malfoy had managed to dock them twenty points for that, but at that juncture, neither of them seemed to particularly care. As Hermione followed them a few feet behind, Disillusioned and perfectly silent, she could see that they were growing increasingly concerned by her absence.

"Maybe if we check the library one more time," Harry muttered.

"Nah, we must've checked it a thousand times by now," Ron said in an undertone. "And Pince is starting to give us that look. Next time we go in, she might chase us out."

"And we already asked her if she'd seen Hermione," Harry said, sounding defeated. "She hasn't left for the holiday, and she's nowhere to be found." He exchanged worried looks with Ron. "Do you—you don't reckon something's happened to her, do you?"

"I don't see how," Ron said. "When was the last time any of us saw her, anyway?"

She watched Harry scratch the back of his head and frown. His eyebrows knit together a moment later, as though he had come up with the answer, and didn't like it. "I haven't spoken to her since the night we were caught. I just assumed she was around when Fred and George were setting off fireworks and went off to find a book to read in the middle of the mess, but… I haven't actually seen her."

She watched Ron work his jaw a bit for a moment, and then he said, "When I got back to the common room after escaping the Inquisitorial Squad, I thought she might have already gone up to bed— but I haven't seen her since we split up, after Dobby warned us."

"No one saw her come back to the common room?"

Ron shook his head.

"Have any of us checked the Room of Requirement?" he asked suddenly. "She might have gone back there—maybe she found something useful and lost track of the time."

"For two weeks?" Harry asked skeptically.

Ron scoffed. "She knows where the kitchens are. She could have snuck down for food. Maybe she found something really important—"

"More important than class and homework?" Harry asked, folding his arms.

"Well, we already found out that school isn't always her number one priority," Ron pointed out. "She agreed to do the DA because of that, didn't she? So maybe," he continued, carried away by the comfort of his building narrative, "she decided to skip class, up through Easter break, and avoid Umbridge and Filch by nipping down to the kitchens for food."

Harry rubbed his scar with the palm of his hand, thinking. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Still," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "why don't you check the Room of Requirement? I'll go down to the kitchens. It's worth a shot, anyhow."

He turned on his heels, now walking in her direction as Ron disappeared down the next corridor. Hermione waited until Harry was about to pass her, and then whipped out her wand in one hand, and wrapped her arm around Harry's neck in a chokehold with the other, the tip of her vinewood wand digging into the underside of his chin.

"Don't say a word," she whispered. "Or if you must, keep your voice down."

"Wh-who are you?" Harry asked, his words strained. She saw his hand itching toward his wand and without further hesitation, plucked it from his pocket. He tried to grab at it, and he was nearly as tall as she was now, but she kept it out of reach, with her own wand holding him at bay.

"Give me a moment." Hermione grabbed him by the back of his robes, and began half dragging, half leading him down the corridor, until they reached the door leading to the room of staircases. There was an empty classroom nearby, and she pulled him inside, bolting the door shut before turning her wand onto herself.

Harry had yanked himself away at the soonest opportunity, and his face seemed torn between suspicion and surprise as he watched the Disillusionment Charm melt away. She had considered charming her hair black, as she often did for a disguise, but settled instead for pulling it back in a chignon, masking just how long and curly it really was.

She held up his wand.

"If I give you this, will you hex me?"

Harry shook his head, his mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish out of water as he took in her appearance. "You—you're—"

"I'm your godmother," Hermione said, dropping the holly and phoenix-feather wand into Harry's limp, outstretched hand. "I still can't tell you my name, I'm afraid. Feel free to simply call me Professor."

"That's what everyone calls you," Harry choked. "What are you doing here? Why now?"

"Because I can," Hermione said, straightening up to her full height, her expression neutral and passive. After twenty years apart from her best friend, and disguised as someone he didn't know very well, she wasn't exactly sure about how warm—or forthcoming—she should be to him. "However, right now, I'm here for a specific purpose: to teach you Occlumency."

Harry balked. "I—I've got the basics down," he muttered, instinctively refusing to meet her eyes with the realization that she must also be a Legilimens. "I don't need any more lessons. Snape—"

"—threw you out. He didn't declare you competent," Hermione said, leaning against one of the desks, arms folded. She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "And furthermore, you haven't been practicing."

Harry stiffened. He opened his mouth to give an excuse, but Hermione cut him off.

"I'm going to do something everyone else has been putting off for years," she said, fixing him with a serious gaze, but there was a hidden glint of something Harry couldn't quite decipher in her eyes. "I'm going to treat you like an adult. You've been complaining about how everyone's keeping secrets from you all year, haven't you?" she asked, slowly getting to her feet. She began to circle around the room. "They just tell you to keep your head down, don't get into trouble, don't worry about what the Dark Lord is up to," she said, ticking each item off with her fingers. "And, of course, to try and keep said Dark Lord out of your head. Am I correct?"

Harry's green eyes finally snapped up to meet hers. "Yeah," he said at last. "That's right."

Hermione came to a halt before him. "Harry," she said at last, her expression warm, "I know you. You're not the kind of person who sits around and does nothing when something needs to be done, and you don't shy away from a challenge."

Harry was gazing at her with rapt attention.

Hermione held a finger to her lips. "You've been wondering what the Weapon the Order keeps talking about all year is, haven't you?"

His eyes widened, and for a moment, she suspected he had forgotten how to breathe. And then he seemed to remember that she was waiting for an answer and quickly nodded.

"The reason no one has told you—and you, especially—is largely due to the unique, mental link you share with the Dark Lord," Hermione said quietly. "The Order's spent all year trying to keep any knowledge of it secret from him."

She saw Harry's eyes widen in understanding and ran with her advantage.

"But I've convinced Dumbledore—and the rest of the Order, for that matter—"

"Wait," Harry blurted. "They knew about you? All of them? The teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—they knew? All this time?"

Hermione nodded.

"O-okay," Harry said, but Hermione could tell this did not sit right with him. He was upset. "I mean—go on. You said you convinced them…?"

"They're willing to let me tell you about the Weapon, provided you develop the Occlumency skills to protect that information."

Harry gaped at her. She watched him absorb this revelation, not quite believing it, yet knowing perfectly well that she was being entirely honest and reasonable. He had no reason to not believe her; Sirius had said nothing but good things about her, and he had recognized her on sight.

"Does this—I mean—I won't have to continue taking lessons with Snape, will I?" he asked, almost warily.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "And if you do?" she asked, her tone perfectly casual.

She watched Harry weigh the situation. The possibility of information at the price of more 'remedial potions' with his most hated instructor took but a moment to balance; curiosity inevitably won out, and she watched his jaw set in determination.

"Alright," he said. "When do I start?"

Hermione pointed at the door. "Whenever you're ready to brave the dungeons," she said, offering him a slight quirk of a smile.

Harry grinned. For the first time since the fiasco with Dumbledore leaving, he looked genuinely happy, aside from the elation he had experienced when Fred and George's magnificent fireworks had run amok.

"One last question. Can I tell Ron?"

~o~O~o~

Severus's face broke into the scowl he reserved especially for Harry when Hermione opened the door to his office, revealing the Boy-Who-Lived to her irate husband. He took one look at the both of them, and then shoved aside the essays he had been bleeding red ink over and got to his feet.

"Well?" he asked snidely, as he retrieved his wand. "Managed to convince Potter to come back, did you?"

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him. "You did agree," she said, retrieving her own wand. "Did you put the Pensieve away—properly, this time?"

Severus fixed Harry with a glare that suggested he wanted nothing better than to throw him out again, but then his expression turned oddly blank, cold and neutral. He inclined his head in a short jerk of assent, and then gave her a look that suggested his patience was running thin, and that she had better move this session along, and quickly.

It was all an act, of course. Or rather, for the most part. They weren't truly upset with each other, but their reactions were no less real. As always, there was a method to Hermione's madness. She turned to look at Harry, folding her arms across her chest.

"Harry, how would you describe Professor Snape right now?"

"I... what?" Harry asked, eyeing the Potions master warily.

"How would you describe him?" Hermione prompted again. "Cheerful? Content?"

At this, Severus let out a contemptuous snort of disbelief, and Harry actually blanched. "Er—no. He looks like he wants to hex me into horned toad and use me for potions," he muttered, not quite meeting the other man's gaze, but not backing down.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I'd agree. But despite the fact that he looks arguably angry enough to perhaps do you bodily harm, would you say he's got his temper well in hand right now?"

Harry looked at her as though she were off her rocker.

"What I mean," Hermione said, placing a hand on Severus's shoulder, "is that despite the fact that he's absolutely furious with you—I'd even say your presence alone raises his blood to decent bathwater temperature—you could hardly tell that just by looking at him."

Harry squinted his eyes, as though looking closely, but Hermione knew he was thinking carefully. "I suppose," he said at last. "I mean, you're probably a lot angrier than you look—sir," he added, addressing Severus with reluctant respect, no doubt trying to cool the bad blood between them enough for him to get some decent Occlumency lessons.

"You would be correct, Potter," Severus replied quietly. There was still bite to his voice, but he was at least affecting a tone of cordiality. "The reason she's asking you to observe this is because—as I've told you often enough—you must learn to control your emotions and not wear your heart on your sleeve."

Harry swallowed. "Fine," he said.

Hermione waved a hand. "Not to worry," she said. "If I were sadistic enough, I'd try to train you in Occlumency by having Professor Snape here verbally antagonize you while you try to defend yourself, or I'd teach you the same way Mad-Eye and Kingsley taught me, but I think that would be a tad extreme."

"You trained with them?" Harry asked, both impressed and surprised.

"I spent a summer learning to duel, fight off Unforgivables, and protect my mind from magical attack," Hermione told him cheerfully. "I also had a part-time job down at the Three Broomsticks while all of this was going on, but I suppose that's a tad irrelevant."

Severus suddenly jerked his head around to look at her. "So that's where you learned Occlumency!" he snapped. "You never told me!"

"Slipped my mind," Hermione said innocently. "You never told me where you learned to duel, either."

"Yes, well, I certainly didn't learn it from a pair of Aurors," Severus said, and there was a slightly sullen sulk to his tone. "If I'd known, I'd have never…"

"I did apologize for breaking your leg."

Severus waved it away with a dismissive flick of his wand. "Get to the point. I'm still curious as to how you plan to train a Gryffindor incompetent in the art of Occlumency."

Hermione steepled her fingers together. "I'm going to demonstrate what happens between a person performing Legilimency, and someone using Occlumency," she said, now addressing Harry. "Afterwards, I'm going to give you a piece of information—before you ask, yes, about the Weapon," she added, seeing the hopeful look on Harry's face. "And you'll take turns attempting to defend your mind against the two of us, but the whole time, your focus will be solely on protecting that one piece of information."

Harry seemed reluctant to ask, but he did anyway. "Why? I thought the point was to stop Vol—"

Severus let out a sound like an angry snake, and Harry quickly changed tracks. "—Know-Who from getting into my mind."

"It is, Harry," Hermione agreed, "but I've decided we're going to start small. I've noticed you do your best when you're focusing on something important to you, and since you don't seem to think the integrity of your mind is worth giving your full effort…"

"That's not it!"

"Oh?" Severus sneered. "Then do enlighten us, Potter, on the reason for the abysmal results of several weeks' worth of lessons."

Harry glared at him but managed to bite back a retort. "Vol—You-Know-Who attacked Mr. Weasley—"

Severus scowled. "We've been over this before," he ground out, but Hermione cut him off.

"He also became aware of your presence in his mind that night, too," Hermione told him calmly. "Next time you take a stroll through that mental link of yours, he'll quite likely be able to turn it around on you."

"And do what?" Harry asked, almost belligerently.

"Control you," Severus said, his voice low. "Possession, Potter! Or have you forgotten what he did to Miss Weasley to get her to open the Chamber of Secrets? She thought their connection was perfectly benign until it was too late to break it."

This seemed to startle Harry, and Hermione suspected he hadn't quite thought of it that way before. He looked ready to protest, but Hermione held up her hand.

"Regardless, we will start small," she iterated. "If Harry shows improvement, we'll increase the challenge and reward him with more information. Rinse and repeat." She turned and leveled her wand at Severus. "Ready?"

The man across her let out a low hiss of disbelief, as though he couldn't believe he was willingly subjecting himself to his, but then she saw his features stiffen as they always did when he had pulled up his inner walls. "Yes."

"Very well. Watch closely, Harry. Watch how he comports himself. Legilimens!"

~o~O~o~

Despite his distaste for the situation as a whole, finding himself in Snape's office, once again preparing to subject his mind to the exercises that would leave his head aching and scar prickling when he left, Harry couldn't help but watch Snape carefully as his Godmother turned her wand on him. Snape hardly moved a muscle in response, and his eyes were black and empty of emotion. They were cool, if not calculating, as the Professor entered his mind. By all appearances he looked relaxed, as though the Professor was merely pretending to turn her wand at him, but Harry was starting to notice the faint signs. The stiffness. The tightness. How controlled he was.

Five minutes into the exercise, far longer than Harry had ever lasted, Snape's brows suddenly furrowed, as though he had run into difficulty. Then a tic in his jaw twitched, and Harry watched Snape's fingers clench, the way they often did when he was itching to strangle someone. Harry's eyes broke away from Snape long enough to turn to his godmother, and he realized her hand was holding her wand so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

And then they broke apart. The Professor recoiled, as if struck, and Snape was panting.

"I suppose I deserved that," his godmother said weakly, rubbing her temple. "You've been waiting for an opportunity to use that for years, haven't you?"

"Serves you right," Snape muttered. "It's the same trick you used on me the first time."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, utterly bewildered by their exchange.

The Professor opened her mouth, but it was Snape who answered first. "It's a form of mental retaliation I've only ever seen her use." Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining the almost admiring, if slightly sullen look Snape threw his godmother. "Imagine, if you will, someone sticking their head through your kitchen window—eventually, you'll have enough of their neck that you can bring a cleaver down on them."

Harry visibly flinched at the macabre description.

The Professor winced. "It leaves the victim with a bit of a headache, but—I've always thought—it served them right." She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, as though trying to ward off the last of the pain, and then straightened once more. "Now you're going to give it a try."

Instinctively, Harry readied his wand, but Hermione shook her head.

"Mental exercises only, Harry," she chided. "Protego, while effective, isn't what we're after."

It was with reluctance that Harry slowly slid his wand back into his pocket. Calm your mind, he told himself, his traitorous heart beating even faster as though in defiance of the command. You can do this…

The Professor leaned over to whisper into his ear.

"The Weapon is a prophecy," she murmured. "Take a moment to hide that away."

Harry closed his eyes. A Prophecy? Like in Divination? It's rubbish, but then there was that Prophecy Professor Trelawney made at the end of third year—no, don't think about that now. Hide it! He frantically tried to push all knowledge of the Weapon—the Prophecy—from his mind. I wonder what it says… no!

"On my mark, Harry. Three… two… one—"

The last thing he saw before his mind was invaded was Snape's smug, self-satisfied sneer. As though he already knew Harry was going to fail.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Legilimens!"

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—Anubis Ankh