A/N: I've been in Costa Rica for a week. Did you know that there are scorpions the size of a human hand that like to roam kitchens? It's fun to come into the kitchen one morning, only to hear someone screaming, "Kill it! Kill it!" Heh.

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review!

Morning found Hermione sitting at the kitchen table with Florean and a cup of tea. Kreacher had set out some of his best biscuits for the both of them, and the two were quietly munching away while they waited for the house to awaken. Severus and Selenius were still upstairs with Crookshanks. Ollivander had been put up in one of the guest bedrooms, and was still resting. Sirius had left to have words with Dumbledore after Hermione arrived, leaving her to ensure that everyone remained comfortable.

What might have otherwise been an awkward and uncomfortable silence was broken by Florean's explanation of the past eighteen months.

"I got away with Ollivander when we were attacked two summers ago," he said. "When I discovered that everyone thought I was dead, I realized it was the best chance of hiding, you see."

"They found a body," Hermione answered, setting down her teacup. "Obviously not yours, of course."

"It's probably the brute that broke into my place," Florean replied, scratching the side of his newly-healed nose. "They were after me, too. That's why Ollivander and I decided we'd make ourselves scarce. We've been living up in the mountains, using abandoned Muggle homes and caves."

"How'd the Snatchers find you?" Hermione asked, as she reached for another ginger newt.

Florean chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Ollivander and I had a lot of time on our hands to try and figure out why You-Know-Who was after us," he said. "I had a few theories, and decided to pay West Country a visit. We were in Godric's Hollow when one of them recognized Ollivander."

Hermioned chewed her lower lip. Had Voldemort set a trap for Harry there after the Ministry fiasco, and unwittingly ensnared these two instead?

"Why Godric's Hollow?" Hermione asked, dipping her newt into her tea before taking a bite.

"History has always fascinated me, I must admit," Florean said, and Hermione could tell that there was quite a bit of pride behind this statement. "I thought we might find something there."

"And you thought you might find something there?" Hermione asked curiously.

Florean shook his head. "It was a wasted trip," he said.

"What do you think You-Know-Who wanted to do with you and Ollivander?"

"What would he want with a historian and wand-maker, you mean?" Florean clarified. He took a deep gulp of tea, and then set the mug down with a sigh. "Ollivander and I think he was after a wand. There's a legend about a powerful wand made of Elder wood—very old, mostly lost in legend, and one of a kind. It's the only thing that makes sense, you see. Perhaps he was hoping we would know where to find it."

Hermione's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Florean was unusually well-versed in history, if he and Ollivander were able to discern Voldemort's intentions with such accuracy. She was impressed.

"And if he'd asked you, would you have been able to tell him?"

Florean shook his head. "I could have told him who probably last had it," he said, "but I couldn't tell who has it now. It was either Livius or Arcus who had it," he added, seeing Hermione's querying look. "Ollivander and I had a grand debate over who it was, and I'm quite convinced it was Arcus." Seeing her confusion, he clarified, "This was after the death of Loxias. No one's quite certain who killed him, as even his own mother tried to take credit for it."

Hermione snorted into her tea at this in surprise. "Oh, dear."

"Ollivander thinks it was Livius. Who really took it, and who inherited it after, neither of us can begin to guess."

Kreacher re-appeared at that moment with a plate of ham-and-bacon sandwiches, and Hermione watched as Florean eagerly helped himself to one. After being on the run for nearly two years, it was no wonder that the sight of good food made him light up like a child at Christmas. Hermione sipped her tea in silence as he worked his way through the first sandwich, and then continued her questioning.

"And… yesterday?"

Florean wiped his mouth with a napkin. "We were taken to the Malfoys' Wiltshire residence," he began. "Ollivander and I had already taken a bit of a beating from the Snatchers, but when they weren't looking, I tried to take one of their wands. That got the both of us knocked out for a bit." He looked Hermione straight in the eye. "When I woke up, it was to find your husband trying to fight off You-Know-Who's giant snake."

Hermione swallowed. When Sirius had summoned her to Tine Cottage, she had been shocked at the damage done to him— two long, jagged piercings in his left shoulder. It had probably scraped the bone.

"And what did you do?"

"I kicked the snake across the face," Florean said without prevarication. "And then he kicked it—it died shortly after that, I'm not sure why."

"Severus was meant to poison it," Hermione murmured.

"I don't understand," Florean said, and Hermione could see that his knuckles had turned white against the mug. "Your husband was a Death Eater. And yet…"

Hermione shook her head. "Severus was a spy," she said quietly. It felt good to tell Fortescue this, now that there was no longer a need for such secrecy. "We were already planning to quietly get rid of Nagini by poisoning her. But when you were brought in…" she gave him a tiny smile. "He was already planning to blow his cover by killing Nagini—I suspect he decided to take you two with him for good measure."

Florean leaned over his tea, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that his eyes were closed.

"Your husband saved my life," he whispered. "Thank you."

Hermione shook her head.

"You saved him, too," she said with quiet sincerity. "Most would have left him behind, but you took him with you. And for that, I won't ever be able to repay you."

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione got to her feet.

"This house is Secret-Kept by myself, Severus, and Sirius Black," she said. "You'll be safe here, and you're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

~o~O~o~

Hermione peeled away the last of the bandages on her husband's shoulder and examined the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but as they had failed to apply dittany in time, there would be scarring. She placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder, simply glad that he was alive and well. His arm and upper body was still a bit stiff and swollen in some places, limiting his range of motion. Fortunately, given that he was right-handed, he could still use his wand.

Selenius was sitting cross-legged on the bed with Crookshanks curled up on his lap, waiting for his mother's verdict. When Hermione did not re-apply the bandages, his worried expression morphed into a smile of hope.

"So he's going to be okay?"

"I shall be fine," Severus replied quietly. He raised his hand to his left shoulder, tentatively placing his fingers on the wound. "Assuming your mother ever lets me leave."

"Bed rest was what you needed, Severus," Hermione said unrepentantly, as she helped her husband into his white-sleeved shirt and began rolling up the cuffs. She had kept him confined for the last two days. "You can return to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"The Headmaster has said he would like a word with me."

"That will have to wait until I've had a word with him, first," Hermione said staunchly.

Severus's lips quirked up at this ever so slightly; Albus Dumbledore would undoubtedly be furious at Severus's open defection, but he had done it on Hermione's orders, and it would be Hermione who would face his wrath. His wife wasn't about to leave him hanging.

Then they both turned to their son.

"Selenius, you mustn't let on that you know what happened last Friday," Hermione said quietly. "You must act as surprised as anyone else."

"I know," Selenius said, his voice barely audible. His arms were wrapped so tightly around Crookshanks' middle that it was a wonder that the cat could still breathe, but the half-kneazle was tolerating it.

"I'm aware that you are used to things being said about your father," Hermione continued quietly, rubbing her husband's uninjured arm comfortingly. "But there are things that might be said that you will be tempted to refute. You must not give anyone reason to think you have a particular interest—"

"I know, mum."

"Alright." Hermione leaned over to kiss the top of his head. Crookshanks batted at her face lightly, as though to remind her he was there. "Say good-bye to your father—you'll see him tomorrow in class."

Selenius hugged her, and then released her to gingerly hug his father's right side. Severus's uninjured arm came around to return the gesture, and he pressed his lips to his son's hair.

"Be good. Don't react."

"I won't," Selenius said quietly. "I'm proud of you, Dad."

~o~O~o~

Word travelled quickly around Hogwarts, and Harry had no choice but to admire the speed with which news jumped from person to person. He had to admire it in the same way he would warily note the various ways in which a Blast-Ended Skrewt could cause pain. The Slytherins were the first to be notified of Snape's defection, the Ravenclaws second. The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors found out at about roughly the same time. By the time breakfast had concluded on Monday, it was all over the school.

"I didn't even know he was a Death Eater!" Ernie Macmillian said quickly, stopping by the Gryffindor table before class. "But Michael Corner says he killed You-Know-Who's snake, and word has it he helped Ollivander get away." He took a deep breath, having run out of air to speak, but was interrupted by Neville.

"Did you know Florean Fortescue was still alive?"

"Is he? That's one of the other rumors going around—that he was brought in with Ollivander. He's the wand-maker you know, the one who disappeared—"

"Yes, Ernie, we all know who Ollivander is," Ginny interjected dryly.

"Yes, but where is he now?"

Harry chanced a glance up at the staff table. Snape was sitting in his usual spot at the end of the table, with Hermione on his other side. He looked utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was the subject of conversation, either surveying them with his usual sneer of disdain, or ignoring them in favor of finishing his meal. He acted as though nothing had happened at all.

Selenius was picking at his food, saying nothing, but it was very obvious to Harry that he was listening to every word.

"I don't know why the Ministry hasn't arrested him," Parvati said in a hushed voice. "I mean, it doesn't matter if he's defected, does it? He's still a Death Eater."

"Well, they probably have a good reason for it," Harry said, thinking that Scrimgeour's good reason was probably the bushy-haired woman sitting to Snape's right. "They've no proof that he's done anything except kill Nagini, and they're not exactly going to arrest him for that are they?"

"I don't know when he'd have time to go off and be a Death Eater," Ron said, making a face. "Lunch breaks, maybe?"

Harry saw Selenius snort into his food with surprise.

"It's still wrong," Lavender insisted, from her side of the table. "Letting a Death Eater teach at Hogwarts. We always knew there wasn't something right about him—didn't he try to poison Neville, once?"

"No," Neville said miserably. "He tried to poison my toad."

"It was a brave toad," Selenius said, his expression not changing one whit.

Neville turned to look at Selenius, looking rather pained.

Ginny's eyes traveled between the second-year and seventh-year, frowning in confusion. "Whatever happened to Trevor, anyway?"

Selenius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I used a Disarming Charm on him."

"You smacked him into the wall," Neville said, sounding resigned.

"He was an old toad," Selenius replied sullenly. "He was going to go at any moment."

"And you just helped him along, is that it?"

There were other theories, many far unkinder than the ones at the Gryffindor table. Several Ravenclaws suggested that Snape had defected to save his hide, because Voldemort wasn't strong enough to take on the Ministry, and was therefore losing the battle. The Hufflepuffs were terrified out of their wits that Snape would try to poison them next. And the Slytherins were a visibly angry and sullen lot—it was not uncommon to see them having hushed conversations in the corridors, glaring at their fellow students and snarling at anyone who came too close.

It wasn't until after lunch that Harry overheard a rumor suggesting that Professor Granger was really Hermione Granger. Somehow, it had finally leaked out—Death Eaters with a son or daughter at Hogwarts to inform about the events that had taken place at Malfoy Manor. No one outside of Slytherin seemed to believe it. Hermione walked into the classroom for her Advanced Defense lesson, set her books down on the desk, and turned around to find Nott's angry sneer and Malfoy's sullen expression of betrayal. Their body language and posture was too aggressive to be ignored.

"Is there a problem Messers Nott, Malfoy?" Hermione calmly asked, as she flicked her wand toward the blackboard. The day's topic automatically scrawled itself into existence in her neat, cramped handwriting.

Both boys shook their head. Hermione taught class as though nothing were wrong, and dismissed them as usual. Harry saw both Slytherins exchange several telltale glances and mutters as they left the room, and he might have followed them to try and overhear their conversation if Hermione had not placed her hand on his shoulder. He jumped in surprise.

"Doing alright, Harry?" she asked.

"Wha—oh, yeah," Harry said, wondering what she wanted from him.

"I know you have Potions after this class. Would you do me a favor and turn this in with your homework?" Hermione slipped a folded piece of paper into Harry's hand. Ron raised an eyebrow at this, and Hermione laughed. "It's nothing sordid, I promise. But unfortunately, I plan to make dinner a bit interesting this evening, and I'd hate to have him taken by surprise."

Ron's eyebrows rose into his hairline. Harry squinted at her.

"You're going to tell everyone yourself, aren't you?"

"There are times when it's good to be direct," Hermione said, stepping back into her classroom. "I must say, though, it's an absolute delight to be able to be so bold about all of this now."

Ron nodded sagely at this. Harry grinned at her. "I approve," he said.

"I'm glad," she said, beaming at the two of them. Then she made a shooing motion with her hand. "Now run along—there's nothing to stop Professor Snape from taking points off of you for being late."

As they turned to leave, she called after them, "And twenty points to Gryffindor for your help—that ought to cover it."

~o~O~o~

Snape did, indeed, take ten points from Gryffindor when Harry showed up for class. Harry said nothing, taking the point loss without so much as a bat of his eyelid. He felt a bit silly, slipping the note in with his homework. He was almost gratified when he saw Snape's face turn extremely sour half-way through the lesson from reading the note, as though he had just been forced to suck on a lemon drop.

As Harry had predicted, dinner was indeed an interesting affair.

At the start of dinner, Hermione stood up in her chair and rapped her spoon against her glass of pumpkin juice. The sound reverberated throughout the great hall, and it quieted rather quickly as all eyes turned to their Defence professor.

"May I have your attention please?"

Harry saw her hesitate for just a fraction of a second, despite the fact that she appeared to be perfectly calm. The finger holding the spoon scratched at her ring finger for a moment, in lieu of twisting it around herself the way she did when nervous. The staff were all watching her, though Snape didn't seem to be truly seeing her—his head was facing forward, but his eyes were lowered. It was as though he were not truly present.

"I know that there have been some rumors going around, and I have decided to address them directly."

A smile flitted across her face, wry but cold.

"I am Hermione Granger."

The room's reaction was instantaneous. Several glasses dropped and shattered, but they were scarcely heard over the explosive clamor of voices—some shouts from across the room at housemates, some from across tables, others directed to Hermione herself. Hermione allowed this noise to continue for a moment, and then she rapped the spoon against her glass again—the sound cut through the room like a knife. All around her, the teachers looked very uneasy in their seats. Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed in a thin line. Dumbledore looked oddly serious. The rest looked worried on various degrees. Snape, however, was finally looking at Hermione, though his expression was carefully neutral.

"The circumstances surrounding my disappearance two and a half years ago are none of your concern," she continued evenly, "but it was most assuredly an irreparable accident that sent me back in time, and got me where I am now."

"Back in time?" Parvati whispered.

"Thank you for your attention," Hermione concluded, waving a hand at them in dismissal. "Carry on."

She sat back down.

"Unbelievable," Harry heard Ron say, over the murmur of voices rising through the Great Hall. "Un-effing-believable…"

"Did you know?" Dean said, leaning in closer to the table. "Is it true?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Yeah," Ron said at last. "Yeah, we did…"

~o~O~o~

"How did your Slytherins take it?" Hermione asked quietly, when Severus returned to their quarters after dinner. He had stopped by the Slytherin common room to have a word with his house, and though she had been worried about how they would receive him, she took it as a good sign that he had returned in one piece.

"They were, understandably, a disgruntled lot," Severus said, but Hermione could tell that he was in an oddly good mood. He wrapped his good arm around her, and she buried her face his in chest, relieved. "My reason for going down there was largely to inform them not to continue to expect favorable treatment in class—they'll appreciate the opportunity to save their dignity by knowing well in advance. But I managed to dispel a few rumors in the process." He buried his nose in her hair. "They all know about you, of course—not just that you're Hermione Granger…"

"Was Hermione Granger," Hermione muttered.

"A few of them had parents who were aware of the nature of our relationship," Sever us murmured. "Naturally, it is no longer a secret. All of Slytherin knows that I have a Muggle-born for a wife."

"I wish I could have seen the look on their faces," Hermione said dryly.

Severus sighed. "Come to bed," he coaxed.

"Tell me first," Hermione whispered. "How did you explain it to them?"

Severus closed his eyes. "Salazar Slytherin's view on Muggle-borns stemmed from persecution of magic and the fear of losing magical ability in offspring, as well as a general disdain of Muggles for their lack of magic," he admitted. "But I pointed out the fact that Potter, with a Pure-blood for a father and a Muggle-born for a mother, was able to repeatedly face the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale… and that the persecution of wizardfolk is almost non-existent now. They enjoy their pureblood supremacy, but somewhere along the way, even they have come to realize that fresh blood is necessary to keep the population healthy. After all," he said, kissing her cheek, "having a Muggle-born for a wife is very different from a Muggle. Not to mention," he added, nuzzling her other cheek, "that you have sufficiently impressed and terrified them in class often enough—they cannot afford to underestimate you because of your heritage."

He paused, and then he said, "Many of them are still in stunned disbelief regarding your identity. I hope you're pleased."

"They have no choice but to acknowledge my magical prowess despite being a Muggle-born," Hermione murmured, finally understanding. "They can't retroactively take back their respect for my skill."

"It's merely a matter of survival on their part," Severus purred.

"You have a silver tongue," Hermione whispered.

"Isn't that how I got you to marry me?" he challenged with a drawl.

Hermione smirked, but then her expression grew somber. "What else?"

"They do, of course, understand that I am still their Head of House," Severus said, releasing her to spell off his teaching robes. He adjusted the cuff of his button-up shirt manually, before releasing one of the buttons on his chest and worming his hand inside to feel for his shoulder. "My interest in their welfare has not changed. They are still my students, and Slytherin is still my house. Whether they take that to heart or not is entirely up to them, but my defection to the Dark Lord has no bearing upon my duties at this school. Most of them seem to understand that," he continued, releasing his shoulder and now single-handedly releasing the buttons along his belly. "The rest will hopefully follow in time."

"You've done your best, and your best has been more than any of us could have hoped for," Hermione said, helping him with the last button and then gingerly removing the shirt from his left side. It was still reddened and inflamed, but the two marks left behind by Nagini's teeth had closed and scarred, and the swelling was almost completely gone. "It looks like you're almost healed. A few days more and—oh!"

She let out an exclamation of surprise when he kissed her, effectively cutting her off.

"Enough about my shoulder," he said softly. "It's been a very long day, and I can think of a better way to spend my evening."

Hermione smiled. "In bed?" she suggested teasingly.

He grimaced, and began striding toward the bedroom, taking her with him. "I don't think my shoulder could take the armchair."

"And that's why we talk about the shoulder first, love."

~o~O~o~

Life without waiting at Voldemort's beck and call took some adjustment.

The first hurdle was Albus Dumbledore. Hermione found herself in his office on Saturday evening, engaging in a blinking contest with Fawkes while the Headmaster lectured her. The phoenix was resting on his perch, head cocked to the side as Hermione attempted to out-stare him.

"Your reckless behavior has endangered the Order, has jeopardized one of the very few advantages we've had in this war," Dumbledore was saying.

Hermione's eyes weren't even watering, but she saw Fawke's beady black eyes quiver ever so slightly.

"This is not the first time you've directly disobeyed me, and I made allowances for your behavior in the past—"

Now Hermione's eyes were protesting, but she refused to give in. At last, Fawkes blinked. Unable to help herself, she smirked.

"Do you understand what you have done?" The Headmaster came around his desk, one hand on the surface, the other in the pocket of his robes, as though he were preparing to draw his wand. Perhaps he was—at the very least, Hermione suspected he was sorely tempted. She merely crossed one leg over the other and gazed up at him, as he finished: "I would like an explanation, Hermione."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and let out the breath slowly. Levelly, she asked, "Do you want the short story or the long?"

Dumbledore considered her for a moment. Hermione could see that the old man was unnerved, deservedly puzzled, and understandably angry. Yet he was merely stirred, not shaken—he was still maintaining his composure, and had not lost sight of the goal: he wanted Hermione's explanation and undoubtedly wanted to hear whether she had considered the consequences of her actions before she did them. The second suggested that she had a solution for the predicament that the Order now found itself in, without a spy within Voldemort's inner circle.

She decided to plow forward without waiting for an answer.

"I know what you were planning to do about the Horcruxes, with Harry and the Deathly Hallows," she said quietly. "You played your hand, Albus. And you knew—you must have known—that I would never have allowed you to sacrifice Harry. Not even for the greater good."

"And so you took it upon yourself to take care of things?" Dumbledore replied, his words oddly calm.

"I did. I developed a ritual to split Voldemort's soul from Harry's. I came up with a way to eliminate Nagini. And yes, the ritual happened unexpectedly, and killing Nagini proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated," Hermione acknowledged, "but now Voldemort is mortal." Her eyes flashed at the Headmaster, though whether in defiance or determination, it was hard to tell. "I admit I took risks, and some things happened that I did not plan for, but all things considered…"

"You were successful," Dumbledore supplied for her.

"Yes."

The Headmaster slowly moved back around the desk, and it was with great effort that he seemed to seat himself in his chair.

"Has it occurred to you that I had a contingency plan for Harry?"

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Did it ever occur to you that I did not intend for Harry to die?"

"Given that you straight-up told my husband that Harry absolutely had to die?" Hermione asked. "No, sir, it did not."

"Harry did have to die for my plan to work," the Headmaster agreed, "but I planned for him to be the master of all three of the Deathly Hallows when that time came, Hermione."

"I fail to see what difference that makes," Hermione answered slowly.

"He would have been the Master of Death," the wizard said meaningfully.

Hermione shook her head uncomprehendingly. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "It means he would have died," he replied, "but he would not have gone on."

Hermione stared at him, and then her mouth fell open when understanding finally struck her. Dumbledore sighed.

"It would seem to me that we have badly misjudged one another," he said quietly.

Hermione felt many things at that moment. Surprise, shock, and even hurt—hurt that the Headmaster had left both herself and her husband fearing that all their attempts to preserve Harry's life would be for naught. And then anger settled in, white-hot rage that was so unlike her that it took Hermione by surprise, and it was all she could do to hastily rein it in: he had kept this vital piece of information from them deliberately, had left them in the dark, had continued to manipulate and play with their lives as though this were nothing more than an unusually complicated chess game. The anger was quickly quenched by the shame, guilt, and overwhelming relief that followed. Relief with the realization that deep down, in his own complicated and oblique way, Dumbledore did care for Harry. Cared enough, at least, to not sacrifice him as merely another necessary casualty of war.

Hermione closed her eyes. Did she feel regret about what she had done? In a way, yes—but on the whole, no. She opened her eyes and dared to face Dumbledore squarely.

"I'm sorry I misjudged you," she said, "but I'm not sorry about what I did."

"No, I didn't expect you to be," Dumbledore said, and he sounded almost amused. "And, as you have pointed out, your plan succeeded in making Voldemort mortal once more—a very impressive feat, I might add." He tipped his head at her in acknowledgement. "However, I do hope that we have both learned our lesson from this."

"You won't keep vital details from me, and I won't do things behind your back?" Hermione guessed wryly.

"Indeed."

"I can only agree under one condition," Hermione said, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair.

Dumbledore eyed her almost politely. "And what would that be?"

"You're going to have to talk to Harry," Hermione said firmly, "and explain yourself."

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. Hermione suspected it was not because he was considering the merit of her demand, but that he was already planning just what he would tell Harry. How would he come clean to a person he dearly cared for yet was willing to ruthlessly sacrifice?

"Grand plans, those boys had," Hermione said quietly into the stillness of the room. She saw Dumbledore's head lift, just a fraction. "But not all grand plans are good, Dumbledore. Even the best must admit that." She looked out the window, her expression uneasy. "And I… I must admit that, as well."

Please review!

~Anubis