After lunch, they headed together down to their rooms. Their rooms. It still sounded strange. The room that she shared with Professor Snape. A more absurd roommate she'd be hard pressed to find.

He went straight into the bedroom and dropped a messy pile of parchment and scrolls onto one of his three desks. Hermione decided against stealing his chair while he was in the room and opted instead to read her book in bed. Snape started when he turned around and saw her there, but only for a second. Then he was pulling off his teaching robes and settling himself in the rickety chair before his desk.

It was odd. They were both reading quietly in their respective corners of the room. It was almost… companionable. Hermione chewed her lip, considering a question she had been wanting to ask him. He seemed in such a good mood today, perhaps it would be a good time.

"Professor?" she finally began. He only grunted in response. Hermione wasn't sure why, but she took that as a good sign. "I realize now that I shouldn't have borrowed your book without permission…" At that he looked up at her, meeting her gaze with a suspicious expression. "But I… I had a question for you. You see, I was reading a paper you had written… the one about lacewing flies..." She paused, waiting for him to respond, but he only waited for her to continue. That was probably all the encouragement he was ever going to give. "Is it true that purer, stronger results may be obtained by using only the wings and discarding the bodies?"

"I believe that is a direct quote from the paper," he drawled impatiently.

She blushed. "Right. I… er… I suppose what I want to know is… if that is the case, why don't we do that in class?"

To her surprise, her professor sighed. "Yes, you might well ask that. Mostly, it's because the use of the wings, as opposed to whole flies, would not be acceptable during your exams."

"But… why? If it's a better way to do it…"

"The tests do not necessarily keep up with the latest research. They keep up with the textbook."

"But… that's our education! They can't just…"

"Miss Granger, I could go on at length about the politics of your education. I do not intend to do so."

"But…"

"No. It's a tired subject and I have no desire to spend my afternoon arguing with you." With one last calculating glance, he turned away from her and bent to study his papers once again.

"Yes, alright," she grumbled, pursing her lips and readjusting the book resting in her lap. Only, she couldn't concentrate on reading it anymore. So many questions were now flitting through her mind. She felt betrayed, somehow. It was the first time she had been led to believe that what she was taught was not exactly what was true. Of course, it made a funny sort of sense. At least it answered her questions about Harry's Advanced Potions book. If the text wasn't accurate to begin with, maybe this 'Prince' really was a potions prodigy. She hated to admit she had been wrong not to follow his instructions.

But that about the lacewing flies… She had been blown away by his research, and he hadn't let her finish reading the paper. It left so many questions. And she just couldn't help herself. "Professor?"

"What is it now, Granger?"

"I was just wondering… about the lacewing flies… does that mean that their bodies have no chemical or magical properties?"

He looked up at her at that. "Actually the bodies have basically the same properties as the wings, but in less concentrated amounts. The trouble is their organs become impurities in the finished potion, and their hairs can be detected in the texture. It isn't palatable."

"So do you use the same number of flies, but leave off the bodies? Or do you add more wings to compensate for them?"

At this, to her delight, her professor leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. "It depends on the potion. The bodies possess such a small quantity of the necessary compounds that the difference is minute to begin with. On the other hand, some potions do better with more flies than is usually prescribed, anyway. I am to the point in my career that I do not need a recipe. The potion communicates its needs to the brewer, if he only knows how to listen."

"You make adjustments to all of your potions?"

"Most professional potioneers do. If they are worth the title."

"I suppose that makes sense. It's a bit like following a recipe from a cookbook."

His lip quirked up and his eyes slanted as if to patronize her. "Yes, Granger, it's exactly like a cookbook," he drawled.

Hermione hurried to continue before he could turn away. "Have you ever invented a new potion, Professor?"

"Dozens," he said, drawing out the words in a deep, velvety tone. The syllables seemed to vibrate in the air as he smirked arrogantly back at her.

"What sorts of potions?" she asked to cover the sudden thrill of nerves that had run down her spine.

"All sorts." His smirk grew and Hermione was certain she would not get any more information on the subject. But she didn't want to stop talking to the fascinating man. By Snape standards, this conversation had been almost… friendly. And yet, scrambling for something else to say, she found herself at a loss, and he turned away.

Hermione tried to return to her book, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. It was almost as if he were a different man. From this angle, she could just see the profile of his face as he bent in concentration over his desk. There was a seriousness in the frown on his face that was different from the anger she so often saw there. This was a man at work; a man putting his mind to a task; a man determined to avoid sleeping with her at the end of the week. What is he so afraid of? she wondered.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in relative silence, reading their respective material in their respective corners of the room. It was difficult to keep track of time without any windows, and neither of them seemed to notice that they'd missed dinner until Snape cast a Tempus Charm and smirked. He called for a House Elf named Moppy (ignoring Hermione's scowls) and had her bring down tea and sandwiches. The normally tidy young witch was surprised when he set her plate on the bed beside her, but she said nothing. After all, he had no table besides the three small desks that were piled with parchments.

"Milk?" her professor asked her, pouring tea into a cup. She blinked. Severus Snape was serving her tea.

"Yes please," she told him in breathless voice, thanking him when he handed it to her.

"Yes, well I'm not going to starve you," he grumbled. Then he poured his own cup, leaving it black and taking his plate back over to the desk. She was still watching his profile when his lips pulled back as if with a sudden humorous thought. "A galleon says that Minerva asks us why we didn't come to dinner."

His implication dawned on Hermione so abruptly that she nearly snorted her tea. Surely her other professors didn't think they were… oh Merlin. A nervous smile broke out across her lips. "You're on," she told him seriously. He didn't turn toward her, but she could still see half a grin. It made a funny tingling rise in her chest, and it took her a minute to realize that she was excited to see him smile. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared and Hermione found herself wondering why he felt like he had to hide.

She couldn't help laughing to herself about the absurdity of it all. She was sitting up in her professor's bed, nibbling on a sandwich, and watching his profile over the top of her book when his eyes suddenly squeezed shut and his shoulders hunched forward. She heard the slightest huff of air and knew immediately that he was somehow in pain. But before she could ask him if he was alright, the man had relaxed and slammed his cup down on the desk. Pushing his chair back, he stomped over to the wardrobe. She was afraid to ask him what was wrong, choosing instead to await his explanation.

"I must go," he told her in a gruff voice, and she watched in confusion as he pulled out a heavy winter cloak and headed for the door. It slammed behind him and Hermione sat gawking at the air, wondering why he had left so suddenly. A half-eaten sandwich still rested on his plate. And then she realized with a punch to the gut that he had been called away. He was off to visit Voldemort, himself, and she was sitting there eating sandwiches in bed. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry. Nervous fear was twisting in her stomach. Intellectually, she understood that he had such meetings all the time, and that it was very unlikely that he was in any real danger. And yet, the thought of what he had to face… Merlin. And to think she was worried about exams.

…*~*J*~*…

As the Order spy approached the Manor, he silently ticked off the objectives of this visit as he had discussed them earlier with Albus. Likely, there would not be many present tonight, as he was probably being called to account for his recent marriage. Stepping over the threshold, he cleared his mind, emptying it of any emotions attached to the girl and of all thoughts pertaining to the Headmaster.

"Ah, yes. Severus," Lord Voldemort hissed with cold nonchalance when he entered the Dining Room. What had once been the stage for elaborate feasts had now been repurposed as a sort of conference room, much grander than the basement kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld.

"My Lord," the Potions Master drawled as he took his seat. He was surprised to see that so many of his fellow Death Eaters were present, almost filling the long table. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

"Severuss," the Dark Lord repeated, toying with the name to draw out anticipation. "I hear we are to congratulate you." Severus bowed his head in acknowledgement. "It was a hasty arrangement, I suppose. You did not feel the need to inform me."

"Forgive me, my Lord. Dumbledore surprised me with his decision. I could not persuade him to delay."

"Yes. No doubt he believes she will be safest with you." A grin spread across that evil face as snickers whispered through the room. "A union between my spy and Potter's closest friend. He is playing right into my hand. Tell me, Severus, is your bride aware of your connection to me?"

"Indeed, my Lord, the girl has been allowed the same information as precious Potter," he snarled.

"Good. She must be made to trust you." He fingered a nearly non-existent chin and stared off, deep in thought. "And has the marriage been consummated?"

Severus was careful not to hesitate. "Not yet, my Lord. I thought it best to await your counsel on the matter. The Law only requires that it happen within the week."

"Yes. I thought as much. You will express reluctance. Do only what is required and try your best to please her." He paused, shooting his spy a doubtful look, to the delight of the others present. "Or, rather, be sure that she believes that you are trying. If she learns to trust you, she may begin to confide in you."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Of course, if she begins to initiate…" he continued doubtfully, a grin spreading wickedly across his face as the others laughed at his expense, "you are welcome to indulge her." The mockery stabbed at his insides with the familiar knife of self-loathing, but he only nodded in response.

"Now then," Lord Voldemort continued. "This Law comes as a surprise, but we will endeavor to make use of it. The old fool has given us an unexpectedly convenient start, but I intend to exploit this new law to its full potential. Certain contacts at the Ministry are working as we speak to acquire a complete list of all those who are subject to the law so that I may best determine our next move. It is my hope that this little detour from the plan will aid our progress in more ways than one."

Dolohov cornered him after the meeting with one scarred arm across his path. "Snape," he growled, searching Severus greedily with his eyes, "got anything for me?"

Severus smirked. "I do. The same as last time. I brought it in case you wanted more."

"'Course I bloody want it. Come on." He gestured for his brother to follow him out of the Manor, and they Apparated to a familiar street. It was a quiet night. Few people were scattered about the small pub when they strode through the doors. Antonin went straight to the bar, and Severus sent a glance around the room.

A trio of aging wenches sat playing cards and laughing loudly at a table near the bar. They might proposition him after this game, but for the moment they were occupied. At the counter, a hag and a couple of miserable-looking wizards hunched over their respective pints, and one fat drunk was passed out in the corner. None of them had taken much notice of the newcomers, and he could easily beat any one of them in a duel. The barkeep, himself, was a familiar face and one that did not concern Severus overmuch. He wasn't likely to trouble them. Yes, as far as Knockturn Alley went, there was no immediate threat.

Sweeping over to a shadowy corner, Severus chose a chair with his back to the wall and facing the door. Once again, he slipped a hand into one of many inner pockets to assure himself that his All-Purpose Sobering Up Potion was there. He had it on hand at all times, just in case, but habitually found himself checking to be sure.

The table wobbled dangerously when his scrawny, sunken-eyed brother set down two frothing pints of beer. "Alright then. Let's see it," he said.

Severus withdrew a stoppered blue vial from his robes and passed it over. His comrade pretended to inspect it (as if he knew the first thing about it) before carefully pulling out the cork and wafting the scent of it under his nose. It was painfully obvious how anxious he was by the greedy glint in his eyes as he dug a hand in his pocket, withdrawing a small crystal stirring rod. Even with shaking hands, he was very precise; dipping the rounded head of the rod into the potion and giving it a practiced flick to shake one drop into Severus's beer. Repeating the process for his own, he corked the vial and raised a toast.

"To the Dark Lord," he murmured offhandedly, watching for Severus to take the first sip. It was customary for him to partake of the first serving whenever he brought potions to his brothers. After all, for all they knew, he could be a traitor.

The irony was that he gathered some of his most important intel just sitting in their parlour or the pub.

Almost immediately, a feeling of warmth washed down Severus's spine. The worries of his life faded into distant echoes and he was suddenly struck by how beautiful the flickering candles were. What a miraculous world they inhabited, where a force such as fire could be harnessed with wax and held in the palm of your hand. Why would he ever want to throw away the life he had here in this magical, beautiful place?

"Fuck," Antonin growled, slamming his mug down and leaning his head back against the wall. Severus was inclined to agree with him. He was in no state to return to his wife right now. Indeed, he was in no state to think about her.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione's socked feet were numb with cold as she paced the dungeon bedroom, but she hardly noticed. Professor Snape had been gone for hours. At what point did she sound the alarm? Honestly, he should have briefed her about this at the very least. Impossible man! How dare he run off and leave her to worry without offering any explanation? But, of course, if she hadn't been married to him, she wouldn't have known he had gone, and she wouldn't be worried at all. It probably happened all the time. Really, it was ridiculous for her to be so concerned about him.

But she was.

For the first hour or so, she had been able to continue her book. As time progressed, however, it became more and more difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept jumping back to the realization that he was with Voldemort at that very moment, and all she could think about was whether or not he was ok.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when her professor stumbled through the door. He was moving sluggishly, grasping his way around the wall with his hands, and at first she thought he was hurt. Gryffindor instinct overtook her, and she hurried to his side. In a flash, he spun toward her, swinging an arm out in defense. Before she even had the chance to stop, the menacing wizard had his wand pointed at her throat. Her limbs froze so fast she almost collapsed onto the floor. But he only gasped with sudden relief. "Fuck Granger! D'you've death wish?" The man dropped his pose, leaning heavily against the bed frame and attempting to pull off his heavy cloak.

It took a moment before Hermione's breathing started again and her heart panged hard in her chest. "Sorry, Professor," she breathed. But he had already dismissed her. Turning toward the bed, he was crouched over, reaching down in what seemed to be a futile attempt at removing his boots. He was drunk. Horrified, Hermione didn't know how to react. Should she offer to help? Should she leave the room? Should she get Professor Dumbledore?

No. That was ridiculous. She was his wife now, and she could handle him on her own.

Professor Snape eventually managed to free himself of his boots and climb onto the bed, collapsing onto his back and stretching out with a long, low growl. The sound made Hermione's face grow hot. His eyes were clenched tight, as if with pain, and his whole body tensed for a moment before relaxing with a soft grunt of relief. Her heart was hammering audibly in her chest when one heavy eyelid lifted to reveal a dark black eye. "You're up late," he growled.

The absurdity of his words broke through Hermione's stupor and brought her anger to the surface once again. "I-Well of course I'm up late! Did you think I would be able to sleep with you… out there?"

Her professor didn't answer. He was frowning at her now, but his eyes were searching her body, not her face. "You aren't wearing that to bed, are you?" he asked.

"I… what?" Hermione's eyes darted down to her overlarge t-shirt and cotton leggings. "Of course I am! What's wrong with it?"

But the man only groaned, slapping a hand over his face.

Something inside of her exploded. "Don't you do that! Don't you even do that! You're always looking down on me like some… big…" she waved her arms frantically, looking for the word "vulture! Well, I've been waiting up all night for you to get home, so I don't have the patience left to deal with your judgment right now. I don't know what you expected when I moved in, but I'm not some pet you can boss around. This is my home too now, and I'm going to wear whatever I bloody well please!"

He didn't respond. His hand was still over his eyes and his mouth was slack. She froze, watching him breathe in and out; slow, shallow breaths. Oh! The nerve! She almost stamped her foot. How dare he fall asleep when she was talking to him?! For a long minute she stood there, debating what to do. The only thing that kept her from railing at him was literally biting her tongue. But as she reluctantly accepted her powerlessness, another concern leapt to the forefront of her mind. Her professor was stretched out in the middle of the bed.

Hermione paced up and down the room, as if looking for something else she needed to do before going to sleep. But she had already done everything. Stopping again at the foot of the bed, it dawned on her that it was time to face the inevitable. Anyway, Snape was dead asleep, so it hardly mattered. Slowly, cautiously, she climbed up the mattress, insinuation herself between the wall and his jutting knee. If she slept a little lower down the bed, she could just curl around it. The heavy quilt was bunched up at the foot of the bed, and she dislodged it, pulling it over the two of them as best she could.

When she realized she was effectively tucking Snape into bed, she had to laugh. How odd. Would she ever get used to this? She tried to remember the last time she had shared a bed with another person. Could it really be her parents, back when she had been a child? Nothing else came to mind. At some point she had slept in a bed with her cousins, but that was different, too. With this fully grown wizard passed out in a drunken stupor close beside her, Hermione had never felt more like a trespasser in her life. Would he be angry with her for seeing him so drunk? She certainly hoped not.

Weariness began to settle over her like a blanket as she watched his profile, her breath slowly synchronizing with his. She waved a wand to snuff out the candles, but left the fire slowly burning down to embers. It allowed just enough light to watch the shadows dancing on his face. With his lips parted and his eyelids gently closed, he looked nothing so much as tired. All the fierceness and the anger… all the worry was absent while he slept. And she had a very strange thought as she was drifting off to sleep. How could she possibly stay angry with him when he looked so goddamn sweet?

…*~*J*~*…

Sorry this update took so long! I'm getting ready to move back to Georgia (NYC has a lot to offer, but I'd rather spend my time with my family and my energy working for more than just my rent), so I've been too stressed to be inspired. I hope this chapter doesn't come across that way. Also, please don't think that I'm some junkie for using the theme of drugs. After all, the Death Eaters almost certainly did some crazy shit, and I felt like it was appropriate for their Potions Master brother to be their supplier. Besides, doesn't it make sense that he would use that role to secure his standing in their ranks? I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

Once again Thank You So Much if you sent me a Review. They're like candy to me, so I hope you know I appreciate them even if I don't usually respond. When people say nice things I get all shy and don't know what to say, so I'm saying it here. I really do appreciate you guys! So thank you so much jensteed, TimeyWimeyBadWolf, Simona Polle, just an anon reader, FireStarter-Incendio, Claery, dignifiedyetunrefined, LoveInTheBattleField, giada, soulofthelostisland, Sassyluv, recey2010, Lyra Lupin, Browneyed-Redhair Baby, DutchGirl01, bluebook1496, incoherentlove, viola1701e, bookworm661, EyeOfSerpent, Ravendaughter, cares 1970, ahemmeri, enfys1979, Fantomette34, meg527, Mikena, Perry Downing, Mel, Vaila, stexgirl2000, Viteali Varishta, marzipan4, Brightki, Hannoie, OzmaofOz, articcat621, Amarenima Redwood, and several Guests! Your usernames are like familiar faces to me and some of them are even added to my dictionary because Works keeps wanting to Autocorrect them. Haha… not to be creepy…

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