Hello readers dear!

First, I must wish my lovely cousin Gwen a happy birthday, and dedicate this chapter to her.

Second, I must squeal over theloneliesttimeline's SECOND fanart for this story, which was my birthday present. Needless to say, I adore it. The link can be found on my author's page. :)

Third, on with the story!

Chapter 12

Severus had been called many times over the course of the summer- but never as long as this time. Hermione was out of her mind with worrying.

Lately she hadn't been using the Time-Turner as much as she had been before, mostly because she didn't want to stretch out time any longer than she had to. This had the side effect of resulting in Hermione being perptually attached to Harry's side like a burr, Twenty-four-seven. With no breaks in between like she usually had.

But now the boys were in bed and she was out pacing in the entry way. It was probably three in the morning, and the weariness was creeping along the edges of Hermione's worry, twining around her fears and giving them a distant and yet also intensified sharpness.

I hope he isn't being tortured. What if they found out about him- what if they know he's a spy, what if he discovered- No. Stop, Hermione, stop. If you keep thinking about the what ifs you'll go crazy. Severus has been doing this for as long as you've been alive- he can take care of himself. He's an amazing fighter and he can withstand torture that would have you spilling your deepest secrets in two heartbeats.

Her watch burned brightly, the heat searing her arm. She let out a small gasp, then looked at the watch face. The small spider's web was glowing brightly.

Spinner's End. He's at Spinner's End. He told me before that sometimes they just drop him off there, when he's too weak to go on his own. He's probably hurt- I should- I should get his potion's bag and disguise myself quickly.

She did just that- racing up the stairs only half-mindful of quietness to grab the bag full of medicinal potions while casting silencing spells on her feet and changing the color of her hair. She Glamoured her face, then Disillusioned herself with a brisk tap of her wand. She slipped out the door, took a deep breath, then turned on one foot and Apparated to Spinner's End.

When she arrived, she cast Homenum Revelio to figure out how many people were in the area. Other than a prone figure lying on the floor in the living room, she was the only person on the property. Against all the instincts screaming at her to run to Severus' side, she cautiously entered the house, only removing the Disillusionment and kneeling on the floor when she made sure it was indeed Severus' body sprawled on the ground. His wand was on the floor next to him, and she assumed that the last thing he had done before he had passed out was call her through the watch.

He was face down, so she rolled him over to look at his front. He groaned quietly, a sound that made her heart leap to her throat. His eyes flickered open, registered her presence, then closed again with another small noise of pain. Oh, Severus. What did they do to you? His face was a bloody mass; his nose was broken in at least one place and both his eyes blackened, and a cut on his lip was swelling. A spell revealed that several teeth were loose- another one fixed them while a third siphoned the blood off his face and robes. She Vanished his robes, then gingerly unbuttoned his shirt to look at his chest.

She had work to do.

Blood. More blood. That was all the early morning was to her- healing injury after injury and trying to remove the blood. She winced when she saw his back- the Dark Lord had not been pleased. Severus had a broken wrist as well, and three fingers on the other hand had been snapped.

Why? She wondered. Why did they do this to you? What happened? My poor Severus, why is this asked of you? She shoved her own feelings down. They would not help him; she needed to concentrate.

The sun was rising in the east, allowing light to filter in through musty curtains when Hermione finally sat down. She had levitated Severus into his bedroom after healing the most threatening injuries- the internal bleeding and the concussion. Then, slowly and methodically, she had cleaned him carefully with a warm washcloth, changing the water as it turned a strained pink time and time again. Now he was clean and mostly intact. The only blood left was in his hair, and when she lowered him to his bed again, she removed it with magic.

She felt like sobbing, like hitting something, like tearing into Voldemort and all his Death Eaters with a knife, with her nails, with her teeth. Her hands were red with blood, his blood, the blood of her friend and mentor and teacher. He looked so pale- Hermione had put a few spoonfuls of a Blood Replenishing Potion in his mouth and used a spell to make him swallow. Madam Pomfrey had used the same spell many times on Harry (and probably Severus too, come to think of it) and had taught it to the girl one day as she waited at Harry's side for him to wake up.

The Essence of Ditany had helped plenty, as had a half a tablespoon of Dreamless Sleep. She didn't want to give him too much, but she didn't want him waking while she worked on him either.

But now the work was done. Hermione collapsed into a chair, leaning her head back on the hard seat. She ached with the weariness that had been flooded by a rush of adrenaline. Now even standing seemed like too much more- but eventually she pushed herself up and stumbled to the bathroom. Just looking in the mirror made Hermione wince- her hair was a mess, and she had bloodstains on her clothes and on her face, from where she had been continually pushing back her hair.

I can't do an ounce more magic tonight, if I want to set up some runic wards, Hermione thought with a groan. Let's see if Severus has a shirt I could borrow. She eventually just grabbed a dark grey tee-shirt from his dresser and slipped it on, deciding that since it fell to the middle of her thighs and she was planning to wake first later, it would do. Finally, she set a few runic wards on the house to alert her if anyone was coming. Runic wards needed plenty of power. When she was finished, Hermione felt drained, sapped of all her strength.

With that done, she curled up on the other side of Severus' large bed, and went to sleep.

She must have awakened around noon, because the sunlight was bright in the room and her stomach was making its protests known. With a groan, she sat up and stretched, the memory of the previous night returning and sinking to the bottom of her stomach with a sickening feeling.

The grey tee-shirt and the bed had smelled enough like Severus to mask the metallic odor of the blood hanging in the room, but when she sat up she noticed it again and her stomach rolled. Severus was sleeping, if not peacefully. Even in slumber his brow was furrowed, and his hands were clenched in fists.

Although she still felt awful, Hermione's nap had recharged her magical stores. She felt well enough to gather up her clothes, Disillusion herself, and Apparate back to Grimmauld Place.

She had been right- it was around noon. Sounds of the Weasleys eating (the red-haired boys could never do anything quietly when it came to food) were coming from the kitchen, so Hermione headed directly up the stairs. Someone (herself) had left a stack of clean clothes in the bathroom before they had gone down to lunch, so she Vanished her old clothes and brought the new ones back with her to Spinner's End.

There, she checked the wards again, and when she was satisfied that no one but Severus was there, she entered again. When she checked on her patient, he was still unconscious, leaving her comfortable enough to use the shower.

I hope he doesn't think I'm taking liberties with his house, she though with a small frown. If he does, I'll just have to point out he called me here and I probably saved his sorry hide. I'm allowed to borrow a shirt and use the shower.

Hermione cleaned herself quickly, washing her hair only to get all the sweat and blood out of it. The shower also had a kind of mental cleansing- she felt better as soon as she stepped under the hot water, and when she was finished washing, she felt both physically and magically refreshed.

The clothes she had brought were those she wasn't afraid to get dirty- if Severus started bleeding again, she didn't want bloodstains on anything pretty or new. Instead, a simple pair of jeans and an old tee-shirt were fine. She thought about leaving the shirt she had borrowed in the bathroom, then changed her mind. She had used it, so it was only polite to wash it before returning it. Now all that was left to do was wait for Severus to wake up.

A quick trip to the library to grab a book, and she was back in the chair by Severus' bed.

Hermione lost herself in the book, completely forgetting to make food of any kind. It was late in the afternoon when Severus began to stir, causing her to put down the heavy tome and take heed of both her surroundings and her stomach.

So she watched him- he really awakened quickly, but kept his eyes shut and breathing even until he had assessed the situation he had woken to. He was mentally taking stock of his injuries, his position, and the person in the room with him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked finally, only the slightest tremor in her voice. "I know you're awake, Severus."

He coughed when he tried to speak. Hermione promptly provided water, and helped him sit up. He gazed at her with a strange expression in his eyes- some blend of thanks, anger, and embarrassment. His face was totally impassive, but she knew. She always knew.

"I feel fine," Severus finally answered. "I don't remember much of last night."

Hermione resisted the urge to rest a hand on his forehead or sweep his hair behind his ear. "You called me, through the watch. I think you passed out right after that. I found you and healed you." That sounds so easy, so simple. You called, I came. You were hurt, I healed you. Language like that doesn't lend knowledge to the color of blood that's been drying for hours or the sounds bones make when they come back together again.

He looked away from her, the same anger and embarrassment in his eyes. She needed to do something about that.

"You scared me badly last night," she said finally. "I can't believe that you made it here, let alone had enough strength to call me here. But I'm glad you did. I needed that." He hates it when any weakness is revealed. How much did it cost him, last night, to ask for help?

"I'm glad my near death was a valuable educational experience, Hermione," Severus said wryly, some of the negative emotions dissipating. "Have you prepared something to eat?"

"No," she admitted. "I forgot. Why was the Dark Lord so angry?"

Severus looked her in the eye, then turned his head away. "He wants Potter's location," he said, voice disinterested. "But the Fidelius Charm means that I cannot give the information, even if I should want to. It even removes the name from my mind. He was… upset." The dripping, sarcastic quality of his words and the memory of his body the night before made it obvious that upset was an understatement.

Hermione sucked a breath in. "What would you like to eat?" she asked, after a moment. "I can go back to Headquarters to get food, if you don't have anything here."

"There should be broth of some kind in a can in the pantry," Severus informed her. "That will do."

She nodded, and hurried out of the room.

Hermione hated parties.

While Ron had no problem with people hanging around him and congratulating him, Hermione was another story. Growing up in the shadows of brothers like Charlie and Bill meant that her friend craved any chance to feel special- Hermione could understand that, and she didn't begrudge him his chance to celebrate an accomplishment. However, she was angry on Harry's behalf- Ron was nodding and grinning and acting like it was a given that he was supposed to be the Gryffindor male prefect. He was wrong. It should have been Harry, and everyone knew it.

And now she had to smile and take the congratulations and pretend as if she didn't know that Sturgis Podmore had been caught breaking into the door at the Department of Mysteries. This was bad. Very bad. Severus had filled her in earlier.

Ginny appeared at her side, putting a thin freckled arm around Hermione. "We all knew it would be you, Hermione," the redheaded girl said confidently. "I just hope it'll be me, next year."

"Who knows?" said Hermione with an uncomfortable shrug. "What time is it, Ginny?"

The girl frowned, but removed her arm to turn around and check the clock on the wall. "Nearly ten."

"I'm so tired," Hermione said, raising her soft palette to make herself yawn. "I think I'm going to go upstairs now. We'll have to leave early tomorrow morning." Of course, that wouldn't be a problem for her. A Time Turner could take care of just about every scheduling issue.

She had gotten good enough at lying by now that Ginny just eyed her sympathetically. "Alright. I'll try not to wake you when I go to bed. G'night."

"Goodnight," Hermione replied, putting a grateful smile on her face.

She wandered over to where Ron was, and put a hand on the boy's arm to draw his attention. "Goodnight, Ron," she said, smiling quickly.

"Night, Hermione," he said happily, grinning back at her. There was something in his eyes that unsettled her, something that she didn't want to place. "We'll patrol the train tomorrow, right?"

"Right," she said, brushing off the feeling. "Don't stay up too late."

Harry was sitting in a corner, staring at a picture Moody had given him. She wandered over, coming to stand in front of him. "It's the old Order," he said simply, voice breaking slightly. "Look."

She sat down next to him, patting his knee. "Your mother was so beautiful, Harry. She looks so happy." At Harry's questioning look, she shrugged. "She has that, that presence, even in a picture. You can't help but notice how happy she looks. She has the man, the friends, the purpose. From what Sirius and Remus have told us, she was popular- well liked, confident and such. You can tell just by looking at her." She's everything I'm not. I wanted to be a woman like Lily Potter when I was younger, but I don't think I want that now.

"I never noticed," responded Harry. "I always thought she looked pretty, though." He blushed suddenly. "Are you going to bed?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, turning her head so she could look into his green eyes. Even though the guilt was pricking at her, she slipped into his mind, doing a quick scan. Jealousy and guilt leapt out at her, and she closed of the connection quickly. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

Harry nodded, eyes sympathetic. "I get that. Most nights I see-" he stopped, then shrugged. "You know."

It wasn't her fault the air was so cold, Hermione thought as she pulled her arms around herself to halt a shiver. "Yeah. I know. Goodnight, Harry."

Instead of going up to her bed, Hermione walked up the extra flight of stairs to Severus' rooms. Of course, he hadn't stopped at the party. He was working.

So when she knocked twice on the door and walked in the room, she was unfazed by his scowl. "One day your face is going to freeze like that," she chirped. "Didn't your mother ever tell you?"

His scowl deepened. "Impertinent woman. If you are going to stay, make yourself useful. Peeves is planning to flood the kitchens with scalding soup, again, and the Headmaster refuses to do anything about it. Therefore, we need plenty of burn paste for the house elves." He called me a woman.

"Isn't he scared of the Bloody Baron?" Hermione asked, a small frown settling upon her own features. "Couldn't you ask him to do something about it? That sounds inhumane!" Her views on house elves were still as strong as ever, but she didn't have the time to focus on social justice. Later. When the war was won. If she was alive when it was over. She had plans for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Like renaming it.

He just raised an eyebrow at her. "It is. But no. The Bloody Baron is still upset because last year food the kitchens provided for his Death Day Party wasn't fragrant enough. This year, the prank is fine with him."

With a look that said he wasn't saying anything more on the subject, Severus brusquely nodded toward a cutting board and some aloe leaves. "You do remember how to make a simple burn paste?" There was a question hidden under his biting tone, one that she recognized.

"Of course," Hermione said, one eyebrow raised to let him know Yes, I got the message. No, I'm not stupid. She lightened the look with a quick smile, reaching her hands behind her head to grasp her heavy hair and twine it into a semblance of a serviceable bun. He scowled. She rolled up her sleeves, and set to work.

Making a burn paste wasn't especially grueling- it was a fourth year potion, after all. But the proportions in the text were for humans, not house elves. She had to reduce the potency by twenty-three and a third percent and that would be the difficult part. She was very aware of Severus' eyes on her- when he wasn't paying attention to his own potion. Eventually, hers evened out to a smooth paste in a muted orange.

"Is that enough or do we need more?" she asked, washing her hands quickly before pushing the stray curls that had escaped her hair tie out of her eyes. "Severus?"

He glanced up from the root he was chopping, then made a grimace of hesitation. "From what I made before this should be enough. But-" he shook his head once sharply, causing the leather thong that held his hair back to snap. "Gods above," he snarled. With one hand occupied chopping the root and the other stirring the base of the potion, he couldn't do anything about it. "Why can't one fucking-"

"Severus!" Hermione exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips. "It's okay. Where do you keep your hair bands?"

He glared at her through a curtain of dark hair. It really has a lovely color, Hermione mused. Although I can understand why everyone calls it greasy. I'll bet it was a bit oily to begin with, hair like that, but the fumes from all those student potions probably ruined it. "Third drawer on the right."

She rummaged through the drawer quickly, finding three and choosing one. "If you wet it before you put it in, it'll dry in place and hold better," she informed him with a small grin. "When your hair is as… unruly as mine is, you learn all these little tricks."

"Just put the damn thing back in my hair, so I can see whatever the hell I'm doing," said the surly Potions Master, still eyeing her balefully.

"You could probably do this potion in your sleep," Hermione said playfully, then conjured a stool to be able to reach Severus' head. "You're unnaturally tall," she informed him. "Tilt your head back."

He huffed, but complied. "You think flattery will get you somewhere," he said grumpily. "Wha-" His mouth shut.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair gently, pulling out the tangles, marveling at the softness. Hardly greasy at all. I suppose it's not as bad as it looks. Like him. A shudder ran down his spine, and he stopped saying whatever he had been saying. Suddenly she realized that she was just standing there, running her fingers through his hair. Working swiftly, glad he couldn't see the blush on her face, she gathered it into a ponytail and tied the leather quickly. "There," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder briefly. "Perfect."

"Thank you," he said, voice gravelly. For him, anyway. Far from the usual honey over silk, this sound was a quiet rumble produced low in his chest. It awoke something in her, a responding call or, perhaps, maybe, something like, or even similar to a moan? Oh gods his voice. No. Oh no. You naughty, awful girl, no. It was nothing like that.

When she finally sucked in a breath, it caught in her throat. "No problem," she squeaked, hopping off the stool. "What did you need, before?" She Vanished the stool and circled the lab table to stand before him.

On his part, Severus was feeling distinctly unsettled. He couldn't remember anyone willingly putting their hands in his hair, ever. For as long as he could remember, he had been Snivellus, the greasy freak, the greasy bat of the dungeons. His hair was the feature he most reviled, after his nose.

And she had combed it with her fingers, and he could feel when she lingered a moment, running them through again and again until she finally pulled it back. Her fingers, long and slender with carefully filed nails, had touched his scalp and hair gently, tenderly. He had seen her do the same for Potter- try and comb his mop into some semblance of shape, massage his head lightly to calm him after a nightmare, or ruffle his hair when she rose and he remained seated.

That remembrance made him jealous- instantly, he wanted those lovely hands back in his hair, and away from Potter's mangy head. And that made him nervous. Severus Snape was a man who hated being unsure of anything. But he couldn't help wondering if she had put her hands in his hair when he had been unconscious and helpless at her hands. When she had been healing him.

"Nothing," he said brusquely. It was better if she left- better to leave him in peace to brew and sort through his tumultuous brain. But- there was a microsecond where her expression had crumpled, where he saw that she had been expecting something and he had failed to provide it.

The realization that she wanted to stay with him made his chest hurt. "Unless-" he began, the stopped again, looking down to avoid meeting her eyes. "Company whilst I brew can be- be bearable if- if it is not distracting."

He knew he wasn't fooling her- he caught the 'Oh, Severus' ducking of the head and smile before she nodded. "Let me go get a book."

"No need," he replied. He didn't really want her leaving the room. "Choose one off the shelf, if you wish."

The grin on her face made it worth it, and tentatively, he crooked the ends of his mouth up in return.

Hermione bit back a yawn as the rocking motion of the train again lulled her into giving in to her fatigue. She and Severus had stayed up most of the night, brewing and reading and having a lovely conversation. He had even joked with her a few times- snarky, sarcastic jokes, sure, but jokes nonetheless.

The Prefect's Carriage was stifling in her robes, and even Ernie Macmillian was fighting to stay awake. On her other side, Ron wasn't even trying to pay attention, looking out the window with a faraway expression on his freckled face.

So, although a (very small) portion of her (rather prestigious) brain power was focused on listening to and committing to memory the speech of the current Head Girl and Head Boy, the other parts were free to shift between worrying about Sirius, worrying about Harry, and thinking about Severus.

Dear gods, she could not understand why Sirius felt it necessary to take so many stupid risks. She understood he was a reckless man- he had been worse before his incarceration, apparently, but even now he could act with an astounding lack of forethought. Honestly. Going with them to the station was a huge risk, and while she was scanning the crowd, alert for any sign of Death Eaters, she had seen several people give the large black dog strange glances. It set her on edge, even though Severus had told her the night before that the Dark Lord hadn't had any attack planned at the station. She wouldn't take any risks with Harry's safety.

Harry- he was trying so hard to be supportive of her and Ron while hiding his jealousy. She had been shocked too, when Severus told her that Dumbledore planned to promote Ron to prefect rather than Harry. The Gryffindor choice for the girl prefect was obvious- to choose anyone other than herself would have ludicrous. But to skip over Harry- that was strange. And while she thought she understood why Dumbledore had done it, her heart had clenched at the slightly lost look on Harry's face when she and Ron had turned away.

And then it hurt worse when she looked into his mind to see that he was thinking about how strange it was to travel on the Hogwarts Express without Ron. Serves you right, you stupid girl, for snooping in his thoughts in the first place. You rarely like what you find when you eavesdrop. You know that he values his friendship with Ron more than his friendship was with you.

The last item occupying her mind was, unsurprisingly, Severus Snape. Her professor, her mentor, her- dare she think it- friend. The dark man with long scarred fingers, a devastatingly sarcastic wit, and those eyes that were a mix of contradictions- she had thought they showed nothing, no emotion at all, but more and more often she was able to read a flicker of amusement or disdain or anger. Those eyes that had met hers and passed through to her mind, reading all of her deepest secrets and most horrible memories without comment, without judgment. He himself was another contradiction. A half-blood Death Eater, a Slytherin with two masters, a principled and honorable spy. A genius who taught dunderheads.

She longed to know more about him, and that embarrassed her. Severus Snape was a dangerous enigma, as mesmerizing as any other thing she had ever known. Was he her teacher? The obvious answer was yes, of course. She had sat at the same table, two rows back with Harry and Ron two or three times a week since she was eleven. In addition to teaching her to brew, he taught her the mind arts, Occlumency and Legilimency, and how to fight with fists and feet and knives. He taught her spells that were grey, borderline dark, and then outright black.

The real question was, did she think of him as her teacher? Or did she think of him as something else? Something totally forbidden and wrong and yet, perhaps a little right too?

And what was so wrong about it? Severus, while not conventionally handsome, had several characteristics she found rather attractive. The aristocratic severity of his features, his hands, his way of moving with such powerful grace, and his voice. Oh dear gods, that voice. Hermione wasn't so delusional to call him anything such as what Ginny or Lavender might use- Severus Snape was not a man to be called 'hot' or 'steamy' or gods forbid 'hunky.' Even the thought made her frown- no. Just- no. Not him.

But Hermione was attracted to Severus, she realized with a bit of a wince. Attracted to? Fancy the pants off, more like. And she had to admit that part of what attracted her to such a degree was his intelligence. He was not your average wizard; Severus was not just a Potions professor, he had his Mastery in Potions. That required years under another Master, a thesis, and the creation of a new potion. She had looked up his Master's thesis- and had needed a technical dictionary and three read-throughs to understand it. Just by talking to him, she felt as if she was exercising some vital mental muscle.

Part of it also was the way he treated her- like she was an intelligent adult with advice and ideas that held worth. He listened when she spoke, and even when his comments sounded derisive or downright mean, there was some value to be had. He joked with her, and relaxed sometimes. More than once, he had laughed or smirked around her, although the previous night was the first time he had actually smiled. Severus Snape, smiling. Harry or Ron would never believe it. The time she and Severus spent debating or discussing or talking or even just brewing were becoming the high points in her days. There was something about the camaraderie they shared, Hermione's secret, that made the opportunity to be free and just as sarcastic and pessimistic as she wanted more valuable than she could have ever imagined.

Of course, he had far more than his fair share of problems. He had been abused as a child- she had seen that much with her tentative forays into Legilimency. He had a fascination with the Dark Arts, he could be cruel, and he was incapable of asking for help. She wasn't blind to those faults. He was a snarky, mean, dangerous bastard with a temper on top of it all. But that was what made the little moments better- when he was kind or gentle with her, or when he smiled at her. The fact that he trusted her enough to allow her access to his home and actually let her give him medical attention.

As she sat in the unreasonably warm Prefect's Carriage, as she reasoned her emotions out in her head, she finally admitted it to herself again. Damn it, I fancy Severus. Snape. Professor Snape. I just really hate myself, don't I? I go for the closest guy I have absolutely no chance with. Lovely. Perfectly lovely.

And the she made a second realization, one that almost made her groan aloud. How on earth am I going to keep this from him? Act normal? I can't act normal. What I like about being around him is that I don't need to act normal, I can be normal. I guess I'll just have to bury this keep behind my shields and try not to think about it when I'm around him.

In a sort of daze, she followed Ron to the carriage where Harry was sitting with Ginny, Luna Lovegood, and Neville. Ginny was familiar, of course, but she was more uncertain about Neville and Luna Lovegood. Hermione had never quite gotten over the fact that she had hexed Neville to get to the Sorcerer's Stone, first year. She had been feeling guilty about that for a long time, so she always made an effort to help Neville out since then, penitence for hurting him then. He had never appeared to hold it against her, but still she felt bad.

And Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, owner and editor of The Quibbler, a magazine that was generally regarded as the ridiculous ravings of a poor widower who hadn't been a 'complete silverware set' before Selene Lovegood had died. Ravenclaw, fourth year, known for wandering around barefoot and making uncomfortably accurate comments with no mental filter. Also known as Looney Lovegood. Hermione was not a fan of those who lived in dream worlds- although she could excuse it in a nine-year-old who had just lost her mother. But in a fourteen-year-old? She made Hermione a bit uncomfortable.

Of course, it had more than a little something to do with the girl's appearance. Those eyes, that looked past things, and a voice that was incredibly dreamy, almost like a Muggle who was stoned out of their mind. But behind the strange clothing and wacky jewelry and stringy blonde hair, a sharp intelligence rested.

She made an effort to join in on the conversation, but was unable to put much energy into it. Snapping at Ron, calling Pansy Parkinson a cow, all in a day's work. But Hermione perked up a little when she got a chance to test Luna's mettle.

"Of course not. The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that," she snapped, as if she didn't know that Luna's father was the editor.

"Excuse me," said Luna, voice sudden frosty rather than dreamy. "My father's the editor." So she's not such a loony-bird, then. Loyal to her father. Perhaps- Yes. I think she would be a good friend. Time to act the part of embarrassed know-it-all.

She made herself blush. "I-oh. Well… it's got some interesting… I mean, it's quite-"

"I'll have it back, thank you," Luna said coldly. She snatched the magazine back from Harry and promptly turned it upside down.

Hermione looked down and away, but the sound of three raucous voices outside the carriage brought her head up again. Darn. That sounds like Malfoy. And where he goes, his goons go too.

The carriage door opened, and Malfoy sauntered in, Crabbe and Goyle following then flanking him. The blond aristocrat crossed his arms and smirked down at Harry, obviously there to flaunt his new prefect's badge. Malfoy had been particularly gleeful when he had realized that Ron, not Harry, was the Gryffindor prefect.

Harry responded aggressively, as Hermione had known he would. "What?" he snapped, before Malfoy could say anything.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," Malfoy drawled. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments." His aura of smugness deepened.

Harry gave a short laugh. "Yeah," he said. "But you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone." Everyone gave the perfunctory laughs, but Hermione kept her eyes on Malfoy. He had a gleam in his eye, one that she did not like at all.

"Tell me, how does it feel to be second-best to a Weasley, Potter?" he asked cruelly.

Hermione saw the flash of hurt on Harry face and leapt to defend him. "Shut up, Malfoy," she said sharply, a warning beyond the command in her voice. Let's see if the Daddy's boy has anymore fight in him. He looks like he's bursting to say something.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," he said, smirk widening. "Well, just watch yourself Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

Dogging. Dogged. Dogs. Sirius. Damn it! How much does he know? It must have been his father, it's not safe. Wormtail must have told the Dark Lord and his followers about Sirius' Animagus form. Damn it damn it damn it all to hell. I have to tell Severus, he has to make sure Dumbledore doesn't let Sirius out of the house anymore. If anything happened to Sirius Harry would be destroyed, Sirius is the closest thing he has to a father. Even if Sirius went on the run, he would have to either dye his fur white or disguise himself well, but there are ways of seeing past all that.

She thought all this in a moment, not giving into the urge to look at Harry, or let her fear show on her face. "Get out!" she snarled, standing up and advancing at him. "I'll bet you haven't forgotten when I punched you a year ago and I will do it again, prefect or no prefect! I'm a prefect too, you bloody wanker, and I'm telling you to get out!" She bared her teeth at him, her eyes promising pain and retribution.

He left, glancing back at her with more than a hint of fear. "Crazy Mudblood," he hissed, then slammed the door behind him.

"Whoo!" Ron said, as soon as the footsteps faded. "Go Hermione!" The look Harry and Hermione shared went right over Ron's head. They knew- Lucius Malfoy had seen and recognized Sirius.

"What did she do a year ago?" Neville asked, voice trembling a bit.

Ron chuckled. "She punched Malfoy in the face," he said smugly, continuing with the story. Hermione couldn't pay attention- she didn't want to. Instead, she leaned her head against the window and gazed at the countryside as she contemplated what had happened.

Luna looked up from her magazine, staring at Hermione for a few seconds before returning to the publication.

They arrived at Hogwarts as usual, near dark. The castle looked imposing, framed in the growing purple of the night. But this year Hagrid wasn't there to lead the first years; instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank, his usual substitute, was ushering them onto the boats. She and Ron had to leave Harry to help with crowd control- one of the usual duties of a prefect.

She and Ron caught up with Harry at the carriages- the ones that had been drawn by invisible horses the year before. But now-

"Thestrals," she whispered, numb fingers dropping her trunk with a thump. "I- I can see them." This isn't right. What fifth year should be able to see a thestral?

Ron frowned at her, leaning down to pick up her trunk. "What?"

Luna's head poked out of the carriage, her protuberant grey eyes fixed on Hermione. "You can see them. I can see them too."

A lump had emerged in Hermione's throat, and she couldn't say a word until she was in the carriage, squeezed between Harry and Ron.

"How can you see them?" Hermione asked, the numbness slow to flee. "I mean- I'm sorry. That's wasn't terribly sensitive." She sent an apologetic look at Luna.

The blonde girl shrugged- this apparently forgave Hermione for her comment about the Quibbler. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. My mother died when I was seven. She was experimenting with a spell and it went badly. I was with her in the lab. You?" There was a kind of painful sympathy in her voice, one that made the part of Hermione that wanted to cry when she saw someone hurt ache.

The rest of the carriage was watching with interest, but all of them had confusion etched into their faces. Their young faces. "I- Last year. In the graveyard. We were fighting, and one of the Death Eaters died." And those Death Eaters that Severus poisoned- the ones we fought. The red-haired woman I killed. Alcott, I think her name was.

Harry's eyes were darting between her and Luna. "I didn't know that one of them died," he said in a hushed voice. "What happened, Hermione?"

She didn't want to answer him. "It was a fight, Harry," she mumbled. "This is war. People die in war." People die when I slash a major artery with a knife, or hit them in the chest with a Bone-Breaker. Or when I Stun them and Severus has to poison them.

"What is this about anyway?" Neville asked. His face was scrunched up, but with a dispassionate jolt Hermione realized that some of the baby fat had melted off his face during the summer vacation. They were becoming adults- young men and women. Of course, she was almost three years older than all of them.

Hermione snapped into know-it-all mode. "Thestrals are magical creatures that can only be seen if the observer has also seen death. They're thought to be omens of death or bad fortune because to see them you need to have seen someone die. Thestrals have the appearance of skeletal black winged horses- they look dead themselves. They do eat meat- raw only, but they also like blood. They have good noses and excellent directional skills."

Everyone gaped at her, and she allowed a flush to steal over her cheeks. "I read," she snapped. "The reason that Luna and I can see them and you lot can't is because we've watched someone die."

Neville cleared his throat timidly. "Oh," he said. "The horses pulling the carriage? I can see them too. I never knew what they were."

"Who'd you see kick the bucket, Neville?" Ron asked, with all of his usual tact.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Sorry, Neville."

The sandy-haired boy shook his head. "It's okay. It was my great-aunt. My grandmother's sister. She was old. It- it wasn't bad, or anything. It just looked like she was sleeping."

"So why can't I see them?" Harry asked suddenly. "I mean, I saw my mother die."

Oh, Harry. "You might not have actually seen it," Hermione said gently. "Or it could be you weren't able to process it. To see a Thestral you've had to face death- to have seen and accepted it for what it is."

For the rest of the carriage ride to the castle, they were silent.

And so ends Chapter 12.

I hope you enjoyed it. The Trio are back at Hogwarts, and there's been a minor shift in the relationship between Hermione and Severus. Kuddos to you if you can get the reference I made. :)

My life has been one stressful event after another recently- if you follow me on tumblr, you've noticed the lack of posts. Yeah. I can't believe I have time to think let alone breathe and my new laptop was supposed to arrive last week and STILL HASN'T COME (if you work at HP get me a rush order) and so I haven't been able to write. At all. Which is driving me nuts because I came up with a beautiful conflict for Severus and Hermione and I need to get it on paper!

So, no progress with writing, but plenty with planning.

I hope you will review and leave with some feedback. I have a fond spot for this chapter.

Please go and see the fanart! It is wonderful!