Hello All!

It is not only Friday, but it is update Friday! Yay! And this chapter will bring us to 100k+ words!

Last week I had the misfortune of updating on a day that the site went down, so I'm afraid not many people saw it. I know I didn't hear from many of my regular reviewers. Hopefully won't crash today!

I hope that this chapter lives up the all the expectations. Much more romance-y stuff now. :) And a much longer chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 15

The next night (for everyone but Hermione at least- for her it had been far more than a day) dinner was eaten quickly to allow enough time for Harry and Hermione to make it to their detention.

In Hermione's opinion, the entire day had been rather awful. They had Charms and Transfiguration in the morning, which hadn't been so bad, but Harry and Ron both seemed to be in worsening moods. Hermione suspected they hadn't done a whit of homework the night before and were starting to regret it as essay after assignment after essay began to pile on them. The boys had spent their lunch period in the Library, leaving Hermione to eat alone at the end of the table. She pulled out a book on advanced biochemistry and potions and set to reading with her sandwiches.

Harry was worried about Hagrid- Hermione didn't know why Dumbledore didn't think it would be prudent just to tell Harry where Hagrid was if just to stop the lout from poking around and making Hagrid's disappearance obvious. Hermione got a prickly feeling when Draco made a snide comment about Hagrid being caught up in a situation too "big" for him- it was very clear that Lucius Malfoy was giving his son information. Draco had expected Harry to catch the reference. Lucius- and probably the Dark Lord- thought that Harry knew more than he did.

She'd have to tell Severus later, and work out with him if it was a good or bad thing. Her head was aching too much right then to concentrate. At least both Luna and Ernie had publicly declared where they stood. That was one person from each House, excluding Slytherin. And even though Luna was a bit strange, Hermione was sure that she would be a valuable resource.

After a rather noisy and impetuous visit from Angelina, Harry and Hermione had scarfed their food, and made their way to where they stood now, outside Umbridge's office on the third floor. They paused in front of the door, and Hermione reached out to grip Harry's shoulder.

"You need to control your temper tonight," Hermione said, eyes making it clear she was serious. "We both lost it last time. Now we need to go in there and be calm and rational. We don't need to be remorseful- we just don't need to give her a reason to give us any more detentions."

Harry's green eyes flashed in anger, but then calmed as he processed the common sense in what she was saying. His muscles tensed and then relaxed under her hand. "Alright," he said, and made to turn away.

"Wait-" Hermione said. "If for some reason something does happen, let me confront her. You really can't afford any more trouble, and I can." She grinned in self-deprecation. "Being a know-it-all swot has its benefits, you know?"

Harry returned her grin. "On your head," he replied, nudging her playfully. "Let's go in."

They pushed open the door, and Hermione's stomach rolled a bit at the sight within. The first thing that hit her was the explosion of pink.

The second thing that unsettled her completely were the kittens that were frolicking in porcelain plates on the walls. The sickening sweetness contrasted with how those plates were typically created made her clench her fists in horror. If there was anything Hermione abhorred it was cruelty to animals. The souls of those kittens had been (painfully) wrenched from their bodies and trapped on the plates. It made Hermione want to clutch Crookshanks and give him all the cap nip he could ever want.

"Good evening," Harry said next to her, tone deliberately even. He glanced at her.

"Good evening," Hermione echoed, unclenching her hands and smoothing her robes.

Umbridge ignored them for a moment, adding something to piece of pink stationary. Then she looked up, smiling sharply. "Good evening," she relied sweetly.

"Tonight you will be writing lines," Umbridge simpered. Both Harry and Hermione moved to take writing materials from their bags, but a giggle stopped them. How old are you? Hermione thought snarkily. Twelve?

She opened a drawer in her desk and withdrew two long black quills, holding them with an almost tangible reverence. "You will be using these. Please provide your own paper."

Hermione frowned trying to remember where she had seen those before- and then it hit her. "You foul woman," she snarled. "Those are illegal in Great Britain, except for use in signing binding magical contracts. Not only would you be fired for using them because of the 'just punishment' clauses of the Hogwarts charter, you would probably be fined 500 Galleons per quill, if you don't end up in Azkaban."

Umbridge's eyes lit up. "Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor and speaking out of turn."

"Those are illegal," Hermione insisted, eyes narrowed. "Prolonged use will cause lasting harm."

Harry was visibly confused next to her. "Hermione?" he asked in a low voice.

"Those are blood quills, Harry," Hermione answered, eyes focused on Umbridge. "You don't use ink. It scratches the words into the back of your hand and uses your blood for ink. The cut heals, of course, but prolonged use will leave scars on the back of the hand. They're illegal dark artifacts, and the only place they can be legally used is in Gringotts or the Ministry to sign contracts in blood. If you break such a contract, your blood boils in your veins, which is why the use of such quills are restricted."

Umbridge tapped one of the quills against her lips. "True, true… Miss Granger. Completely true, unless, of course, you have a special writ from the Minister of Magic himself." The grin on her face turned truly vicious.

Hermione glared at her. "It could quite possibly ruin Minster Fudge's political career if it was revealed that he gave a teacher permission to use a device that causes permanent scarring on children." Her tone wasn't quite threatening- but it was close.

Clearly, Umbridge knew what Hermione was doing. "And for that, Miss Granger, you will write out 'I must not speak ill of my betters.' Mr. Potter, your lines are 'I must not tell lies.' Sit. Get to it."

"Professor Umbridge-" Hermione started again.

The woman stopped her, holding up one chubby ringed hand. "Enough, Miss Granger. One more word out of you and I will extend your detentions into next week."

"Why shouldn't I report you?" Hermione asked, voice deadly. "Tell me why I shouldn't leave this room right now and go to Professor McGonagall. Or better yet, Headmaster Dumbledore."

The professor's beady little eyes narrowed further. "Miss Granger, I hear you are Muggleborn," the professor said, voice sickeningly sweet, even though her eyes were cold. "You do not know the way things work in our world. For instance, connections. For example, I have a very good friend who works at the Ministry, in the Department of Muggleborn Administrations. They are the ones responsible for keeping all the information on Muggleborns- grades, addresses, parent's names… they are the ones who can input and… edit… information. Now in the Wizarding world, if I do her a favor, she does me one. Do you understand what I am saying?"

If she does a friend is such a position then she could change my scores, my information. She also thinks she is threatening my family, she has no idea that I sent them away. As far as the Ministry is concerned, their last known residence burned down. No bodies were found, presumed missing, etc. This is where I stand down, as little as I like this situation.

Harry looked ready to yell, but Hermione met his eyes and shook her head once brusquely.

"Perfectly," Hermione spat out through gritted teeth.

Umbridge put a quill on each desk. "Then get to work, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. And Miss Granger, I will take another twenty points from Gryffindor."

The two Gryffindors got to work. Their backs were facing Umbridge, so only Hermione saw the surprise on Harry's face at the sting from the quill. She steeled herself, and wrote in cramped script:

I must not speak ill of my betters.

The cuts in her hand healed instantly, leaving only a red flush on her pale skin. Hermione had dealt with worse pain before- just the fact that this was self-inflicted and, frankly, demeaning made it worse that training with Moody.

I must not speak ill of my betters, my arse, she thought angrily. I see no betters in her. Or in that idiot Fudge. This will not be a hard promise to keep.

As the night wore on, Hermione carefully monitored the painful looking tender skin on both her hand and Harry's. She was half tempted to switch hands, but decided against it. She only wanted this particular scar on one hand.

When Umbridge finally released her and Harry, they walked in silence until they were two corridors away. That was when Harry lost it, turning and punching the wall.

"Let me see your hand, Hermione," he ordered, ignoring his own painfully red hand. "That- that bitch. You're right, aren't you? But she was threatening your family, wasn't she?" His green eyes were desperate and furious, his drive for saving people coming to the forefront again. This needed to be contained, but Hermione wasn't quite sure how to do it.

Hermione held her hand out for his inspection. "She was," Hermione acknowledged. She hissed as Harry ran his thumb across the tender area.

"Sorry," he apologized. "How does it feel?"

"Perfectly lovely," replied Hermione dryly. "How's yours?" She took his hand to examine the raw skin.

"Same," he quipped, in the same tone that she had used. "What do you want to do?"

Hmm. She had to think about this a bit. "I'm not entirely sure right now," she admitted. "I want to think over our options. And get some murtlap tentacles."

"Alright," Harry said, heaving a frustrated sigh. "I trust you, Hermione. Do we want to tell Ron about this?"

Hermione hesitated. "No," she finally said. "What I want to do is wear a Glamour. But I think we should tell him anyway." At Harry's slightly confused look, Hermione explained. "Ron would be hurt if he found out later that we had kept him out of the loop. There are some things that we need to tell him, and there are other things that he doesn't need to know. What happened in the graveyard is one example of the later- but tonight is the former."

Unconsciously, Harry ran a hand through his dark and already messy hair. "Maybe we should wait a bit. So he doesn't go off and confront her."

"If you want to," Hermione agreed, biting her lip. "Come on. Let's get to the Common Room. You're already behind in homework, aren't you?"

Hermione was grading first-year papers at his desk when Severus returned from a meeting with the Dark Lord. When he had arrived, the soft light coming from under the door had put him on high alert- it was disconcerting how much he relaxed once he realized it was her.

She looked up, and gave him a little smile. "I enchanted the quill to reproduce your handwriting," she explained quickly. "I came to find you and you had left. I was bored, so I figured I might as well lighten your workload."

He gave her a rare, tired smile. "Is it vitally important, or do I have time to change?" he asked, voice gravelly.

"What we need to talk about is important, but it can wait until you've showered and changed," Hermione reminded him, casting a critical eye over his body. The scrutiny half-irritated him. "How bad was it?" Her voice was gentle, but not pitying. That alone was enough to make him answer.

"He's planning something big," Severus said bleakly. "I'm worried."

That worried Hermione. She leaned back in his big chair, a frown on her face as she nibbled at her lip. "How big?" she asked, turning her large brown eyes back to him. "Wait- don't answer. Go get comfortable, Severus. I'll just grade a few more papers while you do."

She shooed him away, and he obeyed.

Hermione turned attention back the first year essays- they were atrocious, she could see why Severus was so fed up with them. Honestly. The properties of a plant like fennel- no, it' s not just for soup. And it doesn't stop sneezes, or- did this kid seriously just say hiccups? Dear lord above, they need some serious help! She scrawled an acerbic comment in the margins.

She was working on a third paper when Severus reappeared, in a pair of black slacks and a white button down shirt, the shoulders of which were already wet from his damp hair. When she walked passed him to get the tea she had made, she realized that he smelled like herbs and sandalwood. She wondered if he made his own soap or shampoo- it smelled lovely. No- lovely wasn't the right word. Masculine.

"Here," she said, pressing a cup of tea into his hands. "So. What's the Dark Lord have on his mind?"

Severus sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I have no bloody idea," he snarled quietly. "It's got me worried. He speaking of rewarding 'his most loyal followers' and as far as I know, they're all in Azkaban."

"Has he gotten control of the Dementors, yet?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed. "Is he going to try to break them out?"

"We'll see," Severus said darkly. "It'll happen sooner or later. What did you need to speak to me about?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, in light of all this it seems rather silly. Umbridge. She's using blood quills for detention."

She held up her hand. Where Harry's redness had faded away by the time they went to bed, Hermione's fairer skin held the faint impression of letters. Severus didn't make any overt reaction, but his face hardened perceptibly and he rose gracefully, with fluid anger in every line of his body. Wordlessly, he stalked across the room to disappear into his private workroom, reappearing a moment later with a bottle and cloth in his hands.

He sat down next to her, setting the bottle and cloth down on the coffee table. He was close enough for her to smell the herbal scent he used mingled with the smell of his shower and the faint smell of Severus, close enough for her to see the shadow of stubble on his chin, close enough for her to hear his breathing.

Tenderly he took her smaller hand in both of his larger, callused ones. His were covered in small scars and burns from the thousands of potions he had made, but were still eloquently put together, long fingers giving the appearance of slimness despite his broad palms. Her hands were cold- his were warm. She shivered. He ran his thumb over the skin in the same way that Harry had. But for some reason, when Severus did it, the muscles of Hermione's abdomen clenched and she felt giddy.

She was so distracted by his closeness that she let out a small sound of pain. "My apologies," he murmured, eyes darted to her face to assess her comfort level. "Allow me to relieve the pain."

"Of course," she whispered, heart thudding in her ears.

With quick deft movements, Severus uncapped the bottle and upended it on the cloth, gathering some of the liquid. Carefully he smoothed it over the skin on the back of her hand, using long firm strokes to spread the faintly yellow liquid over the area.

"Better?" he asked, voice hardly a rumble.

Hermione's eyes were half closed in relief. "Much," she answered, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Severus." The liquid had burned cold and given her a wonderful feeling of relief.

"What did she have you write?" he asked in a tone anyone else would have called neutral. Hermione could detect the anger in his voice.

"I must not speak ill of my betters," Hermione spat, flexing her hand, her own anger igniting again.

Severus allowed her to reclaim her hand. "You didn't protest?" he asked, a note of what may have been disapproval in his voice.

She gave him a look that clearly communicated, Of course I did, you dolt. "She threatened my family and academic scores in front of Harry."

"Ah," he said, nodding his head in understanding. "I assume she made reference to her many friends in high places?"

Hermione confirmed his assumption. "I'm not sure if she was making a genuine threat or if she was playing off my 'Muggleborn ignorance' of the Wizarding World. I'm going to do some digging this week."

They discussed Umbridge, her awfulness, and the various ways Hermione could treat her for another half hour before weariness made itself known.

"Very well," Severus said, yawning. "I'm going to fall asleep right here on this couch. Is there anything else of importance, or can you scat and leave me to sleep in peace?" He yawned again and stretched, drawing Hermione's eye to the lines of his body- the slope of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the arch of his back.

She cleared her dry throat. "No," she said, standing and stretching herself. "I'll be off." There was a completely insane urge to kiss his forehead, which she hastily shoved away.

"Goodnight," Severus told her, pushing himself off the couch with groan so he could escort her to the door.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Harry was stressed and overwhelmed with homework, and, oddly enough, Ron was too. Hermione supposed it could be because she was in detention and not present to nag him about his homework. She really hoped that Ron's inherent laziness wasn't the issue- as annoying and deserving as Ron could be, he could be really sweet and helpful at times- because she had higher hopes for him as a person.

No Ron was hiding something. She wasn't particularly inclined to figure out what it was. She had more important things to worry about- namely, Umbridge and the detentions.

Her hand ached all the time, even with the solution Severus had given her the second night of detention. Even so, by the third night the words on both her hand and Harry's refused to go away. The hateful words sat on top of her skin, oozing her blood. It disgusted her.

Even so, she and Harry did discover what Ron had been hiding. Quidditch? All the secrecy over Quidditch? I swear, I don't know why I stay with the two of them…

And then Ron had noticed their hands and become outraged. Especially on Hermione's part.

"That foul, foul woman," he ranted, hardly remembering to keep his voice down. "I want to hurt her, Hermione, for what she's doing to you-"

"Oi!" Harry said, somewhat indignantly. "What about me, mate?" The humor defused the situation quickly, but Ron persisted in insisting that Harry and Hermione try to tell McGonagall.

"Listen, Ron," Hermione said finally, fed up. "This is a game of wills between us. And I don't want to draw Professor McGonagall into this- chances are, she's not going to be surprised. Think about her options. Either she turns Umbridge in, or she stays silent. Reporting Umbridge gets her into trouble with the Ministry, which equals trouble with the press. Professor McGonagall is a respected Transfiguration Mistress- and yet, her name is hardly spotless because of her known association with the Headmaster. This makes matters worse for her, and for the Order. And even if she does go through all that trouble, nothing will happen to Umbridge anyway. There is no point. And yet, if we put this in front of her, Professor McGonagall will be forced to choose between either reporting Umbridge, or not reporting her. Doing something stupid and foolhardy and technically right, or doing something smart yet something that is at odds with her morals and her sense of justice."

She took a breath, and continued. "It would be wrong of us to ask her to do that, because in a situation like this, Professor McGonagall is going to do the Gryffindor 'right thing' even though she is clever enough to know how completely pointless it is. And the fact that it is Harry makes everything more complicated."

Ron was giving her an odd look. "Stop it," she snapped at him. "And don't say what- it's that way that you're looking at me, like I'm-" she couldn't come up with words, so she just glared.

"I'm sorry?" Ron offered, and Hermione fought the urge to burst into tears. Eventually she gave in- it wasn't often that she gave into the hormones and emotions, and sometimes she just needed to.

She put her hands over her face and started sobbing, missing the startled exchange of glances that transpired over her head. Hermione tried to keep quiet, just letting her shoulders shake.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry, trying to be comforting, He hugged her awkwardly, patting her back and looking helplessly at Ron when she turned to sob into his shoulder.

They were near the Gryffindor Common Room, which was deserted that late at night, and with some maneuvering they made it so that all three of them were sitting on a comfy old red sofa. Hermione calmed down, rubbing at her blotchy face and red rimmed eyes.

"I'm being silly," she said, hiccupping a bit. "I'm sorry for snapping at you Ron- it's just-" she put a hand over her mouth to stop herself. "I'm sorry." There is so much I'm sorry for.

"Don't be," Ron said forgivingly. "It's tough, right now. And it doesn't help that Umbridge is making you carve words into your own hand."

Hermione moaned softly. "This is going to scar," she moped piteously, giving in to her vanity for a moment. "Another god-damned scar!"

Harry patted her arm awkwardly. "One more night," he reassured her. "And then we stay on the straight and narrow and avoid getting detention again."

The next day was the Quidditch tryouts- Hermione could see Harry anxiously watching the window for a hint about Ron's placement on the team. She hoped he would get it- although she didn't care for Quidditch one way or another, Ron was still her friend and she wanted him to be happy.

Her blood dripped from her hand onto the parchment, the cuts refusing to heal. It made Hermione nauseous and faintly lightheaded, the crimson of her blood, the ivory of her skin, and the mahogany of the desk. Next I'll start thinking I'm Snow White, she thought giddily.

The salve Severus gave her had helped, but she saw that there was no going back now- I must not speak ill of my betters would be permanently etched on her right hand.

The slack smile that Umbridge gave her, and the prickle of pain that shot through her hand when the witch's stubby fingers prodded at the wound, made Hermione want to gnash her teeth and strike out at the woman with her knives. Instead she nodded a terse 'goodnight' and left, Harry close on her heels.

"That woman is foul," Harry hissed at her, eyes wide and somewhat fearful. "My scar ached whens she touched me, Hermione. Do you think she's a Death Eater, or-"

"No," Hermione said immediately. "Gods above, she's awful, but there is no way that she is serving the Dark Lord. I think it was rather an unhappy coincidence that your scar hurt when she touched you. Do you want to go to Dumbledore?"

Harry frowned, face darkening. "No," he said curtly.

"Then tell me about it," Hermione said easily. It made no sense to pressure him when what he would tell her would be reported to Dumbledore later.

The boy's nose wrinkled. "I dunno," he said slowly. "I felt- strange, when she touched me. I mean, my head hurt, but-" he flushed suddenly. "My- my navel felt strange."

It took a moment, but the combination of Harry's red face and the location of the sensation clicked for Hermione. "Oh!" she squeaked, eyes darting away from Harry's face while her mind hastened to put the pieces together. "So he was… happy, then."

"Looks like it," Harry said, looking away. "I dunno. We'll see what the papers report tomorrow, won't we?"

Hermione agreed, and changed the subject quickly, which Harry was evidently thankful for. She waited until everyone had gone to bed, and left to see Severus.

She let herself into his rooms as she had done before, reasoning that he hadn't told her not to, after the time before. The Dark Lord is calling another meeting just a couple days after the last one, she though, a swirl of unease in her stomach. What happened?

The possibilities and their repercussions were enough to keep her mind occupied for hours, but slowly she slipped into a light sleep on Severus' sofa. His rooms smelled like he did, a scent so comforting that Hermione had no close her eyes clench her fists to hold back the tears that threatened.

He smells safe. Safety. Which is ridiculous because Severus is the most dangerous man I've ever met.

Her thoughts wandered, as she dozed on the sofa. Eventually, her eyelids were too heavy to keep open, and she though with her eyes shut.

What would happen if I tell him? Could he ever love me? Do I even really love him?

I do now- I know my own emotions, I think. But will I forever? What kind of silly, foolish person would I be if I told Severus I was in love with him and ruined this balance between us forever- and then changed my mind? Or if he had feelings for me back and I changed my mind?

I suppose I should make a list. It's reasonable and I have time.

What I like about Severus Snape: His mind. The way he is graceful when he moves. How his voice drawls and dips and just sounds like a dagger wrapped in silk. His hands when he brews. The intensity of everything he does. When he talks to me like an equal. The way he listens to what I have to say. The lines of his body when he fights. The ease with which he summons his magic and lets it slide around him. His bravery.

What I don't like about Severus Snape: He can be a callus git. He can be merciless. How he can be so uncaring. The way he sinks into moods and nothing can get him out. He can be downright nasty half the time.

I doubt any of those things are going to change. Except the physical things, but those aren't really that important any way- they're just nice to look at.

He's always going to be a nasty git who is moody and snappish. Merciless. I can be merciless. Perhaps we are more alike than I'm comfortable with.

Too bad.

One day Voldemort will be gone and everything will be better. I'm still optimistic enough to believe that. Naïve enough.

Severus frowned as his wards alerted him to a visitor- it was probably Hermione again. She has something of import, I suppose.

He strode through the doors to his chambers, fully expecting to be in a mood and encourage her to leave as soon as possible. Her presence in a place as personal as his rooms made the little bubble of feeling inside his ribcage squirm. She made him uncomfortable, she unsettled him.

"Whatever your news may be-" he stopped, teeth coming together with a click. She lay on his sofa, her busy cushion of hair making itself useful for once as a pillow. Her face was hardly gentler in sleep, as she was gentle normally.

It is a strange thing to see Hermione in a cold fury, Severus recalled, thinking back to the times when that had happened. Her face doesn't change so much as her presence. When she is angry, she makes one notice her. Her features come into detail, her eyes snap beautifully- and here I am, staring at her sleep and making a fool of myself.

He stared a moment longer anyway, taking in the shadow of her lashes upon her cheek and the way she hugged herself in the absence of a blanket. He wanted nothing more than to smooth her hair away, or caress her cheek.

Instead, he wordlessly Summoned a pillow from the other seat and Transfigured it into a blanket, settling it over her with his wand instead of his hands, before stalking off to shower and change.

Severus was buttoning his shirt when he felt, as much as heard, Hermione wake. He left his bedroom and stalked into the sitting room, smiling slightly despite himself when he saw the expression her face. There was a crease mark from where her cheek had rested on the couch, and she was rubbing her eyes with a sleepy slowness to her motions. She was sitting up now, propped against the arm of the sofa.

"Did you have a good nap, Hermione?" Severus drawled, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her.

Predictably, she scowled at him. "No. Your couch is rubbish."

"Liar," he said, still smirking. "Or else you wouldn't have fallen asleep."

She looked like an angry kitten when she was scowling- he could almost forget she was dangerous. "I did come here for a reason, you know. I don't just break into your rooms for fun."

He actually chuckled. "You didn't break into my rooms, you have a password," he retorted. "What did you come about?"

Hermione's brow wrinkled, and she absentmindedly pulled the blanket up. "Harry. He sensed something from the Dark Lord."

With a groan, Severus sunk into the armchair, covering his eyes. He had managed to push it away, the niggling feeling that something was wrong. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" Hermione asked. Now her forehead was furrowing in worry for Severus as well. "Harry said that the Dark Lord was pleased- or aroused."

Severus looked up. "Potter knows what arousal feels like?" He felt slightly repulsed at the thought.

Hermione snorted a laugh. "Um… he's a teenager, Severus. We all know what arousal feels like. But no, he didn't say it out loud, he was too embarrassed. He just said that the feeling came from his navel- and then figured it out and went beet red."

She's not embarrassed… why? "Well, I think I know why the Dark Lord was happy," Severus said darkly. "Lucius came back, crowing about a minor victory against the Order. I didn't stay long- the Dark Lord sent me away, figuring that Dumbledore would call me in about it."

"I sure he will," Hermione murmured, frowning as she tried to finger comb her dark curls. "An Order meeting- I should go."

Severus looked her over, and without hesitation spoke. "Don't Glamour yourself. It's high time that the Order know who is protecting Harry and treat you with the according respect."

In the instant it took Hermione to process the information, she was refusing on principle. "The more people who know the more dangerous it is for me," she snapped. "I already sit in on most of the meetings. I thought the entire point of having me as a bodyguard to Harry was the people wouldn't suspect anything!"

"It is," Severus retorted, just as much ire in his voice. "But I think that this situation is getting too dangerous for this knowledge to be confined to just half of the upper echelons of the Order. Too many could die. And if we wait much longer, they will feel betrayed that we didn't tell them sooner. We cannot afford any rifts in the Order."

Hermione shook her head. "Severus. I'm only there to defend Harry-"

"It's more than that and you know it," Severus snarled in a low voice. "You want me to treat you like an adult, Hermione, then act like it. You need to be protected now just as much as Harry does. How much do you think you know about the plans of the Order? How much information do you think you know about the Dark Lord? About Dumbledore's plans?"

"I know plenty but certainly not everything!" Hermione exclaimed. "I-"

"If you are captured, Hermione," Severus said, stressing her name and meeting her eyes, "Then you could topple this. If they get any information out of you, you would be risking the Order. The lives of those in the Order. My life."

Hermione, a wild, frightened kind of look on her face, glared at him. "No. You've tested my Occlumency walls yourself. They're strong. I've faced the Dark Lord before."

Severus pounded his fist on his leg, visibly trying to calm himself. "Hermione, this is about insuring your protection, and therefore Potter's."

"No, it's more than that because if it was about Harry's protection you would have said something before now," Hermione said slowly, staring into Severus' grey eyes. "It's bigger."

Severus wanted to look away, but he didn't. "The reasons I give aren't enough?"

"Since when have you lied to me, Severus?" Hermione asked, voice heartbreakingly gentle when he expected it to be cold.

His own voice sharpened. "I am a spy. Nothing that comes out of my mouth is ever entirely true," he informed her. "So rid yourself of that illusion."

If she was hurt she didn't show it. "Severus, tell me why you want me to reveal myself to the Order as myself."

"Tell me why you are refusing to do this simple thing," responded Severus.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing at her jaw with the palm of one hand. "Because at first they won't believe it and they'll force me to prove myself. And then they'll look at me and see someone who's strange- a girl who isn't just weird because she's a 'walking, talking, encyclopedia' but because she's dangerous. They'll feel angry, cheated, lied to. They'll want to tell Ron and Harry."

"Would that be such an awful thing?" Severus asked, feeling awkward now that she had actually answered his question. "To have them know?"

There was no hesitation before her answer. "Yes," she said simply, looking away from him. "They are happy. Kids. Harry bears the weight of the world on his shoulders but he doesn't really know it yet. If they knew-" she looked down and away. "They would hate me at the most and never trust me again at the least. It isn't worth losing their friendship just to let them know that I'm looking out for them."

"Does friendship matter so much to you that you would put it before lives?" Severus asked, long fingers clenching his armchair.

Hermione looked up again, brushing back hair from her eyes. "No, of course not," she said. "If we were in a situation and I needed to reveal myself I would do so. But I want the illusion to last as long as possible, Severus. I want some part of my life where I'm just Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire." Her face changed from open and somewhat emotional to closed. "I've told you my reasons. Now you tell me yours."

"Hermione, you know most if not all of the major operations of the Order," Severus started tersely. "In fact, in the chain of command that the others see, it is Dumbledore, Minerva, and then perhaps Kingsley. But in terms of who knows the plan, the secrets, there is only one person who knows everything and that is Dumbledore. After Dumbledore, I know the most- I have to, it's part of my job as the Order's primary spy. And then there is you."

There was a moment of silence as Hermione absorbed this information. "There are things McGonagall doesn't know?" The fire was flickering, casting long shadows in the room. He hadn't bothered to light torches on the wall brackets.

"Of course," replied Severus. "Dumbledore trusts no one, including me. What I know is what I have to know for my job. One cannot gather and sort important information if one is bombarded from every side with anything and everything. In one meeting with the Dark Lord, I learn hundreds of things and tell Dumbledore only that which is relevant. The rest only I remember and if it appears again or in another context, I can recall it. Therefore, he is forced to share with me most of what is happening, so I can add information from the Death Eaters."

"Then why me?" Hermione asked. "Shouldn't someone else know more than I do?" She was dodging what she knew and it was infuriating him.

Severus wanted to snarl in frustration. Instead, he shook back his still-damp hair from his face to see her clearly. "I know the most, second only to Dumbledore. And who do I talk to?"

He saw the moment of realization on her face. "Me."

"Exactly," he said, not quite able to keep the dripping sarcasm from his voice. "As unseemly as it is, I run most of the information pass you. And with good reason- you have the brain for this work, Hermione. You catalog and organize information and are able to recall it with amazing ease. You plot with the mind of a Slytherin, you are as amiable as a Hufflepuff, have the self-confidence of a Gryffindor, and the intelligence of a Ravenclaw. You came up with our entire strategy for Umbridge- Hermione, what you have planned isn't going to be contained within the walls of Hogwarts- you know this. Dumbledore is thinking about bringing you in on some of the larger planning for outside these four walls."

Her face was drawn and he could tell she had already known this. "I'm not a fool, Severus. So what?"

"So think," he snapped at her. "I know you have a brain, Hermione, so use it for Merlin's sake!" When she refused to answer, he propelled himself from his chair. "Who do you think has the most relevant and irrelevant information on the current Death Eaters and plans of the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy in the Order, Hermione? They say you're the brightest witch of your generation, prove it!"

She stood as well, letting the blanket fall to the ground. "Are you implying that I do? Severus, what does this have to do with letting the Order know that Hermione the bodyguard exists?"

"What happens if I die, Hermione?" Severus asked, bearing down on her. "Dumbledore doesn't know as much about the inner workings of the Death Eaters as you do. I've discussed possibilities with you, laid out information on the table that even Dumbledore doesn't know. You know these people through me. If something happened to me, you need to work with Dumbledore and whoever the next spy will be to make sure the Order succeeds."

He was directly in front of her, their chests almost touching. He was so tall that her head was tilted back uncomfortably, her eyes meeting his squarely. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Severus," she said softly.

"Don't be naïve," he sneered. "Every time I walk into the Dark Lord's throne room I risk death. I want the Order to know about you now so that in the event of my death, you can give information and work with adults without it being a terrible shock. They need time to get used to you, to see you in action so to speak. They won't just take my word for it- although Dumbledore's and Lupin's will probably count for something. "

Hermione's muscles clenched in her neck and face, drawing his attention to the fact he was close enough to see it. "To everyone? Or just the Inner Circle?"

Severus blinked down at her. "Just the Inner Circle, for now," he said, feeling his weariness sink down on him. "Let's go see Dumbledore."

And so ends Chapter Fifteen.

I hope, as always, that you enjoyed the chapter. A bit more angst, a bit more staring, a bit more conflict. In other news, I finished Chapter Twenty! That means we're all set for updates until December. It seems like a long ways away, but it isn't really. :( I need to get writing.

My other SS/HG fic, To Love and All it Entails is now finished (FINALLY) and if you feel like it, please give it a read. It is a very different kind of romance compared to FTOH- nothing like this one at all.

And now for the preview:

He rolled his eyes at her. "So I should be thanking you for preserving my classroom and cauldrons instead of reprimanding you for corrupting my students?"

"Save your reprimands for someone they'll effect," Hermione told him innocently. "I know how much time and effort you put into making every one memorable."

He scowled at her, and she laughed again, ducking out of his office to his mutter of "Impertinent minx!"

I'll see you all next on October 18th!