Happy Friday!

I hope all of you had a wonderful fortnight. I, on the other hand, had a miserable one. Several things piled up at once. My grandfather died, which meant my mum had to go to France, and then I was stuck with my dad and my little brother. So, of course, if any housework at all had to be done, I was the one doing it. And then I got food poisoning and spent 24 hours throwing up every half hour. It was bad, emotionally and physically and stress wise.

Of course, all of your comments made me feel better. I was relieved that many of you did not consider Hermione a Mary Sue, and that those of you who did offered some absolutely feasible suggestions, several of which I have already worked into the plot. Of course, they'll come in a bit further down since right now I'm finishing up Chapter 23.

But: Here is a lovely chapter with plenty of romance and maybe even a bit plotting. Enjoy!

Chapter 19

Thankfully, Severus wasn't stopped in the corridors by any needy student (not that being stopped in the corridors happened often) and he didn't have any Slytherins waiting for him in his office. He was able to quickly retrieve the things he wanted, and make his way back to the practice room.

When he found the hidden door and slipped inside, he surveyed the room and the damage quickly. Gods, it had been glorious to blend his power with hers and see her weld it so wonderfully. The target she had been aiming at was indeed destroyed- along with the three targets farther down the range and a good portion of the stone wall was scorched black. Perhaps we overdid it, a little.

Severus was delighted. Now, if she could only do something similar again, on her own, he would be able to show Dumbledore his theory worked. The old codger was of the opinion that it took months or years to learn wandless magic and there could be no shortcuts. Severus thought that if the student was talented enough, they could learn wandless magic in hours.

And speaking of students… his student was currently sleeping on the couch he had formed from her chaise longue, one arm stretched over her head and the other draped protectively over her torso. Her curls were darkened with sweat where they met her head, but the rest of her long hair was flung haphazardly around her head.

She looks so peaceful. So beautiful. She has no idea how wonderful she is, how brilliant, how alive. She's so young. Her skin is so soft.

He had loved holding her face in his palm, he had loved the way his hands were nearly bigger than her head. Hermione's skin had been warm, her pulse had been strong in her neck. Her hands had felt lovely when they had been pressed to his skin and it had taken every bit of strength he had accumulated in his long years of developing control not to react.

And here I am, staring at a sleeping girl half my age, and wanting her.

She's not half your age. She's nearly nineteen. You're only thirty five. In September of next year, she'll appear to be seventeen but will be twenty or so and you'll be thirty six. The year after that she'll be twenty-two and you'll be thirty seven. Wizards can live twice as long as Muggles, so the age difference is really only like seven years, not fifteen.

She would never be interested in me.

My touch didn't repulse her. She reached out to me. She felt comforted by my presence. There could be something there.

The Potions Master stared down at his student, his friend, his- the woman who he thought about entirely too much and in a fashion that wasn't quite appropriate.

Hermione loves everyone and everything freely. She could deem you worthy.

Why would she want to be with an old man like me?

Because she smiles at you. And she isn't afraid of you. She likes you.

I'm her friend and that is all.

Oh? And who are all your other friends? You don't have that many.

Albus is my friend and I don't want to hold him!

So now you want to hold her? You dirty old man…

And two seconds ago you were telling me I had a chance with her.

I was lying, you creep.

"I shouldn't talk to myself in my head," Severus muttered. "Or out loud for that matter." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, very decidedly not looking at the prone girl on the couch.

"Hermione," he said, raising his voice slightly higher than his normal tone. "Wake up."

She frowned and stirred, blinking sleepily, then said something he couldn't quite catch. Severus sighed again and conjured an armchair and a small table for the things he had brought. A glance at the clock in the corner told him that they had three hours before either of them had to be at dinner.

It is ridiculous how reluctant you are to wake her, his inner voice said, words dripping with disdain.

It was because she looked so… pleasant while she slept. She looked peaceful. Sleep that resulted from a magical draining was often dreamless. I'll give her that blessing, he thought stubbornly. Not because she's pretty or I like the way she looks when sleeping. Because she deserves to rest a while in peace.

He called for a house-elf, and asked for some tea. Hermione's book bag was leaning against the wall on the other end of the room; he summoned it and rummaged around until he found a book that looked mildly interesting.

About two hours later, Hermione was still sleeping and Severus was getting a bit worried. What if it wasn't just a minor magical drain? What if you were wrong and you severely injured her magic? What if she's just slipped into a magically induced coma and-

Check then, you idiot.

Severus set Hermione's book down slowly- not because he was calm, but because he was trying desperately to control himself. It was Severus' nature to act calm when inside he was pacing with worry, with terror, to make full use of his Occlumency barriers and hide his emotions.

"Hermione," he called, and she did not stir.

The worry was weaving a path up from his belly and curling around his lungs. "Hermione!"

Of all the emotions on the spectrum, Severus hated fear the most. It crippled, it drove people to do what they would never otherwise do, it was unpredictable and yet the same every time. When he stood, Severus was unable to do it slowly, with the appearance of calm. He was at her side in a moment, kneeling as he pressed a hand to the pulse in her neck. "Hermione!"

Her pulse was slow and steady- he couldn't think straight enough to count the beats, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway because he couldn't remember what the difference was between sleep and coma. "Hermione!" He wanted to shake her roughly, he wanted to-

Her eyes opened. "Severus?" His name was slurred, but with sleep and not with anything worse. Magical exhaustion, not anything fatal. He couldn't help but close his eyes in relief.

"You are alright," he breathed.

She was struggling to sit up, and failing miserably. "I could argue that one," she slurred. "Feel like-" she sighed and collapsed back on the couch. "Ow."

Severus couldn't help laughing aloud. At that point, it was either laugh or hug her to his chest and as much as he wanted to do that he was also quite sure he didn't. She was alright, she wasn't in a coma or permanently damaged, she'd be perfectly fine. Hermione was glaring up at him. "I was sleeping," she protested. "I'm tired."

He rocked back on his heels, still laughing. "I thought you were in a coma," he told her suddenly.

"I think Lockhart was here and he Vanished all my bones," Hermione groaned. "Severus…"

"You're worn out, magically and physically," he told her. "You exhausted yourself."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You mean you exhausted me."

"I mean we exhausted you," Severus compromised. "It'll go away, once you eat and sleep some more."

Hermione sighed, and yawned. "Ow," she complained again.

"We need to do something about that before it scars," Severus sighed. "If you wish, I will heal it for you."

Hermione smiled at him. "Go ahead," she said. "Just don't wake me up if I fall asleep on you."

"Sorry," he said, clearly not sorry at all. "Dinner's in forty-five minutes. And you should probably eat something now."

"Fine," grumbled Hermione. "But take care of my face first, while I wake up." Severus raised one eyebrow. "Please?"

He smirked. "It would be my pleasure." He gathered his supplies, and returned, then frowned. "I don't suppose you are feeling well enough to sit up?" The look she gave him clearly indicated otherwise.

With a sigh, he brought the table nearer, then lifted her torso and sat where her head had been resting. Hermione's head rested in his lap (oh, how strange and exhilarating it felt but Severus pushed those emotions down and far, far away), looking out at the rest of the room.

As he cleaned her cut, she was silent, making no noise at the pain he was sure he had to be causing her. None of it was deliberate- Severus used his lightest touch, taking as much care as he could to save her any pain. He cleaned the dried blood from her face, then used a solution he had made himself to wash it out and prevent infection. He could feel her muscles tense as he applied the antiseptic- he knew from experience it stung. Working quickly, he applied another salve he had made, one that would hasten healing, close the wound, and prevent scarring.

The work did not distract from his appreciation of her features. Her skin was smooth, less pale than it had been at the beginning of the summer. Her brows were finely arched, her nose was freckled and perhaps a shade too thin and a trifle too long, but who was Severus Snape to complain about someone's nose? Her mouth was sensuous and slightly chapped, her chin was stubborn, and her lashes brushed her cheek when her eyes were closed.

"Finished," he said, voice a bit rough. "I'll ask for some food. Is there anything in particular you would like?"

For some reason, a look of guilt flashed across her face. "Does coffee cake count as food?"

"No," he said. "I think we're both going to skip dinner tonight. How does roast chicken sound?" He carefully filed away her desire for coffee cake for future reference. He would have to see if it was truly a favorite or only a momentary craving.

The house-elves happily brought food from dinner, and it was the work of moments for Severus to Transfigure a proper dining table. He prepared two plates from the platters the house-elves brought, and they ate.

He had never observed her eating habits from this close before. She was dainty with her silverware, never spoke with her mouth full, but also managed to eat everything he had served her. Hermione Granger ate as if she was a pureblood lordling, courtesy of Andromeda Tonks. But it was strange- he had seen her reading and eating at the same time as he had watched from the High Table.

"So…" Hermione drawled. "Tell me what kind of experiment we were doing."

Severus sipped from his goblet of water. "Albus and I have long debated the best way to teach wandless magic. He believes that your books are correct, to a point. I believe that they are absolutely ridiculous and the best way to teach wandless magic is to have an experienced mentor demonstrate with the person's own magic, and create a pathway."

"Like riding a bike, then," Hermione posited. "Once you know how to do it, you can't forget."

"More or less," Severus hedged. "It's more like… guiding you through the process, so you know exactly how it should be done."

Hermione shrugged. "Then why am I so exhausted?"

Now Severus was a bit sheepish. "Well, maybe we shouldn't have started with blowing up targets. Summoning a quill may have been wiser."

Laughing, Hermione choked on her food. She coughed a few times, eyes watering. "Now you consider that," she gasped. "Thanks, Severus."

He wanted to fidget, but held still. "Perhaps I was… a bit overeager."

She raised an eyebrow at him, a habit she had picked up from the Potions Master in the first place. "Perhaps." He gave in to his urge to fidget, and she laughed again. "That's alright, though. I think I know what I need to do, now, to get my magic to obey."

"I wouldn't try anything tonight," Severus warned. "Or tomorrow morning. And I would like to be there, just in case-"

"So we'll meet here tomorrow afternoon?" Hermione suggested, cutting him off. "Two?"

Severus nodded. "That would be acceptable."

The food was nearly gone, and Hermione had finished her plate. She stood and stretched like a cat, yawning at the same time. "Then I'm going to soak in the Prefect's bath until curfew. Goodnight, Severus."

He nodded, refusing to let his face break out into a smile. "Goodnight, Hermione."

The Prefect's bath was a glorious reward for four years of academic excellence and integrity, a gift to the students who earned it. Hermione adored the Prefect's bath- it was truly lovely, all marble and porcelain and stained glass windows reaching impossibly high.

She had already chosen her favorite taps- one for normal, hot water, one for a scent like rose hips and honey, and another that relaxed her muscles. She only chose the first two that night; she didn't want to fall asleep and drown.

But as tired as she was, Hermione thought there was little chance of that. Her mind was a mess, turning and looking at the events of the day from one primary angle: Severus.

Almost immediately after returning from Hogsmeade, Hermione sent the boys off to do their homework, while she went to the practice room. It was either that, or do something stupid.

There were some days that Hermione wanted to curl up in a ball and cry and never surface. Sometimes she thought (objectively, of course) about death and what hers would mean, and she just wanted to disappear. She wondered if dying would be painful or unpleasant. She wondered what would happen when Harry and Ron found out about her. She wondered what she would do after the war was over.

When she was a child she had expected to go through school, go to university, fall in love, maybe start a family. Now… she could very well die. And if she lived, Hermione doubted she would be fit for co-habitation, let alone matrimony. Who could possibly understand? Would there be one person alive who would be able to handle Hermione at her most prickly, when she was weepy, when she was bitter and angry one minute and happy the next? Who would be able to understand what she had done and why she had done it? Who wouldn't shy away from her in fear?

Harry, perhaps, Ron, maybe. But could she love them? Not as more than friends.

What about the man you are currently dreaming about? a voice whispered to her. What about the snarky monster who sneers at you in one breath and comforts with the other?

Hermione shivered as she undressed and stepped into the hot bath. Goosebumps rose on her arms, a strange reaction to the heat of the water. With a sigh, she waded in and sat on a helpful outcropping that immersed her in the wonderful scented water to the neck.

Severus Snape. She had already admitted to herself that she found the man extremely attractive. It was easier at school to distance herself, to view Severus as Professor Snape, her Potions Professor. But today…

Had the stern, selfish, unfeeling Snape actually shown worry about her? Concern? A desire to find out what was bothering her? To be fair, she hadn't actually seen Severus acting selfish or uncaring in a long while. It had taken a year or two, but Hermione more than understood that the role Severus played in the classroom and in the halls of Hogwarts was not his true self. But what was?

She had limited evidence. Who was to say Severus was the man he was with her? It could all be a cleverly crafted persona, perfectly conceived to fit her.

But it wasn't. She had felt him in her mind, warm, protective, excited. She had seen him with all his shields dropped. She- Hermione wasn't sure if she was special to Severus, but she certainly felt that way.

Silly girl. You're attaching yourself to him because he's the only person who treats you like- like you are a person. Think about Severus Snape, and analyze him. Question him. Come to a rational decision.

Severus Tobias Snape, aged thirty-six years, Potions Master, Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Master Spy for the Inner Circle of the Order of the Phoenix, Death Eater of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle. Born and raised in Spinner's End, small mill town in the north. Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1971 to 1978, graduated first in his class. Joined the Death Eaters after receiving his Potions Mastery. Joined the Order of the Phoenix for some unspecified reason.

Point one. Find out why he joined the Death Eaters.

Possibilities: Believed the rhetoric, connections through Slytherin, coerced.

Point two. Find out why he joined the Order.

Possibilities: Sent as a spy by the Dark Lord, saw the error of his ways, was never really a supporter of the Dark Lord in the first place.

Professor Snape, specifically in his capacity as Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Depending on the year's current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the most disliked and most frightening teacher in the castle. Head of Slytherin House, very biased in granting of House Points and general favoritism. Strict, terribly so, not particularly concerned with the feelings of his students, but prevented them from killing each other. Made use of a biting wit and talent at both sarcasm and delivery to humiliate idiots and draw attention to mistakes. Demanding with students, expecting perfection or better. Refused to except incompetent students into his N.E.W.T. level courses.

Point Three: Find out why he shows favoritism to Slytherin students.

Possibilities: Truly thinks Slytherins deserve it, role as spy, or perhaps he does it for fun.

Point Four: Find out why he is so harsh on students.

Possibilities: He is a mean person, he wants to make sure they don't blow the class up or poison themselves, he finds it amusing, he hates teaching dunderheads.

Severus, the man she saw when they were alone. Very controlled, but able to smile. Well, smirk. When they were alone he wasn't kind, but he didn't snap as much. He wasn't relaxed, but he wasn't as stiff was he was around anyone else. His wit was still biting, but it wasn't directed at her. He was funny in a sharp, intelligent way. Far from being less threatening, he was- she didn't quite have a name for it. It was as if he was more dangerous and less at the same time. In the Potions classroom, he was frightening, but contained. When they were alone, either sparring or talking, he was… quietly deadly. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her, far from it, but he was free to be as casually powerful as he wanted. He would throw knives with quick accuracy, he would casually call over a teapot with wandless and wordless magic, he would throw her with fast grace and strong arms.

Point Five: Find out why he is comfortable around me.

Possibilities: He doesn't find me threatening, he figures that I won't tell anyone, he likes me, it's a ruse.

Point Six: Find out how far down his defense are and how far down they could go.

Possibilities: He is completely open with me (unlikely) or only slightly more open that with other people.

Severus Tobias Snape, the man. Tall, over six feet. He towered over Hermione. Graceful, fast, moved silently when he wished. Greasy haired from bending over poorly made potions all day. Slightly sallow skin from recurrent ill health and what Hermione suspected might have been a drinking problem in his youth. Grey eyes that were almost black, eyes that could suck an unsuspecting wizard in and force him to reveal all his secrets. A strong nose, sharply arched. Surprisingly full mouth. Usually clean shaven. Long neck. Thin frame, long arms and legs and torso. Large, elegant hands with scattered scars from a lifetime of potion making and knife fighting. Melodious voice, like honey and rum and silk. As far as Hermione knew, he had never been involved with anyone.

Point Seven: Find out what you can do to help with his health.

Possibilities: Trying to get him to sleep more, give him more time by grading more papers, try to send him to Madam Pomfrey for a proper medical check.

Point Eight: Find out if he's ever… had someone.

Possibilities: Girl his own age when he was younger? Men? Not interested in anyone?

Hermione sighed, Eight points were more than enough.

What do you even want from him?

What did she want from him? Everything. Nothing at all.

I find myself both intellectually and physically stimulated by Severus Snape. I have a relationship with him as a friend, but I want- I want a relationship with him as a man. I want to know him as a woman does a man, and I might be mad.

But why couldn't she be happy with what she had? Why Severus?

Because you've never had a romantic relationship in your life and you are chock full of teenage hormones. Because Severus is a man who smells like a man and walks like a man and sometimes he looks at you like a man. Because you care for him.

Maybe he cares for me too. He looked worried, earlier, when he thought I was hurt.

There are a thousand reasons he could not want me hurt and still not care about me.

It was an inescapable truth, one that Hermione did not want to think about. So instead, she thought about how to define her feelings for Severus.

I want him to be happy. I want to be the one to make him happy. I want to hear him laugh like he was laughing earlier. I want to be intimate with him- not sex intimate (well, not just sex intimate) but also things like being- I want to be his person. I want to be the most important person in his life and that is horribly selfish of me. I want him to be safe and happy and mine. I want to protect him from the Dark Lord, from Dumbledore, from everyone. I want to find out what his favorite food is and make it for him on his birthday, I want to know if he steals the covers, I want to know if he's a biter or if he is tender or if he likes to leave love marks.

So am I in love with him? Do I have a crush on him? Am I just attracted to him?

Does it even matter? How does he feel about me?

Severus Snape did not seem like a man who lent himself to roses and kisses and chocolate. But- she could see it, in her mind, the two of them enjoying a discussion like the ones they had enjoyed all summer, except this time when he was winning she kissed him to shut him up. Or the two of them cooking together, or him brewing while she read aloud. She could almost imagine how gentle he would be when he held her, a gentleness she had felt when he soothed her burns or picked her up because she was so exhausted her legs wouldn't work. But she could also half-dream of his passion, his intensity. She wondered if the look he got on his face when they sparred would be similar to his face when he-

She had been relaxed and resting on the edge of the bath when she slipped into the water. Coughing, she sat back up.

Time for bed, she decided. I've got a long day tomorrow.

The next day was a Sunday, which meant Harry and Ron finally had to buckle down and do the homework they had been avoiding all week. They escaped to the cool air and gentle breeze coming off the lake on the Hogwarts Grounds, and Hermione eagerly made her way to the practice room for her second session with Severus.

He was waiting for her when she arrived. Hermione took a moment to observe him from the doorway of the room. As was his custom when they were together in the practice room, Severus had discarded his teaching robes in favor of his more comfortable outfit of plain white long-sleeved button-down, of a fine material, over dark slacks. Today the sleeves of the white shirt had been rolled up to his elbow, revealing well-muscled and scarred forearms. His lanky form was moving in one of the more advanced knife forms, and his face was fixed in a snarl of concentration.

Hermione swallowed hard and stepped entirely into the room. She was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping to the sides of the room and staying quiet as she unbuttoned her robes to reveal the Muggle clothes she wore underneath; a loose pair of cream colored pants and a red top that didn't hinder her movement when she fought.

Instead of joining Severus in practicing with her knives, Hermione just leaned against the wall and watched him. She still felt weak from her exertions the day before- she had slept in far longer than she normally did on weekends.

He's beautiful when he fights, she thought. All power and grace and ferocity…

Severus whirled to a halt with a final move that would have slit an enemy's throat. There was more than a light sheen of sweat on his face and darkening the back of his shirt, and his hair was in slight disarray. Unconsciously, Hermione licked her lips.

Severus' eyes darted to them, then away again. She wouldn't have caught it if she hadn't been watching him so intently; however, the quick glance was enough to make her blush before she could control the rise of red in her cheeks.

"You look lovely-" Hermione started, then stammered to a stop. "I mean- the knife forms are so graceful, and- well, you do them very well." Please let the earth open and swallow me.

Severus frowned, but didn't comment on her stammer or her flush. "I'd hope I'd be good at them after two decades of practice."

She was remembering the last time he mentioned his years of experience, and smirked. She had landed him on his arse in the first minute. He seemed to know what she was thinking about, and scowled. "You could pretend to respect me," he said loftily.

Hermione laughed. "When cauldrons are involved, you have my utmost respect," she said playfully. "But when I can have you on your back in three minutes flat…" For some reason her throat dried and she pictured Severus flat on his back with-

"Impudent woman," he growled.

"That's right," Hermione said cheerfully. "Are you ready to have me test the wandless magic?"

Severus grabbed a towel and wiped his face quickly. "Yes. What do you want to try?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Well, I already know what blasting things feels like," she mused aloud. "I'm half afraid that if I try to Summon a quill I'll either set it on fire or impale myself."

Severus snorted in amusement. "Go ahead and try to blast a target then," he said, gesturing to the far end of the practice room where four targets bobbed. The room was a long rectangle, with the door set in the corner of one of the short sides. The opposite end of the room was where the targets were. In the center was a large mat where they would spar, and along the long sides of the room were benches where they could leave robes and in Hermione's case, school bags. If they wished the two long sides could become mirrors, or padded surfaces. Now, however, they were the same dark grey stone that made up the rest of the castle.

It was against one of those walls that Severus leaned, drinking a cold glass of water he had poured from a carafe on a table off to the side. He gestured for Hermione to begin as he drank.

Hermione stood directly across from the targets, breathing slowly to calm herself. Her Occlumency was useful for controlling her emotions and for tightening her control on her magic. She thrust aside thoughts of Severus, the constantly niggling worry for Harry, and the weariness in her muscles.

Eyeing the targets, Hermione fixed their position in her mind and then closed her eyes. Remembering how it had felt when Severus had done it, Hermione called her magic to her and thrust it out to where the targets waited.

Unlike the day before, when the target had exploded violently, the target she had been aiming at trembled and caught on fire. She wrinkled her nose at it, ignoring Severus as he frowned and stalked toward her. She tried to call up more magic, feeling her breath come harder as she fought to force it from her hands. This time the target was completely enveloped in flames, and Hermione sagged with relief and exhaustion. The flaming pieces of the target disappeared, and a new one floated up in its place.

"I kind of did it," she said proudly. She wavered, and Severus steadied her with a firm hand above her elbow.

"Yes you did," he said, finding a strange kind of humor in it. He steered her toward the couch that remained from the day before, only letting her go when she was safely seated. "I am impressed."

She grinned at him. "It would be a useful trick if it didn't leave me feeling as weak as an hour old kitten."

Severus conjured an armchair for himself, falling into it in a dignified way that Hermione envied. His long legs sprawled in front of him, crossed at the ankles. "It'll come, in time," he said. "The important thing was for you to know how to call up your magic."

Hermione sighed and stretched weakly. "I feel tired," she said, yawning almost immediately. "I think I'm going to take a nap."

"Don't let me prevent you," Severus said smoothly. "Would it bother you if I practiced?"

She smiled up at him, already blinking sleepily. "No, of course not. Wake me up in half an hour?"

"Best make it a full hour," Severus advised. "Nothing will happen in that time."

The door to the Potions' classroom banged open, quieting the whispers about Neville's fight with Malfoy. Harry had held him back- Hermione hadn't known that Harry knew about Neville's parents, but she was proud of him for helping the other boy.

"You will notice," said Snape, in his low, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today." Hermione's heart sank. She had been too concerned with Harry and Neville to notice Umbridge sitting in a dim corner of the dungeon, clipboard on her knee.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend - instructions- " he waved his wand, "-on the board. Carry on." Hermione noticed he used a wand in Umbridge's presence- it was probably wise.

Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape; so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again. It was all that Hermione could do to continue brewing her own potion and stop Harry from blowing them all up; she caught Severus' eyes and sighed. He would trust her to stop her charge from making any stupid mistakes.

"Salamander blood, Harry!" Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time. "Not pomegranate juice!"

"Right," said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing to watch the corner. Umbridge had just got to her feet. "Ha," he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly to Snape's back. Hermione found it vaguely amusing that the fat witch barely stood to his shoulder blades. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus." Bitch, Hermione thought nastily. She wouldn't know, but one of the things you definitely don't do is question a Potions Master on the correct syllabus for his class.

Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her. Hermione couldn't see his face through a curtain of lank hair, but she imagined it would be cold.

"Now . . . how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," Snape replied. He tilted his head, moving the hair. His expression was unfathomable. Harry, watching him closely, added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. Hermione growled at him and yanked the flask from his hand, adding three more drops and, taking coriander from her own kit and sprinkling it in quickly to neutralize the disaster. Harry murmured thanks, still concerned with Snape.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape. Hermione winced.

"Yes," said Snape quietly. Only Hermione could hear the pain and annoyance in his voice- he had ranted to her more than once on Dumbledore's refusing to put him in the post and instead giving it to useless lumps like Lockhart.

"But you were unsuccessful?" Obviously, Hermione thought scathingly. Does this look at a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to you?

Snape's lip curled. "Obviously."

Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. And what are you writing? Hermione thought. 'Asked stupid question and received obvious answer.' Or, 'Managed to look ridiculous, and anger the man who is possibly the most dangerous person at this school.'

"And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked as if he was carefully controlling his fury.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge. At least she's making my work easier. Now I won't have to work as hard to convince Severus to crush her like an annoying insect. At least Skeeter has some use.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily.

"Oh, I shall," said Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his grey eyes narrowed. The combination of the poor lighting in the dungeon and Severus' own anger turned them closer to black than Hermione had ever seen.

Harry attempted to put in three crushed beetles; Hermione glared at him and pulled the beetles away. "Powdered," she hissed at him, looking pointedly at his pestle.

"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, "yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds." Is that a not-so-subtle attempted to 'warn' Severus that you are aware of his history as a Death Eater?

She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked round at Hermione and their eyes met for a second. He jerked his gaze over to Harry, who startled and dropped the still un-powdered beetles in his potion. Harry hastily tried to remedy it, dropping his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a. strong smell of burned rubber.

"No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

"Yes," said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework and Hermione knew that Harry had Quidditch practice that evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights for the Seeker. Hermione sighed.

Severus peered at her potion. Unable to find anything wrong, he sneered at her and moved on. Hermione grinned to herself. Class was almost over- and Umbridge was looking distinctly flustered.

"Well, you look like the cat who got the cream," Severus said, a hint of a teasing lilt in his voice. "Are you satisfied with how things turned out?"

Hermione laughed as she accepted a cup of tea from Severus, curling up neatly on the armchair that had somehow become hers in all the times she had been in Severus' rooms. "I am delighted," she purred. "Umbridge is rather wonderful at playing directly into my plans."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you were Sorted into the right House?"

Hermione countered by raising her own eyebrow. "Are you?"

They met each other's eyes for a moment longer, then both looked away. Hermione sipped her tea, then spoke. "By ordering all clubs to reform after we started the Defense club, she is sending a mixed message. No one is absolutely sure she knows about the Defense group, and they are also sure that this isn't just a whim on her part. She has everyone on edge and no one likes that feeling. Since she is clearly the source of it, it adds to their dislike of her."

"And by forcing other clubs to reform and then dawdling she gains their animosity as well," Severus added, a glint in his dark eyes. "Very good, Hermione."

The praise touched her. "You really think so?" she asked, eyes shining.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't believe it was true," Severus said bluntly. "You took a calculated risk that paid off."

She blinked quickly. "Then thank you," she said softly. "I think it was good for the morale of the group- knowing that no one tattled on them gives them a feeling of solidarity, they are united in the face of a common foe, and Harry stepped up to the plate of being a leader for them when he insisted they press on."

"Speaking of Potter," Severus said, the grimace on his face making it clear it was the last thing he wanted to be speaking of, "Umbridge was definitely behind the attack on his owl."

"I felt so bad for poor Hedwig," Hermione said, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. "To make it worse Hedwig was carrying a message from Sirius. It didn't give anything away, but he wanted to talk. I figured I'd fit it in on the second turn around."

Severus frowned. "What does the mutt want?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea," she answered truthfully. "But I'm half certain that it will concern the defense group."

"Then do you have time?" Severus asked. "Say… three or four hours?"

Straightening in her seat, Hermione finished her tea as she ran a few calculations in her head. "If I do a bit of fancy time travel," she said finally. "What for?"

Severus stood in one fluid motion, flinging a hand out to catch the cloak he had Summoned from another room. "I want you to meet some people. We'll have to leave Hogwarts."

"Sounds like fun," Hermione said, blasé. "Should I change my appearance?"

He shook his head, holding the cloak for her. With a questioning glance, Hermione stepped inside it, and Severus wrapped it around her. "Put hood up," he ordered.

She did as he had asked. The cloak shuddered around her, and shortened from a cloak for a man of Severus' height to a cloak for a woman of Hermione's.

"With this, your face will be in complete shadow," he told her. "It is enchanted- if a person who knows you sees you in this cloak, they will not know you unless you will it. If you talk to someone directly, they will know your face and forget it as soon as you turn away. If they see you again not wearing the cloak, they will have a sensation of déjà vu and nothing more, unless you remind them of your conversation."

Hermione willed her jaw not to drop. "That's complex," she breathed. "How did you get hold of such a thing?"

There was wry humor in his eyes. "I made it, of course," he said. "You'll need it where we are going."

"And where are we going?" Hermione asked curiously.

A smirk spread across Snape's face. "To meet our spy network."

And so ends Chapter 19.

Not quite a cliffhanger, but... you shall see on December 13! Which will be the date Chapter 20 is posted. That one has more... angst.

In other news, as I mentioned earlier, Chapter 23 is nearly finished (like one more scene and I'm done) and I have some absolutely marvelous ideas for 24. I might be able to keep up this every-other-week schedule for a while longer!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, and thanks to those who message me on tumblr to leave their thoughts on the chapter. I adore you all.

And your preview:

Hermione's head was spinning- there was so much information, so much revealed to her, almost too much about Severus and his past and his history. "I'm sorry," said Hermione honestly. "Severus- I'm so sorry."

His face was blank, but his hands were still tightly clenched and there was a sense of controlled anger and sadness around him. "So now you understand," he said simply. "Why. Why I protect Potter and why I'm the bitter old man that I am."

See you in two weeks! Enjoy Hanukkah, for those of you who are Jewish! Comments are, as always, appreciated. :)