Hello, my lovelies!

It has been a nice two weeks, school wise. I've found out I've gotten into every college I applied to, even my Ivies. But I'm still going to the school that is giving me about... oh... $275,000. Yeah. So. I'm excited for college. :) But... some other stuff has come up that I'll talk about after the chapter.

Here is a lovely new chapter for you that has a nice bit of panicked love struck Severus at the end.

Last Chapter summary: Death Eaters escape sending the school into a panic. Severus and Hermione test their boundaries with a cliche (sorry it's my favorite) fight that ends with Hermione pinned and helpless under Severus... ahem. Well. Severus and Hermione are both insecure about their affection for one another and Severus gets morose. And Hermione is stressed so they fight about Rita Skeeter and it ends with some massaging and kissing. Dumbledore continues to be a dick. (a lot of you don't like him- I wonder why? oh yeah. He's a dick). February comes, Hermione makes her Valentine's Day plans which unfortunately don't involve shagging a certain Potions Mater.

On to the chapter!

Chapter 28

The room in the Three Broomsticks was heated quite nicely, although the wind blowing from the open window drained much of the warmth. Hermione sighed and waved a hand at the fireplace, sending a few additional logs onto the flagging fire.

Rita Skeeter had two minutes left to get in the room before Hermione closed the window. If she hadn't known the reporter well enough, Hermione would have been stewing and plotting her downfall. But she had expected the animagus to be late; it was in her nature, as was the urge to prove to Hermione- or whomever Rita thought was blackmailing her- that she would rebel in any way possible.

It had occurred to Hermione that the bug was already in the room and hiding. Therefore, her first action upon entering was to cast a number of revealing and summoning spells. Hermione had ended up with a table full of dead bugs and live spiders and complete assurance that no one else was in the room but she.

Hermione checked her watch once more, and sighed. The second hand ticked once, twice, three times- and just as Hermione was raising a hand to close the window, a small dark shape entered and landed on the floor.

"Lovely to see you again, Rita," Hermione said in a sugary voice. With a brisk motion the window slammed shut and latched.

One blink and a woman with styled blonde curls and acid green nails stood before Hermione. Rita Skeeter was clutching a crocodile skin bag, wavering slightly in her high hells, and staring daggers at Hermione.

Rita sneered. "Where's Harry Potter?" she asked in a nasally voice. "I was promised an interview with him."

Hermione gestured to the seat in front of her. "Sit down," she offered kindly. "Don't worry. Harry will be here soon. I just wanted the chance to talk with you first." She let her lips spread in a sweet smile, allowing only a hint of malice to shine through. "But you know me, don't you, Rita? Did a few good stories about me. Even managed to get a quote or two!"

Perhaps she looked more dangerous than she had intended, but Rita Skeeter sat down with a thump and more than a little fear on her face. "I'm a journalist," she snapped. "I get stories."

"Now, you know that's twisting the truth a bit," Hermione said. "Journalist implies some kind of integrity." She couldn't stop a smirk when Rita started, indignant. "Now, don't get offended. It's really rather clever what you do. Sneak around, hear the truth, print whatever would aid yourself." She tapped her fingers on the table. "Or your... handler."

That caused Rita's eyes to burn, and her long-nailed fingers to clench on her alligator skin bag. "You know who it is?"

Hermione trailed her finger around the rim of her glass, then stirred her drink with the paper umbrella before she answered. "I have a good idea," she 'admitted,' looking up at Rita. "But I have enough information to know that you have to do exactly what I say or they'll out you."

It was clear the Hermione how she was appearing to Rita Skeeter- a prissy schoolgirl who knew a bit too much, enough to frighten her. But she didn't walk as fine a straight line as her friends presumed- rather, she found it better to act as if she knew more than she did. Yes, it was this impression Hermione wanted to give to Rita and it was this impression that Rita received.

"So you have to do what I say," Hermione continued. "And I want you to write an article about Harry Potter and what happened at the graveyard last summer."

Rita narrowed her eyes. "You want me to write or she wants me to write?" At Hermione's rehearsed frightened look, Rita scoffed. "I see her handwriting and I'm trained to see such things. It's a woman, whoever is controlling us."

Hermione swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "You're going to do it or you are going to go to Azkaban."

"Well then, girlie," Rita said nastily. "Why don't you get me a drink?"

Hermione gestured to the bell-pull near the door. "Call for one yourself."

The two women waited in tense silence, waiting for Luna. She was due to come at 2:20, she had not yet shown up. Hermione despairingly considered what could have happened to the Ravenclaw between the school and the Three Broomsticks; best case scenario she had gotten distracted and forgotten, worst case, someone had taken her shoes again.

Hermione sighed with relief when there was a light tapping on the door. She rose to admit Luna, who smiled at both of them dreamily. "I don't think Harry will be very long," she said in an airy voice. "I could hear Cho yelling at him from the street."

Whatever it is, I'll see it on my turn around, Hermione thought with a shrug. "Hi, Luna," she said, mouth curving up in a grin. "This is Rita Skeeter. Rita, this is Luna. Her father owns the Quibbler."

Hermione caught Rita's barely concealed sneer. "Pleasure," she said, false sincerity echoing in her voice.

Luna drifted over and and patted Rita's arm. "It might not be a large name but it prints more truth than The Daily Prophet."

There wasn't even the chance to hide the smile behind a hand; Hermione grinned and rang the bell to order a drink for Luna.

"Now we wait for Harry," she said, pleased.

The hero in question arrived not ten minutes later, visibly upset. Hermione sighed, and stood, blocking Rita's view of Harry. With a flick of her wrist she erected a Mufflato to conceal their conversation.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, keeping her voice low.

Harry's eyes flicked to Rita and Luna. "They can't here us," Hermione said quickly. "Is it something that can be dealt with later?"

Anger might have showed in his eyes, but the seriousness of Hermione's face made him quell it. "Yes,' he said softly.

She beamed at him. "Good," she whispered. "I'm sorry, but this is important. It might be the most important thin you do this year, including your O.W.L.'s."

Harry swallowed hard. "Yeah. Okay. We'll talk about it later."

There was curiosity in Rita Skeeter's eyes, a sleek and cunning kind of curiosity that unsettled Hermione. Severus had warned her before that there were people who could live with being blackmailed and people who would back down until they could find a way to ruin the person who held power over them. Rita was the last type. She would bide her time and then she would try to ruin Hermione.

The two Gryffindors sat down at the table. Harry's butterbeer arrived shortly, and then they began to talk.

Harry was the one who began, speaking in a monotone voice about the Third Task, him and Cedric deciding to take the trophy together, and Hermione appearing.

"I went to find him," Hermione interrupted. "There was no time to go for anyone else. I barely got there in time."

"And why did you go with Harry?" Rita asked, eyes intent on Hermione even as she wrote every word the two said. "Why didn't you leave the trophy in the hedge maze?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. "It was an accident," Hermione said quietly. "Cedric- Cedric Diggory – was reaching for it. I pushed him out of the way, trying to get to Harry, and- my hand brushed it. Just a brush, at the same time as Harry."

Guilt burned at her throat, preventing anymore words from leaving. Harry picked up their tale from when they landed in the graveyard.

Sometimes in her dreams she could still feel the loamy soil, moist and smelling of grass and mist and sorrow. Sometimes she could feel her heart thumping, trapped inside her ribs. The chill of the mist sinking into her bones, the clammy hands, the intense fear for the boy next to her...

Cool smoothness met her fingertips. Hermione blinked, running her fingers over Severus' pearl again. It grounded her, bringing her back to the tavern room, to Harry's voice next to her and Rita's quill scratching and Luna humming under her breath.

Hermione stayed silent until Harry began to name the Death Eaters that were present. He listed as many as he could; Hermione filled in the rest.

When they finished Rita looked at the with wide eyes. "You can't honestly want me to publish this," she said in a hoarse voice. "This is a joke."

Hermione tilted her head, fixing the journalist with a flat stare. "You can and you will," she said dangerously. "I already explained how and why this will work." She captured Rita's gaze and held it.

"Fine," snapped Rita. "What happened then?"

Hermione was grateful that the interview was more focused on Harry than on her. She only chimed in when necessary, holding Harry's hand in a death grip under the table.

"And...that's all," Harry said. His voice was dry, crackling. He reached for his butterbeer with his free hand, only to find it empty. Hermione wordlessly pushed her drink toward him. He squeezed her hand gratefully and drank. "That's it. Anything you want to add, Hermione?"

She shook her head. "No. That's it." She didn't let go of Harry's hand as she stood, taking him with her. "We'll be in touch, Rita. Send the draft out to me by Wednesday. When it is finished it will find its way to Luna."

Numbness, from the cold blowing across her face and from the memories that were crowding her mind, consumed Hermione as the trio- with Luna taking Ron's usual space on Hermione's other side- walked down Hogsmeade's main street.

Other memories were coming now, of a beach smelling of brine and sand and the moon shining on a bald man's head. Of a women with red hair and deft hands with quick poison. Of red blood on flesh and wooden floors.

"I'm going to head back with Hermione," she heard Harry say. "See you back at Hogwarts, Luna."

The two of then trudged through the snow, arms linked. Both were quiet with their minds, with thoughts swirling as snow fell and accumulated in burdensome drifts. They were halfway to the castle before Hermione belatedly remembered to cast warming charms on them.

When they arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room it was warm and nearly deserted. None of the older students had returned from their Valentine's Day in Hogsmeade, and just a few first and second years were clustered around a game of Exploding Snap in the corner. Harry and Hermione made for the other corner, tucking themselves into armchairs. Hermione called up bluebell flames in jars she conjured, giving one to Harry to warm his hands and taking the other for herself.

"You still dream about it, don't you," Harry said after they were warmer.

"Yes." The words were stronger in her mouth, her compartmentalization skills returning in the safe place of the familiar walls of the common room. "Yes."

"I do too," Harry admitted quietly. "It'll go away one day. We'll see." His green eyes were sincere and sad and loving all at once and any regret Hermione had felt melted away.

On the twenty-third of February, the March issue of The Quibbler was released to widespread panic from the Ministry and intense curiosity from the general population. The school was in an uproar. Harry received what was probably hundreds of letters, and Hermione received a fair share herself. Umbridge did her part by banning the article.

"It played out more perfectly than I could have ever imagined," Hermione drawled happily, sprawled in her armchair in Severus' quarters. "Rita did as I ordered, Umbridge danced to my tune, and the truth is out there."

Severus hardly looked up from his grading. "Sounds like you're drunk on the power," he observed wryly. "Should I send for some elves to redecorate your rooms in green and silver?"

Any day when she was less joyous she might have made a face at him or stuck her tongue out childishly. Now she just laughed, surprising her dour Potions Master.

"It was hardly enough to warrant that," he said scathingly. "You get sillier by the day."

She stood, crossing the room to lean against his desk, a grin still on her face. "That's what happens when you turn nineteen, apparently. You get sillier as you get older. Unless you're Severus Snape, of course. Then you only get more and more and more serious." Impulsively, she reached out and tapped his nose.

When he looked up, frowning, she just laughed again. "Today's been a good day. Begrudge me my humor, Severus."

With a sigh he stood from his desk, placing the last marked paper in its pile. "Congratulations, my little Gryffindor," he told her, regarding her with dark eyes. "Your plans have come to fruition and you have discovered you adore the feeling." Solemnly, he raised a hand and tucked a curl behind her ear, brushing her heated cheeks with cool fingers in the process. "The last thing I'd do is fail to take extreme pleasure in your extended good humor." He let his fingers tangle in her curls, the tugging of the hair tingling along her scalp.

"Oh?" Hermione said, thought flying out her head for a moment. It was a struggle to keep her head around him. "What-um- kind of pleasure?"

There was a sharp exhale of breath from Severus, a flaring of his nostrils and a darkening of his eyes that she accurately read as both surprise and arousal. "The kind that makes me want to do things we agreed we wouldn't," said Severus darkly, untangling his fingers. "It's the infernal smiling."

Hermione's lips wavered as she tightened them in an attempt not to smile. "Then I shall do my best to avoid any type of infernal smiling that might... affect you," she said, trying to school her voice into seriousness. "I'll restrict myself to giggling, happy sighs, and occasional pleased looks."

The smile was only on his face for a moment, but it was enough to make her beam. With a disgusted sigh, Severus turned and stalked to his bookshelves. "You're smiling again."

"I am," Hermione said agreeably. "And I have a feeling I will continue to do so for the rest of the day."

"Why am I here, Headmaster?" Severus drawled, letting his eyes meet Dumbledore's insolently. "You should have received the Granger girl's report on Friday, as usual."

Behind the spectacles, ice blue eyes narrowed. "Not calling her Hermione today, Severus?"

Something cold and violent spread under his rib cage, even as he raised an eyebrow with slow precision. "She's been irritating lately. Did she fail to deliver the report on time?"

Dumbledore's gaze returned to normal, even as Severus' had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his hands from clenching. "No, no. She's remarkably efficient. The Time-Turner allows her to get much more done than any other Order Member and the work is always impeccable. There is no one I'd rather trust with the amount of information she possess- we have done well, to give ourselves such a perfect tool."

"Tool?" Severus questioned. She is anything but.

The Headmaster rose from behind his grand wooden desk, turning so that his long white hair flowing over the magenta of his robes was the only thing that Severus could see. He moved to the window, looking down at the Hogwarts Grounds as he collected his thoughts. "Of course. We've groomed her from a young age to be perfectly loyal to the Order, to the cause. She will protect the boy until her last breath, and while she has extra time she processes large amounts of information beautifully for the Order. There has rarely been a concern... until now."

He is worried about her loyalty now? Does he know something? Does he know about us? Severus stood, following his master. "And what is that concern?"

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "I saw it with Krum, that Bulgarian boy from Durmstrang. Young girls get their heads turned every so often, Severus. He nearly broke her isolation."

"You want her isolated..." Severus mused, drawing connections. "And you feel that she isn't as isolated now as she needs to be?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said firmly, tapping the side of his nose. "You understand, Severus. Her only lifeline must be Harry... and me. She must have full loyalty to the Order. We have taught her to think, we must be sure that she will not turn that against us."

You vile, vile man. You are talking about a child you have made a woman far too early, you bastard. You want her dependent on you just as you want your boy savior malleable. You want me to take Hermione, lovely shining Hermione, and quench her brightness, make everyone she turns to share her light with turn away and deny her brilliance.

"In what way would she turn against us?" Severus asked, crossing his arms before his chest.

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh before turning to face Severus once more. "I should have suspected when she said that she had started to blackmail Rita Skeeter. That was far too advanced- that should have been your idea, not hers."

Severus frowned at him. "The girl figured it out for herself," he said firmly. "I only provided transport to and from London."

"So that may be," Dumbledore said shrewdly, "but she is getting to independent. The article in The Quibbler was a successful move, but it could have easily been a catastrophic failure. And today, she failed once again. That Chang girl approached Harry again, ready to forgive despite the spectacle on Valentine's Day. She's either slipping or... she has decided to disobey." His eyes locked on Severus'. "Which is it, my dear boy?"

At least when the Dark Lord invades your mind he lets you know that he's doing it, Severus through angrily, keeping his barriers strong. He met Albus' eyes angrily, in a challenge. Break me if you will, old man.

"And you?" Dumbledore murmured after a moment. "Where do your loyalties stand, Severus?"

Lie. Lie you fool. "With you," Severus said smoothly. "With the cause. With Potter." He thought, tracing his lips with a finger. "I will talk to the Granger girl. Rein her in, remind her of her place. I think that she is not being deliberately sloppy- she has plenty on her plate. She is stressed and tired and it is not sitting well on her." It was true. In the past few months she had gotten bags under her eyes and gotten skinnier, more irritable. She was not far from her breaking point, something that Severus was trying to find ways to prevent.

The old man sighed. "Not much does," he murmured. "Too many morals and not enough cheer. I give her twenty years before she ends up as dour as you, Severus."

Severus scowled at the Headmaster. "You are getting dangerously close to being insulting, Albus."

He had the nerve to chortle. "Ah, well. I'm getting on in age. Talk to the girl, remind her of the danger to Potter. Perhaps I'll plan a quick 'attack' that will jolt her into action, if your little talk doesn't. But then again..." the headmaster's gaze turned on Severus, speculative. "She is remarkably open to your suggestions. Loyal, perhaps. Obedient when you are concerned."

Although the blind panic seized him again, Severus snorted, turning away from the headmaster in a tight motion he hoped did not give away anything. He didn't want the old goat looking into his mind as he composed a lie, a lie that was half truth. "You jest. Try telling the chit that. She is impudent, but most times she has the good sense to listen when I talk. I'll do as I can."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, returning to the throne-like chair behind his desk. "It wouldn't do at all for Harry's protector to be too willing to acquiesce to a man who spends half his time as Voldemort's shadow."

Severus stiffened, offended and unsurprised. With a brusque nod, Severus gave a small bow, as sardonic a motion as he could make, and left. As soon as he was out of eyesight of the portraits that lined the floors close to the dungeon, he tapped his watch. Come now. Hidden. Avoid portraits.

Waiting for her to appear in his quarters was not helping the anger and the fear that was building up inside of Severus, the rage at the manipulative old man who was pushing him and her around like fucking pawns-

Severus poured a drink from the small table that Hermione had once looked at with wide eyes, the liquor a dangerous amber in a serviceable tumbler. He lifted it with a sure hand to his mouth, but as soon as the burn of the liquor touched his mouth and the scent burned his throat he growled out a curse and heaved the drink at the fire.

The door opened then closed as the fire hissed and spat, a ripple in the air parting in a moment to reveal Hermione, hair wild and open, breathing fast from running.

"Severus?" she said, bracing her hands on her knees. "What's wrong?"

It was clear in that instant to him, the way her eyes were trained on his own face and not the fire that was melting the shards of glass as it protested the alcohol. Hermione's loyalty might be to the Potter boy, that child savior of an idiot she gave up her childhood for. But there was also loyalty to him there in her unmoving gaze, a desire to see him safe and sound and everything that was the opposite of the path that Dumbledore had charted out for him.

But further than that, Hermione did not bear much loyalty toward Dumbledore. The man was right- she had turned her massive intellect upon the Order and its leader and had found it lacking. Dumbledore was not a man who was fond of transparency; for all he claimed to love the Light he did not appreciate it when it shined upon him and his actions. Hermione, like Severus, operated half in the Shadow. The only difference was that she faced the Light and he the Dark, but it didn't matter. There was a sliver of mingling, the grey between the sharper colors, where they could exist together and undefined.

The problem with that was that Dumbledore did not tolerate disloyalty or questioning. He worked in a very set way, a pattern that had played out time and time again and would continue to reenact itself until the War ended. The first step in his formula was to find a social outcast, one who didn't quite fit in. And then- the deciding action, when Dumbledore could play either the hero or the judge, where he would do the outcast a favor so enormous there was no choice but to appreciate, but to be loyal, to do all one could to repay him. They- he- would allow themselves to be used because there was the trust that Dumbledore would never do them wrong because of what he had risked to save them, that he was a good man if not necessarily a good one, a man who had the best interests of- something?- at heart.

Hagrid. A magically inept half-giant with a fondness for dangerous creatures. In exchange for a few kind words and a chance to remain at Hogwarts, a loyalty a Hufflepuff would envy.

Remus Lupin. A werewolf boy who had been infected since toddlerhood, an dangerous beast. Seven years of school and protection, unwavering faithfulness. Willingness to go into danger among the werewolves, willingness to teach, willingness to gather information.

Mundungus Fletcher. A petty thief who had accidentally killed someone over a amulet. Rescue from Azkaban, and suddenly a valuable informant on the streets.

And Severus Snape. A boy without friends, without love, without greatness. Who erred drastically, who trapped himself into a situation without hope of redemption. Albus Dumbledore appears before him in a flash of light, full of righteous anger, and offers absolution. Atonement. A hope that he could be a good person after all. Because if Dumbledore knew anything, it was that desperation could be wielded when the desperate inevitably break.

Of course the pattern deviated. Sirius Black, a pureblood lordling who should have been a Slytherin, a Dark Wizard, who ended up a wolf among Gryffindor sheep. Never trusted, by any but James Potter and perhaps Lupin. When Dumbledore had offered acceptance into the Order, there hadn't been a thought but the desire to prove himself. But- but. Dumbledore had left Sirius Black in Azkaban for thirteen years too long and now there was only one person Sirius Black was loyal to- and that was Harry Potter. And as a result Sirius Black was locked in a house that was slowly driving him mad in the name of his own safety.

And there was one more name that Severus' analytical mind had to add to the list, even as the part of him that had become defined by the desire to protect Hermione Granger roared its fury.

Hermione Granger. Isolated by her brilliance, hopelessly following the one boy who had showed her a moment of decency, slowly coming to the realization that the Wizarding World would be forever working against her because she wasn't born into its privilege. And then Albus Dumbledore had appeared before her, grandfatherly and worried and knowledgeable, offering wisdom and a chance to pay back her debt. A chance for greatness, a chance to help, and chance for a naïve little caring girl to do great good in the world. He had rescued her for boredom and obscurity and being lost as a Mudblood in a world where nothing mattered but pedigree. He had forced her to rise above and beyond the glimmers of potential he had seen in the early years and she was supposed to thank him for that.

Severus had helped, his hands were clean in this scheme. But he could refuse to play along, he could repent. His priorities were clear, clearer than they had ever been. At last there was something at the top of the list, someone, a purpose that was shining brilliant and hard in the eyes of the worried woman in front of him.

All of this ran though Severus' mind in space a breath, compacting and hardening what he already knew. He let out a harsh exhale, pulling his fingers through his hair.

"No one saw you come?" he asked, voice low and urgent. "Not one person, not a portrait, not a suit of armor?"

Hermione's frown deepened. "Not even the Fat Lady," she said slowly. "What's this about, Severus?" She folded her arms, looking up at him expectantly. There was more than a little worry behind her calmness, a wildness that flickered in an out of being.

"Dumbledore," said Severus, baring his teeth at the name. "He suspects your loyalty."

The confusion on her face was sudden and then gone, replaced with an understanding that held a flicker of the fury Severus was feeling. "Because of recent events?"

"Yes." There was no need to say more, she understood as well as he did. "He wants you more isolated. He wants to reaffirm your dedication."

Hermione's face smoothed over. "Then that's what we'll give him," she answered, something like relief in the easy lines of her body. "I'm more dedicated than ever, I'm ready to do anything for Harry." When Severus didn't say anything, her brow wrinkled again. "Why are you so concerned, Severus?"

In one movement he was close to her, grasping her shoulders with frantic hands. "He suspects, Hermione. You, me, he thinks that we might not trust him."

Her hands slid up his chest, to his shoulders, rubbing gently in a futile attempt to smooth the tension from his muscles. "We don't, Severus," she said seriously. "Not entirely. It might not be a bad idea for him to know that there are people who will hold his account at the end of the war. Those who aren't blind to what he's doing, how he's using people, using us-"

"No," he said harshly. "Dumbledore gets rid of those who don't believe in him wholeheartedly. We are loyal to Potter, to the Order, but not to him and that is unacceptable. He demands absolute trust and we don't have that for him."

"For anyone," Hermione reminded him. "There only two people I trust absolutely in this world and they are Harry Potter and Severus Snape." Her small fingers were on either side of his neck, stroking his skin. "I've seen too much of what Dumbledore does to trust him."

His breath left him in a strangling moment of sudden shyness and yearning for her to say it again, say that she trusted him again, and fear and frustration that what he was saying wasn't getting through to her. "You don't understand," he snapped, pushing down the warm that threatened to overcome the icy fear. "When I say he gets rid of people, I'm not pulling it out of my arse. He muzzles people who have seen or heard to much so that their words become unreliable. If you know too much, loyal or not, he will silence you, Hermione!"

It was clear that she still didn't grasp it, still didn't comprehend. It was here that the differences in their ages and experience were brutally present. She hadn't stood at Dumbledore's side for the past twenty years, hell, she hadn't been alive twenty years ago. But- he could show her.

His hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face, tilting it gently so she was looking directly into his eyes. "Look," he demanded. "Look!"

Her own eyes widened; in surprise or fright, he didn't know. But she sighed and whispered, "Legilimens," bringing her own hand up to his chin, holding him in place.

Once she was in his mind he held her tight, showing her memory after memory of listening to Dumbledore plan for the demise or silencing of wizard after wizard, some Order members and others simply those who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Each decision was marked with a tally in Severus' mind, judgment passing behind grey eyes that yielded nothing to Dumbledore.

With her in his mind he could feel her growing horror, the cold trickle of fear starting to start at the base of her spine. Finally, he showed her the thoughts that had sped through his mind only moments before, tallying those who Dumbledore had collected, people she knew rather than the faceless individuals whose names she had just heard in his memories. These people- Lupin, Hagrid, Sirius- were familiar to her, loved by her.

He meant to end the memory before it came to his name, but she regained some control and held him fast. She was there with him as he felt the desperate need to protect her, the frantic scrabbling for reason. With that, at last, she let him go.

When their minds broke apart, she immediately clenched her eyes shut and pressed trembling fingers to her temples. He released her head, backing away. She had viewed things he hadn't intended for her to see, but... maybe it was necessary. She had needed to see those things, needed to realize the depth of his concern and where it stemmed from.

It was a moment before she straightened, breathing carefully. She still wasn't used to long periods of Legilimency, finding that they drained her strength. Cursory glances were fine, but sustained contact was difficult for a novice.

"Sit," he ordered her. "I'll make tea."

Wordlessly, she did as he said. It was only after a mug full of steaming tea was pressed into her hands, that she looked up at him and spoke.

"I didn't realize," she said quietly.

Severus sat across from her in his chair. "I've been around him for more than twenty years. His way of using people becomes obvious only to one who has been on both sides."

"No," Hermione said, voice still soft. "I didn't realize that- that you cared so much." At the confusion that must have been evident on his face, she looked down at her cup and continued anyway. "About me."

I didn't realize that you cared so much... about me. She didn't think I cared about her, or at least that my... affection was as strong as it is.

Emotions still fought within him, but his face remained stoic. It was hard to look at her, with the light creating a golden glow around her masses of curls and her delicate hands so firmly clasped around her mug. There was too much evoked at the sight of that mouth, the fine line of her nose, those expressive eyes. The fire was safer to look at, even as it burned around the melted shards of glass from the tumbler he had thrown upon it.

At last he figured that he ought to respond, to stay something. "Do not doubt the depths of my... affection, Hermione. I am not a man who says much, or-" His throat was closing; he couldn't continue. From the direction of Hermione's chair was a gasping breath.

She was crying. Not tears of sadness or of wonder, just tears. She was frantically wiping them away as they fell, and the breath had been a result of her attempt to hold them back and keep silent.

Immediately his tea was abandoned and he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, taking the cup from her hands before it could spill on to his lap or hers.

"Hermione," he said worriedly, grasping her wrists where her hands covered her face. He stroked the soft skin there, urging her to move her hands. She did, after a moment, revealing her blotchy and damp face. "Why are you crying, you insufferable girl?" He took her hands, holding her small hands in his larger palms.

She laughed and hiccuped at the same time. "I'm being silly," she said. "I- I'm happy. And shocked. And a bit overwhelmed."

"Why?" he asked again, allowing his confusion and frustration to show on his face. "Why would that make you cry?"

Her hands touched his face, holding it in place as her eyes met his. He understood the invitation, whispering the incantation needed to slip into her mind, into the pool of emotions that was currently Hermione Granger.

Severus always forgot how intense emotions had been when he was a teenager, until being in a teenager's mind reminded him. She was a mess, but now an interpretable one. Anger that he hadn't told her sooner, worry for her own safety, worry for his safety, disbelief and rage directed toward Dumbledore, and- that. It was the same fluttery feeling he felt when he looked at her sometimes, the same mix of exasperation and adoration and hope that Hermione caused in him. It was all centered on his face, on his worry, on his mind. There was even a slight thread of lust, a sluggish heaviness in her breasts and belly at the touch his his hands and his nearness.

He left her mind as quickly as he had come.

"You understand, don't you?" Hermione asked, her words tumbling over and across each other. "You get it?"

There was nothing else for him to do but pull her down to him, so that she was sitting on his lap rather than in the chair, and kiss her deeply. She responded enthusiastically, winding her arms around his neck and pressing closer to him.

It was surreal to Severus, this creature in his arms, his, all his. So precious, so bright, so beautiful. If he could take her and run away with her he would, he would protect them both and never let anyone try to dim her brilliance. He would live forever as her worshiper. Even here, he couldn't believe it. He kissed her lips, her forehead, her eyes, her nose. He touched her hair and her back and her arms reverently, lost in his Hermione.

No one else felt this way about him. No one. It was her and her alone and that made her special and wonderful and capable of inspiring in him a devotion unlike any other. He felt like he would do anything if it meant that she would still love him.

There might have been something in all that Dumbledore said about the power of love.

When he had pulled away from her gently, she responded by curling into his hold and resting her head on his chest, right over the thumping of his heart.

"Let's stay here for a while," she said, voice lazy with contentment. "Just for a moment."

The floor was hard and the chair behind him was not softer, but he could not refuse her. Instead he twitched his fingers, calling a blanket from its place hanging over the back of the sofa. "Your hands are cold," he murmured. She just laughed into his shirt, moving closer to him.

"Talk more," she ordered. "Your voice is even lovelier when I can feel the vibrations like this."

Startled, he shifted uncomfortably. Hermione shifted with him, moving so that her head was tucked into the crook of his neck. He cradled her automatically, holding her close.

"What would you like me to say?" he asked, keeping his voice low, as her ear was right by his mouth.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Whatever you'd like," she answered, her breath warm on his skin. "Potions, perhaps."

Just to indulge her, he began speaking about his research, about the early workings of the Alertness and Stamina potion he was brewing. She knew most of it already, but he told her anyway. About the trials and the exact color the base needed to be and the angles and ratios of the corkscrew steam spirals it needed to give off.

Severus talked and he stroked her hair and he reveled in the novelty of having a warm body so eagerly pressed against his. He spoke until his voice began to crack and it didn't even matter because the woman against him was breathing evenly and deeply.

The only thing left to do was charm the wood floor a bit softer and lean against the arm chair, and fall asleep with Hermione Granger in his arms.

So ends Chapter 28.

I hope you enjoyed it, especially the end. I really like that evaluation of Dumbledore- I saw a post about how he mistreated Sirius on Tumblr and then I started thinking about the other characters who fit the same kind of pattern... if it isn't evident, I really don't like Dumbledore.

Reviews would be lovely. HOLY COW WE ARE ALMOST AT 800! This makes me very, very happy.

And I need some happiness right now. I got into a stupid fight with my brother, but the end result was my father took all my privileges away (tonight, Thursday). I don't know if he'll let me write- I'm tearing up thinking about it, but he is really, really mad for no real reason. So I don't know when the next chapter will be. I'm not sure that I'll have time anyway, since my IB exams are coming up in May. I'll see.

TAMORA PIERCE FANS: I wrote a Circle of Magic piece. Please, please go read and review! I've gotten almost no feedback at all and it is very disheartening. Please. It's about the whole Crane/Rosethorn/Lark dynamic.

Here is your excerpt for the chapter that will come... eventually.

The Dark Lord's plan, Hermione realized, a sinking cold feeling deep in her belly. Today. This is it. She could only hope that Harry wouldn't go off without her and Ron. He was in no condition to do so, as he had to be helped out of the Great Hall by one of the examiners.

Reviews are lovely! And thank you to everyone who congratulated me on the scholarship!