Hello friends!
Long time no see, and that is entirely my fault. Real life, man. Next week is finals week and then I'm off to France!
Thank you to all of the wonderful people who reviewed, and piss off the ones who were nasty!
Here is the chapter, more at the bottom. Be wary of the time jump.
Chapter 53
The rumble of the train tracks and the passing of the countryside were monotonous for some, but for Hermione Granger, it was relaxing. There was something very beautiful about the setting sun in the sky and the ground constantly moving and changing minutely. Life goes on, it seemed to say. Everything is moving forward and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Except there was something. A tiny hourglass currently nestled between her breasts had the power to send her hurtling back through time. With a few grains of sand and a lump of metal, she could make the train move backward.
Albania had been a bust. Nothing there, except for trees, trees, and more trees. A few legends of a patch of woods where a lot of wildlife, especially snakes, had died, but nothing particular that pointed to a Horcrux being anywhere in the forest. There was no doubt that Riddle had been there at some point, probably after he had been cast from his body, but all of the traces of malevolent magic were more than five years old. So, the end result had been a disheartened team, a week wasted, and a lot of time without Severus that could have been time with Severus.
At least she would see him tonight. Because of a mess with the Portkeys, Hermione had not gotten back to Britain until the night before. There had been no time to see Severus. He had sent her a goodnight message every night through their watches, as a reassurance of sorts, but that was all of the communication that they had had.
And she had needed the reassurance. The article that Rita Skeeter had written had horrified her for a good few days. Krum thought it was hilarious, but Hermione had been mortified.
"The two lovebirds spent a romantic evening eating by candlelight on the pavilion…"
"It is unknown when exactly Miss Granger and Mr. Krum reignited their relationship"
"… subtle hints were made by both Mr. Krum and Miss Granger that 'dessert' would be waiting for them at 'home,' leading to rumors that the two are already living together…"
The article had been accompanied by a few photos of the two of them enjoying their dinner- Hermione hadn't even noticed those being taken which had disturbed her greatly- and then the pictures when they had left the restaurant. There was one in particular where Krum's arm was protectively around her waist and she was turning into him so that they could Apparate away that looked particularly romantic.
They had left the next day for Bulgaria, and there had been more photographers at the Portkey station. Hermione had liked that picture- they were holding hands, she had large sunglasses on and a scarf around her head. It was quite glamourous.
Of course, they had had to deal with the consequences when they returned. There were questions, from Ron, from Ginny, from all of the Weasleys. Hermione had Krum had decided to say that they weren't actually dating, just friends, but they had decided to go on the trip together. It didn't appear that anyone (apart from Harry, who knew about their plot), quite believed them, but the two of them didn't quite care. Ron was pouty for a good while, and Ginny pestered Hermione about it for the remainder of the time she was at Headquarters.
Now, in the compartment, Ron dozed against Ginny's shoulder as his sister read a magazine. Harry was staring out at the countryside opposite her, his glasses askew on his nose. He was lost in thought, fiddling with a button on his robes. Neville was seated next to Hermione, and Luna next to him. Both were perusing Luna's copy of the Quibbler.
Harry, Neville, and Hermione had recently returned from their first Slug Club meeting. That had been almost painful – the first thing that Slughorn wanted to know was if Hermione was actually dating Viktor Krum. The second, which he had hinted at, was if she had actually brought down Bellatrix Lestrange. Both Hermione had refused to answer in any great detail. For the first question, she demurred with "Viktor is very private, but I'll tell you what the papers already told the world – we had a lovely vacation together on the continent for a week, and we were visiting his family."
But as soon as Slughorn had started to hint that he wanted to discuss the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had pinned him with a cold stare. He had deflated a bit, especially when she made a show of fingering her wand. Harry, next to her, had also tensed up. Neville looked as if he were vaguely scared, but trying not to show it.
Thankfully they had made it out of the cramped little carriage no worse for wear. Harry had been a bit upset with the whole thing, but Hermione had pacified him.
"Remember, Dumbledore wanted him teaching here this year for a reason," she whispered. "Let's stay friendly until we figure out what that reason is."
Having a new mystery always did Harry some good. He brightened up a bit, giving her a conspiratorial nod.
The summer had seemed to last forever. There had been that beautiful part the beginning when everything had been going right, and then… and then. And then she had found out that Harry had a Horcrux in his skull and Cedric had seen her and Severus together. Dumbledore's hand had burnt to a crisp, all over the folly of a child's story.
That was the part that rankled her. A child's story, just a fairy tale, and a mind as great as Dumbledore's thought it was true. He had thought it was true, and now his hand was withered and the curse was slowly creeping up his body, seeping into his veins and crawling toward his heart, ready to be spread to the rest of his body. Over a fairy tale.
A fairy tale with a huge following, at least. After her conversation with Severus, Hermione had looked into the Deathly Hallows. There were those who took up the Quest to find them, hundreds of witches and wizards around the world. Dumbledore was just of many other nutters who spent their spare time and energy in pursuit of a way to bring back loved ones or stave off death for themselves. Hermione could objectively know that feeling – she had wanted, for the moment in which she had believed in the Hallows- to become the Master of Death if only to save Harry from what was looking more and more like what would simply be his fate. If she lost Severus, there was much that Hermione would do to bring him back again.
It was the fear of death that didn't quite make sense to her. Everyone had their time, and if they weren't routinely doing things as dangerous as the past times Hermione chose for herself, it could be a long time coming. Who would be so scared of death that they would waste their lives in pursuit of three mysterious items out of an old fairy tale?
Well, that isn't quite true, she thought. I do know one person who fears death so greatly there are few lengths to which he would not go.
The Dark Lord feared death so much that he would take the lives of others in order to preserve his own. He would rend his soul not in two, but in seven. He would fight and kill and burn and manipulate and torture all for his own ends.
He probably believes in the bloody hallows, thought Hermione derisively. I wonder if we could use that?
She would run it by Severus that evening. Earlier that morning, before Hermione had slipped back to the room she shared with Ginny, they had made plans to meet in his rooms once most of the castle was safely abed.
Oh, she missed that bed and that little cocoon of comfort and warmth. Their legs were tangled under the covers, his chest was a pillow for her head, and his arms were sure and tight around her. It was the rise of his chest under her head that told her that he was breathing – Severus was an extraordinarily quiet sleeper. Part of the reason that Hermione loved staying the night with his was the way he held her, as if he could never let her go.
He had woken up first, at the first blush of light in the sky, as he usually did. He had shifted under her, kissing the side of her face. She had woken slowly, as he teasingly stroked the place where the hem of her shirt met the skin of her thighs. They had spoken in hushed tones, planned a meeting, then she had slipped out of his bed and vanished into the hallway.
It was like it had been before, the one night she had left him in his rooms, sprawled on the floor with only the moonlight to illuminate his features. A bed was much more comfortable, she decided, but she did love that boyish look on his face of want.
"We're pulling up the castle," said Harry abruptly. "Ten minutes, tops."
Hermione sighed, rolling her head from side to side on her neck. "Back to the grind." In reality it would a break- simple schoolwork wouldn't be as difficult as dealing with Order business full time over the summer had been. What would more difficult would be to deal with the stares, the never dying stares. This time she was coming back the presumed girlfriend of a celebrity and the murderess of a legend – the stares were bound to be worse.
Hermione padded through the halls of Hogwarts under Harry's stolen Invisibility Cloak. As she descended deeper and deeper into the dungeons, the halls grew colder and colder, making her shiver in the thin clothes she had decided to wear. That decided it- Severus had seen her in a whole host of outfits covered in everything from mud to blood. She didn't need to dress to impress him. Not that what she was wearing was particularly impressive… but at least it wasn't her school uniform.
She had just started to turn the knob on his office door when a low voice surprised her from the corridor.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."
Startled, Hermione jumped back, pointing her wand at the dark figure in the shadows. To her relief, the lean form that peeled away from the corner was familiar, if not overwhelmingly friendly. "That's not my office anymore."
Hermione groaned. "I forgot. I hadn't realized that becoming Defense Against the Dark Arts professor meant that you-"
"Changed to the office and rooms of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" asked Severus dryly. "How unreasonable."
Hermione stuck out her tongue at him, then realized she was still hidden. "You're a mean bastard," she told him instead. "I'll follow you."
With a smirk and a flourish of his robes, Severus stalked off, leaving her to trail behind him. He cut a powerful figure in the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a slim form made menacing in voluminous dark robes. His graceful movements lent his form a predatory air, one of a hunter carefully seeking out his prey. It made Hermione's belly clench in a particularly delighted way, even as she trotted to keep up with him.
They arrived at the office, the door as familiar as her own name. The inside, however, had never been the same the six years that Hermione had attended the school. There was a glimmer of anticipation as she waited for him to unlock the door.
Gone were the floating jars full of suspicious creatures that had been the hallmark of Severus' old office. Gone was the dank smell, the dim light, and the cramped space. No, this office seemed downright luxurious compared to the old one.
There were a few old tapestries on the walls, in muted colors of greens and browns. Each was a different panel of the same story, a pack of hunters chasing a white deer. The floor had a large rug flung over the flagstones, and there were heavy curtains over what Hermione suspected was a large window with a view of the lake. The desk was huge and imposing, with two armchairs before it of middling comfort, a far cry from the deliberately uncomfortable chairs of the previous office. Most notably, perhaps, there were no portraits on the walls.
Once the door was firmly locked behind them, Hermione took off the cloak, draping it over one arm. "This is lovely," she said quietly, looking around. "Much cheerier than the old one."
Severus looked at her for a long moment. "I think that for whatever folly it is, for however fleeting it is, I am much happier now that I ever thought I could be when I was decorating the old one."
Hermione felt the familiar tug in her heart, the one she felt every time he reminded her of how lonely, how miserable, how completely devoid of pleasure of his life had been before she had really known him. "Oh, Severus," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think it's folly at all."
They looked at each other for a long moment. Slowly, Severus walked toward her. He stroked the side of her face with one finger. "You are neither fleeting nor folly," he said quietly, his voice rough. "And it is safe to say that nearly all my happiness rests with you."
She couldn't help it- Hermione reached up and kissed his lips gently, feeling the roughness of his chin against hers and drinking in the feel of his lips. It was only a brush, however- for some reason, it still felt too much like being out in the open.
"How do you get to your rooms from here?" she whispered.
Severus sighed, and kissed her forehead. "If we go into my rooms we have to do work," he said. "Can't I just stand here and kiss you a bit longer?"
Hermione laughed, then shook her head. "No," she told him. "We get our work done, and then you can kiss me as much as you want."
He took her hand, and pulled her to the corner of the room. There was a Notice-Me-Not charm on the door, so it took her a long moment to make out the change in the stone that marked the entrance to his rooms. At Severus' touch, the doorknob turned easily and the door swung open, into a set of rooms that were plain and sparse. Once again, there was a large potions cabinet that they stepped through.
Once again, Hermione was surprised at the rooms that appeared. "This is new too," she said, stroking Severus' hand. "I like it."
Once again there was a little kitchenette, with a stovetop and cabinets made out of dark wood. There was a fire crackling happily in the fireplace, warming the room beautifully. There were large soft couches around the fire. There were only two pieces of furniture from his old rooms- the wing backed leather armchair that was Severus' usual seat of choice and the plush armchair that was Hermione's usual seat. In this room, there were large windows that looked out on the grounds, with the faint lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. There was a door in the back that Hermione knew would lead to Severus' bedroom and the attached bath.
"Tea?" he asked. "I ran out of mine and I haven't had the time to blend it again, so it'll be whatever kind they have in the kitchens."
Hermione nodded her assent, going to take her place in her armchair. Instead of hers and Severus' being across from each other as they had been, now they were close enough for them to hold hands as they read, or for Hermione to drape her feet against his lap. It made a shiver run up her spine, for all she knew that Severus wasn't the cutesy type.
They were halfway through the pot when Hermione cautiously brought up the idea that she had had on the train.
"How much does the Dark Lord trust you right now, Severus?" she asked. "Where does he believe you stand between him and Dumbledore?"
Her man sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. "It fluctuates, day to day," he replied. "I think that every time a part of his soul is destroyed, he grows less stable. Some days he is sure that I stand in Dumbledore's good graces, some days I am in disgrace. Some days he thinks that I am Dumbledore's lapdog, and other times his own. So the short answer is, I am not stable. If I had something big to give him, I might be, but I don't think that there is anything big that can happen now that Potter is back here."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, starting down into her teacup. "What if we made something up? A juicy tidbit of information to distract him, to make him think that you are loyal, and to give him an impossible task?"
Severus stiffened, narrowing his eyes at her. "You have a plot," he said, his voice wary. "How long have you been cooking up this one?"
Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "Not very long," she admitted. "I wanted you to help me iron out the kinks, so to speak."
"Then continue," he said, not returning to the relaxed lounge he had held before. His shoulders were razor sharp and stiff, and his hands were rigid.
Hermione took a breath, feeling pinned like a butterfly on a board under his gaze. "I was thinking. Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore, believes in the Deathly Hallows. He believed in them enough to do something so stupid he put his life in jeopardy. So, what if, we can make the Dark Lord do something similar? If you told him about Dumbledore's accident, if you tell him that the Headmaster weakened himself trying to find the Hallows, then you can gain his favor. If the Dark Lord is spending his time chasing down the Hallows, he's wasting time he could spend doing other things. I think he could easily become obsessed over the idea of becoming the Master of Death, obsessed enough that maybe we could lure him into a trap."
Severus held up a hand, thinking for a long moment. Hermione watched him nervously. In the firelight, his face was cast mostly into shadow, giving him a severe look she normally associated with his teacher persona. "It is crazy," he said flatly. "People know that the Deathly Hallows don't exist. I try to suggest it to him, another pureblood exposes the lie in an instant and my head's on a platter."
"But you can convince him, I know you can, Severus," she said. "Dumbledore. Dumbledore is our proof. He's the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared, so saying that he believes in it would carry a lot of weight. There have to be some purebloods that agree- we could use Draco, maybe-"
"Draco isn't a pawn," Severus snarled.
"Yes, he is," Hermione said back, with just as much heat in her voice. "We are all pawns. For as much as we want to believe that-"
"You and I are controlling things now, Hermione!" Severus spat. "We are the ones plotting and manipulating and guiding these two despots. Albus Dumbledore isn't the chess master anymore. It's us."
Hermione leaned in, meeting his intense gaze with her own. "Then let's play the damn game."
"This was part of the reason I didn't want to do this again," Severus said, turning away abruptly. "I've only just started to realize I don't want to die, Hermione. This is risky."
Hermione reached out, rubbed his shoulder. "I know," she said. "If you don't want to do it, we don't have to. It was just an idea, Severus."
He took her hand, stroking the soft skin. "I will at least start sniffing out who else would counter me on this," he said. "If we are careful, we could make it work."
"He's obsessed enough with evading death to make Horcruxes, Severus. Not a Horcrux, Horcruxes, Severus. He'd like any idea you'd bring up about dodging death. And maybe we could even use his own paranoia against him," suggested Hermione. "But think about it."
"I will," he reassured her. "Anything else that we need to plan for?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. Is it time to put work aside?"
Severus' fingers curled around her wrist. "I think so," he said, his voice suddenly much more seductive.
Following the slight pressure on her wrist, Hermione rose and went over to his chair. It was wide enough and Severus was slim enough that Hermione could easily straddle him in the chair, her knees on either side of his thighs. He was tall enough that even with her kneeling, and him sitting, that he was taller than she was.
Hermione let her lips slide against his teasingly, a kiss just on the other side of chaste. He responded languorously, one hand sliding up her back.
"There might be some planning left to do," Hermione said huskily, kissing him again. "We were going to make plans for what we would do after my birthday."
"Were we, now?" asked Severus His hands were at her hips now, pulling her center toward his.
Hermione kissed his neck, then leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "For planning purposes… what do you want to do to me?"
Severus chuckled low in this throat, one hand curling into her hair. "There are many things I'm planning on doing to you, Hermione. You'll just have to wait and see."
"It sounds like you have a definitive idea," Hermione said suspiciously. "Tell me."
"I don't want to spoil the surprise," he said, kissing the line of her chin and then the skin under her ear. He nipped at her earlobe carefully.
Hermione pulled away, pouting at him. "I don't like surprises," she said.
Severus regarded her for a short moment. "Trust me." Slowly, he ran a hand from her up her side, caressing her ribcage and ending right under her breast.
Hermione let out a shaky breath. "I trust you."
Severus leaned in and captured her mouth, kissing her hard. "Then you'll see on your birthday," he told her.
The next morning, Hermione was on edge before they even made it to class. She had walked home from the dungeons flustered and what she understood to be sexually frustrated, and now she was going to class with a poor night's sleep under her belt. A class with Snape nonetheless. And everyone was staring just as much as she had expected, except they were whispering also. They didn't think she could hear them, but ever since her Polyjuice accident the year before, she could. And it was driving her mad. Finally, the classroom settled and Hermione sank into her role of student, feeling comfortable at last.
And she was lost as soon as he started speaking.
"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." His voice was smooth and low and deadly, weaving in through and around the words with a kind of loving respect that bordered on admiration. She felt the call of his voice deep in that place under belly button that ached every time he kissed her.
Part of her felt like the snake held captive by the man with the flute, rising higher and higher in her chair with the enchanting lure of his words. Oh, he called to every part of her, and she felt like the tension was so tight she burned with it.
But beyond even his voice she knew what he was talking about to the depths of her bones. She had spent the last months buried in books about the Dark Arts, allowing her mind to follow the paths that twisted and turned and had been birthed in the most deviant minds known to man. She knew the danger and difficulty of trying to unravel a problem that the Dark Arts wished to stay a problem. She knew how it felt when everywhere she turned there was nothing but confusion and yet another tricky riddle to puzzle through.
She had to stop herself from answering his questions when he asked, unsure of how her voice would sound when she spoke. There was no doubt that Hermione knew what nonverbal spells were like. Of course she knew, of course she remembered what it was like when he was teaching her nonverbal spells and when he was teaching her wandless spells and when he was in her mind and inside and outside her at once. Would that be like sex, she wondered?
In that moment their eyes met and the heat in her mind flashed to his. It lasted only a hint of a second, before his eyes were away from hers again, and he was breaking the class into pairs. Shame broke over her, deep and hot, regret over not being able to control herself in class.
Severus was visibly upset, if only to her. Honestly, Hermione was surprised that he didn't respond worse to Harry's cheek, limiting himself to a detention and points away from Gryffindor. She didn't meet his eyes on the way out of the room, ducking her head and busying herself in Ron and Harry's conversation.
Of course, it left her in an abominably bad mood and by the time they got to Potions, Hermione was in no mood to be polite.
Hermione was completely taken aback when they walked into the dungeon classroom. It smelled better than it ever had before, a curious mix of the faint rubbery smell of the practice room, old books and melted candles, and very distinctly of the herb and smoke and man smell that was Severus, so strongly that she lifted her head sharply to look for him, lowering her gaze just in time to see the book that Ron was pouting over.
The book was small, thinner than the current edition, and desperately raggedy. The pages were yellowed and stained with the remnants of various potions an ingredients. The binding had weakened over the years, and some of the yellowed pages were barely held in. However, the part of the book that fascinated her the most was the thin, spiky handwriting in every clear space in margins and between the lines and sometimes over the printed text itself. She had recognized the handwriting right away, as a less sophisticated form of the one that Severus used today.
Therefore, it was the work of a moment and of a strong instinct for Hermione to snatch it from Ron the moment she saw it. "Here, use mine and I'll use this one," she had said irritably, disguising her immediate interest in the book.
Slughorn called the class over to three cauldrons that were simmering at the front of the classroom. The class – smaller now than it had ever been – crowded around the cauldron that Slughorn had indicated would be the first under the class' examination.
The corkscrew smoke rising off the top and the pearly sheen immediately caught Hermione's eye. She breathed in deeply, feeling Severus himself was standing right in front of her. There was a yearning pull from deep within her bones to that cauldron.
"Ahh – I see that Miss- Granger, is it? Yes? That Miss Granger here is already feeling the effects of this one," he said, chuckling happily. Hermione blushed deeply, drawing laughs from the rest of her classmates. "Would you care to share?"
Hermione held her head high, firmly ordering the blush to depart. "It's Amortentia," she said. "Mother of pearl sheen, corkscrew spirals, the most powerful love potion in the world. It also smells different to everyone – like the things or the person they love."
Slughorn laughed again, a great belly laugh that made his walrus moustache wiggle. "Yes, yes, Miss Granger. Now, who can identify the next one?"
Hermione's hand shot up in the air. "Veritaserum, sir," she answered. "It's a truth telling potion – the most powerful truth telling potion, actually."
"And the last?" he asked, looking at her curiously. "What's that one, Miss Granger?"
Hermione didn't even need to look into the cauldron, looking into those small, curious eyes instead. "Polyjuice, sir."
"What brings you to that conclusion?" asked Slughorn, impressed.
"The smell," Hermione replied. "It's quite… distinctive." She swallowed quickly, feeling for some reason that there was the sludgy feeling of Polyjuice in her throat.
Dean Thomas raised his hand. "Sir? Is that one really the last?" His gaze flicked over to a small cauldron sitting on Slughorn's desk.
Slughorn smiled widely. "Ah, yes. That one is a favorite of mine. I had almost forgot…" He led the class to another cauldron, an absurdly tiny one, where little golden drops were acrobatically leaping over the surface of the potion. Hermione looked at it curiously, then smiled in recognition.
"I see someone recognizes this one," Slughorn said jovially. "Your guess, Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked up at him with no slight awe. "Felix Felicis. Also known as liquid luck – that's almost impossible to brew!"
Slughorn looked extremely pleased with her praise. "Almost impossible, but not quite."
"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed . . . at least until the effects wear off."
"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot eagerly.
"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . ." He was greatly enjoying the sudden attentiveness of the class, and was hamming it up to maximum effect.
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.
"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twentyfour, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."
He gazed of dreamily to the distance, and Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. He was planning something, and Hermione wasn't sure that something was a plan she would like very much.
"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson." There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold. "One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."
And there it is, Hermione thought, sighing gustily in her head. I have to win that. Harry needs it more than anyone else in this classroom. Except for Draco, maybe, but I'd rather Harry's skin be saved by a little liquid luck than Draco's.
"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary! So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"
There was practically a stampede for the supply closet. Hermione pulled the worn old book close, flipping to the page that Slughorn had indicated. There were comments scribbled in every free space, in the margins, between lines of instructions- even lines through instructions. She squinted closer at them.
Crush beans, that gives more juice
Don't bother steaming the beetle wings, it doesn't change a thing and it wastes time
Add a clockwise stir after every seven counterclockwise
Hermione traced the writing with a finger for a moment, then snapped into action, heading into the supply closet. She needed to win this prize.
What followed was an hour of almost frantic brewing. Hermione kept an eye on Harry's potion as well as her own.
"Crush the beans with the knife," she whispered to him, when his potion was a deep shade of violet instead of the gentle lavender that it should have been. "Trust me, it worked." Her potion was barely purple it was so light. She only needed a handful of stirs to make it clear, and once again she shared the book's instructions with Harry.
The end of the class approached far too quickly. Everyone waited in absolute silence as Slughorn walked through the rows of cauldrons, peering into each one. He peeked into Draco's and made an approving hum, but frowned when he got to Zabini's.
Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ernie's cauldron. Ron's potion made Slughorn cover his nose and mouth with a handkerchief and cough violently.
Hermione waited, her heart beating fast in her chest, as Slughorn looked first into Harry's cauldron, and then into hers, and then back again. So it would be one of them, it seemed.
"Well, well, well," Slughorn said, rocking back on his heels and stroking his thick mustache. "This is interesting indeed. You both have done a fabulous job here, no doubt about it. But to whom goes the prize?"
"We could share it," suggested Harry. "Six hours each."
Hermione shook her head. "Give it to Harry," she said.
"The two of you remind of two particular students I used to teach," said Slughorn, pausing in the stroking of his moustache. "In fact, Mr. Potter, you and Miss Granger remind me of your mother and a young friend of hers. They were excellent in potions, simply brilliant. It seems that you have inherited her skills, my boy!" Slughorn looked between them, then laughed. "Why not give you each the prize?" he said. He tapped the vial with his wand, duplicating it, and then carefully filled it with the dancing drops leaping over the cauldron.
Hermione and Harry made eye contact, and grinned. Each accepted their prize with solemn nods, aware of the eyes of the entire class on them. Draco's eyes were burning with anger.
Hermione didn't care as she clutched the small, precious bottle carefully. This would save lives – either hers, or someone she loved.
She stroked the cover of the book carefully, her chest feeling tight. Severus' handwriting, there had guided her. Severus, a Severus her own age (or rather, younger than her, she supposed) had written in his book, had experimented with potions even then, had noted down his observations with none of the finesse of a proper Potions Master but all of the intuition.
Later, in her dorm, Hermione poured through the book, reading each little notation. Most of them, she could figure out if she thought about it long enough, but someone of the additions or annotations were beyond her grasp of potions.
But what really intrigued here were the spells in the margins. For enemies one was marked. Others had no such notations, but when she whispered the incantations, without any intentions behind them, she could feel either malevolence or mischief, and sometimes both. She had had no idea that Severus had started crafting spells from such a young age, nor such violence spells.
With a sigh, Hermione closed the book and blew out her candle. For some reason, she didn't know quite how she felt about Lily Potter being as brilliant at potions as Slughorn had indicated.
Don't think about it, she advised herself. I have him now. He's mine.
And so ends Chapter 53.
As I am sure you saw, I am indeed making the Deathly Hallows not a thing. I have other things that are going to happen instead. You'll see!
Personal life stuff : the semester is almost over! Classes have been rough recently, but I'll have a little time to breathe, and then off to sixish weeks in France to study abroad and then back to the states for an 8 week poverty internship. And then some time visiting my girlfriend, and then back to my family! It'll be nuts. I've sorted out housing for next year and classes and this weekend I'm off to a proper anthropology conference for the first time ever.
And speaking of my girlfriend everything is mostly right and happy in this world. The only problem is that she isn't ready to be out and I am which is hard. I haven't told my parents yet - saving that one for August when I get to see them in person. But life is life. And I'm in that happy and delirious honeymoon stage and that is wonderful.
Excerpt:
Hermione thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. How do you want me?"
Severus eyes flickered over her body as he climbed back into the bed. "Six ways from Sunday. But on your front would work too."
The next chapter is super steamy. Be warned. There will be plot! But a bit more smut than there has been before.
I will update when I can, but that may not be for a while. Perhaps you can amuse yourself reading one of my other stories? I have some SSHG oneshots that are good. ;) Also, reviews are lovely and much appreciated.