Hello! Is anyone still there?

I know it's been absolutely forever since I've updated - but I've continued to write and think about this story. I'm actually doing a full re-read of the entire (600+ page) thing!

Enjoy this chapter - I hope another will be up soon.

Chapter 58

Later, when Hermione thought back to that moment between her and Severus in the Room of Requirement, a wry sense of irony would rise within her. Nothing going wrong? Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, they were doomed.

After another lovely little snog in the Room of Requirement, they had gone their separate ways, Hermione to the Safe House to talk to Scrimgeour, and Severus to the dungeons to prepare a place for Yaxley. House elves were sent to buy a variety of gemstones for Severus under the guise of potions ingredients, disguising the pyrite that would be used to store Yaxley's magic while he was in the dungeon.

Scrimgeour was surprisingly easy to convince. He was a broken man, it seemed, all of the color faded from his skin and hair and eyes. He wrote out a letter that Hermione looked over carefully – she didn't see any signs of trickery, but there was much a couple in love could conceive of between themselves. The letter said that if Yaxley could find the time, Scrimgeour would be waiting for him at a particular park in Muggle London. He begged his lover to come find him, to figure out a plan.

"Look at me," she commanded finally, turning her full power to his gaze. The man had tawny eyes, with flecks of orange and gold within the brown. Hermione pushed forward with her magic, forcing her mind into his without bothering to make her Legilimency subtle. He was at her mercy now; if he didn't like her looking in his mind, he shouldn't have found himself in this position to begin with. Hermione had little pity for a man who would place his own wants and needs over the cause of the war. She ignored the small voice that asked if – perhaps – she was doing the same in conducting a relationship with Severus at this dangerous time.

She scanned his memory of writing the letter, seeing nothing that alarmed her in his thoughts. Pushing farther, Hermione looked for memories of Yaxley. In Scrimgeour's mind that thin mustache was charming, not silly. The Death Eater's gauntness was appealing, especially compared to the Auror's own muscles. There was an appreciation for the lines of Yaxley's face that Hermione had not seen before, a fondness for the grace in his movements. Other thoughts flooded those memories of Yaxley; beyond images of candlelight on the man's face, there were powerful feelings of lust and bodies moving together –

"Those are not yours." A red flush appeared high on Scrimgeour's cheeks. "I understand looking for duplicity with the letter, but – but those are not your memories to examine."

Hermione, feeling slightly off-kilter, just nodded. "Severus will be here to pick you up this evening. You have our word – if you help us capture Yaxley, we will support your political career after the war."

"Yes, because politics is all that matters," Scrimgeour said bitterly. "You emotionless bitch."

Coldly, Hermione looked down at the man in the armchair. "Do we need to find another motivator for you?" she asked, ignoring the insult. She would get snippy if she were backed this far into a corner.

The disgraced Minister snorted. "My kids? I don't have any. No family, no relatives who would be proud to claim me, no legacy other than a political one. I have nothing left."

That is dangerous thinking, Hermione thought. I'll tell Severus to be careful.

Before dinner, Hermione pulled Harry into an unoccupied corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, grateful that she was able to catch him alone. Well – that she had been able to engineer a situation in which she could catch him alone. Ron barely noticed, stamping up the stairs as he muttered to himself about Neville's clumsiness. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't noticed Hermione bump Neville at just the right time, such that the bottle of ink he was holding had spilled over Ron's shirt. And if no one noticed that she had silently Vanished the stopper – well, they would just think that Neville was forgetful.

It was funny – he had certainly earned that reputation their first year, but Hermione couldn't help but notice that that the boy who had stammered and needed a bloody Remembrall was now broad shouldered and more thoughtful than forgetful. Mentally, she scheduled a conversation with him for her some time after her recovery period.

Focusing her attention on the boy in front of her, Hermione felt another wiggle of fear in her gut. "Are you ready, Harry?" she asked quietly. Waiting for his reply, she bit the side of her cheek.

To his credit, Harry only looked half as nervous as he probably felt. "Snape palmed off the bezoar to me when he was handing back essays in our last DADA class," he said quietly. "It's in my pocket."

"And the spell?" she demanded.

"Degluttiate," repeated Harry dutifully. "I shove the bezoar into your mouth, the spell forces you to swallow. I've got this." It would have been a little more confidence inducing if he didn't look quite so green around the gills.

Hermione let out a long breath. "Good. Good. That will give me and Slughorn enough time. You're sure it the bezoar and not just a random pebble? Or raisin?"

Harry let out a half hearted laugh. "What would happen? If you weren't to get the bezoar in time?"

In her mind's eye, Hermione saw a row of cages filled with dead Nifflers. And then another few who moved slowly, stared at food without eating it, or dragged themselves around on their front legs. She swallowed hard. "Not great things. Just- be fast with it, ok? In our tests, within a minute was key. I'll give you a sign before I do anything."

"And if someone asks why I just have a bezoar on me?" asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged. "Everyone knows you don't trust Snape, just as much as everyone knows the Dark Lord is after you. It would make sense for you to carry one around anyway. Just a precaution."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah. How expensive are these things?"

"Expensive," Hermione admitted. "But Severus has a few in his storeroom. Remind me to get one for you soon. Or you could ask him yourself."

"Fat chance," Harry said with a snort. "I wouldn't put it past him to give me a petrified piece of rat shit instead of a real bezoar."

"Constant vigilance," Hermione warned Harry. "Don't put it past him. Don't put it past anyone. The only person you can trust-"

"-Is yourself, I know, Hermione." To his credit, Harry did not roll his eyes as much as Hermione could sense he wanted to. "You always have three and a half backup plans."

It was true. They both knew that the years of training Hermione had received had shaped her in more ways than one – and what could tutelage under none other than Mad-Eye Moody do for someone other than inject a little more paranoia into their lives?

Hermione ran through her plan in her head. Book, send Harry and Ron off, quill, poison, bezoar, Hospital Wing, safety. What could go wrong with each piece? Marietta was taken care of. If Ron wouldn't bugger off, she'd mention that she had just remembered that Ginny mentioned having a date with Michael Corner to wander the halls and do a bit of snogging. If Draco couldn't lace the quills, he'd hold his up, Disillusion it, she would Summon it, and then make it reappear. Harry had the bezoar – and that it was it. The sticking point in the plan. If that went wrong, the rest of it didn't matter.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then fiddled with one of the chains around her neck. "Harry, you should take this," she said, willing her hands to stop trembling. "Just in case."

Eyes wide, the boy in front of her looked at what she was offering him. "Constant vigilance indeed, Hermione."

The tension between the two men made it feel like it ought to be one of those nights when rain lashes at a pavement lit only by the light of a small sliver of pale moon. Instead, it was relatively pleasant for London in the fall. It was bright enough, too, with a plump moon a solid few days away from full and dangerous. A brisk breeze ruffled Scrimgeour's shaggy hair, but it wasn't cold enough to penetrate through his ill-fitting Muggle clothing, complete with puffy blue coat. As usual, Severus' face was a smooth mask with a slight scowl. He was wearing a black leather jacket that had fit him perfectly fifteen years ago, and dark Muggle clothing. Together, the two men painted an odd picture, the red and blues of the former Minister harsh against the dark form next to him. The breadth of Scrimgeour's shoulders made Severus look slim in comparison.

"Go wait for him on that bench," said Severus quietly. "I'll Disillusion myself and stand near those trees. Make no mistake, my wand will be on you the entire time."

Scrimgeour scowled. "Does it matter? You have my wand anyway."

Severus allowed a faint smile to appear on his lips. "That I do. Still, no misbehavior or Apparating away with Yaxley." He retreated to the trees to wait, and Scrimgeour fidgeted on the bench. Severus wasn't worried – earlier in the day he had very deliberately taken samples of Scrimgeour's blood and hair, to make a tracking charm with if needed. The man was very well aware that mountains would need to be moved to hide him from the Order, and that the Dark Lord was not likely to do such a thing. Even for the former Minister for Magic. Severus allowed himself a small smirk. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. The golden boy Auror, reduced to… this.

They were to wait for the signal from Draco that Hermione had been poisoned. The thought made Severus' tripes clench with a silent fear. It would be fine. The poison that Draco had was strong, real, with visible and noticeable symptoms. The point was to make the entire library notice what was happening, after all. Severus had worked hard to alter it, to lessen the pain Hermione would feel, to draw out the symptoms such that, with the aid of a bezoar he had slipped to Potter, there would be enough time for Slughorn, as the resident Potions Professor, would have time to "create" the antidote Severus had already made.

That had been quite the annoying conversation. He had wanted Hermione to do it, but she and Dumbledore had both insisted that Slughorn would be more likely to participate if he could claim as much of the spotlight as possible. For that, Severus would have to (reluctantly) explain the process of how he had distilled the original potion, crafted a new poison, then tried and tested various antidotes on Nifflers until he had stumbled upon the key. And then Slughorn would get to pretend to be the hero, having completed this process over the course of mere hours instead of weeks. It shouldn't have gotten under his skin, and yet it did anyway.

He wanted to be the one to rescue Hermione. It was ridiculous, it really was. He knew it, and she knew it. But still, a part of Severus craved that time as the knight in shining armor. It was alarming, really, how deeply he wanted to step out of the shadows where Hermione was concerned.

Severus shook his head minutely, narrowing his attention on Scrimgeour. It would be a long evening.

I really shouldn't have to rush if I have a Time Turner, Hermione thought crossly as she hurried through the halls of Hogwarts, hurrying to the library. Even as she thought it, an uneasy feeling swept through her stomach. She had had enough Time Turner for the day. Sometimes, especially late in the day, the thought of propelling herself through time again made her stomach force bile up her throat, made a chill run through her spine, made her hands feel leaden.

At this time of day, the library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was never quite full. It was late enough in the day that the after-dinner crowd had finished up their homework, and really only the people working on longer essays were still roaming the stacks for research books or writing frantically at one of the long tables in center hub.

For a place dedicated to learning, the library was anything but rational. Madam Pince had a desk near the entrance, where one could check out books or return them. This desk guarded the wide path to the center hub of the library, where several long tables were illuminated by floating orbs. High glass windows rose up in the back of the library, and on the sides, with smaller windows with window seats peppered on the walls. Tucked in one small edge of the library was the Restricted Section; somehow, Pince always appeared at the gated entrance whenever anyone came too near – even if she had been seated at her front desk mere moments ago. From the center hub, spokes of stacks stretched out, seemingly endlessly. Tucked among the sections were smaller tables, made to seat six or four students at a time, usually clustered in groups of two or three. Some sections were smaller than others; Muggle Studies only boasted two tables, while Transfiguration had eight.

It was here that Hermione found Ron and Harry – and Draco. Her two close friends were slowly working on their essays, heads turning between book and parchment. Harry seemed more distracted than usual – if Hermione knew him at all, it was because he was all too aware of the bezoar in his pocket. Ron was oblivious – Hermione waffled over including him in these decisions more and more. He had matured a lot over the last year, but there was still something about his boyish tempers that made her reluctant to trust him with more information that she had to. For now, she anxiously toed the line between giving him enough information to feel included and hoping he didn't find out about the things she shared with Harry. It was never fun to be the one on the outside looking in, and she had long known that Ron was very well capable of being jealous of the relationship between her and Harry.

Draco, on the other hand, was alone at his table, his white blond hair bright in the darkness of the library. He was solitary at a table meant for at least four people, his books casually spread across all of the workspaces. There was a subtle tension in the lines of his body, enough to let an experienced watcher know that he was actively trying to control his nervousness. Since he had joined the Order, Draco had reported to Hermione once weekly. This had given her time to get to know the aristocrat, know the ways his frame fell when he was on edge and trying to control it.

Clutching the book on Inferi to her chest and hoping Ron wouldn't pay much attention to it, Hermione made her way to her usual seat across from the boys. Occasionally Ginny joined them at the seat next to Hermione, but it was rare that there was enough extra room at the table with the number of books Hermione usually brought with her.

"How are the essays coming?" Hermione said in a low voice. "How many inches do you have left?"

Ron groaned. "About ten. This is taking more research than I thought. Why doesn't McGonagall just assign us essays we can do from the class notes?" Harry shook his head next to his friend, having already heard this exchange play out at this same table a number of times over the years. At this point, he suspected Ron just enjoyed getting a rise out of Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron –"

"It's so that we are able to develop a palate for opinions," Ron interrupted, mimicking Hermione's snotty voice. "I know, I know, you've said it a million times. I would just rather be playing chess is all. Neville's finally agreed to play me, and you know he grandmother taught him."

That was enough to cause Hermione to raise her eyebrows and she arranged her writing instruments around her. "Oh? Then you might actually be up for a challenge, Ron."

"If I ever finish this bloody essay," said Ron gloomily. "Will you read it when I'm done?" At the expression on Hermione's face, he sighed. "I thought I might as well ask."

The trio worked quietly in the candlelight, dwindling down the inches. Marietta had yet to appear. Hermione, bored, began her reading for the next month's Charm lessons. This was on bonding charms – Flitwick had, of course, taught these to her years ago in Safe House Three. The book was an old textbook by a notoriously thorough academic Dominic Shortquill, who had been censured by his Charms Mastery program for submitting a thesis that was more footnote than original work.

Bonding charms allow linkages to be created between two people, two objects, or a person and an object. Stable, preferably magical numbers are highly suggested. Twos work well, as do threes and sevens. Fours should be avoided, as such systems show an unnaturalness not found in nature.

The uses of bonding charms range from devices as mundane as a door handle that only works for the bondee to as important as a linkage of souls in the old traditional marriage ceremonies.

At this, Hermione sat up. A linkage of souls? That I haven't read about? Immediately, her fingers itches to dive in the library and research these marriage charms. But alas, that would have to wait until after the poisoning.

The problem with such bonding spells is the strength required to maintain them, and the absolute difficulty of breaking such a bond. While a bonded doorknob may be merely Vanished after its use has expired, the Bond of two souls can only be broken – occasionally broken – by death.324

There was a footnote – heart beating in her chest, Hermione prayed that this author was as fastidious an academic as his reputation suggested.

There it was –

324. There was, of course, the mysterious case of the Lady of Foxfield, known for being a 'black widow' of a kind. With nine marriages in twelve years – the last seven of which included a soul bond – she was notorious for surviving unscathed. Rumor has it that the Lady managed to trap the souls of her husbands in an ornate opal necklace when the last few bound her life to theirs in an attempt to stave off their almost inevitable murders.

There it was. In a book she had read years ago, in a footnote she had dutifully flipped to and skimmed with a sign of annoyance at all of the pointless anecdotes. Draco was the key – Borgin and Burkes had bought the opal necklace, they had said something about souls, and then Draco – Draco – had purchased it to use against her. And now she would use it to pull that soul from Harry Potter's head to engineer the defeat of the Dark Lord. She couldn't prevent a laugh from bubbling up in her throat.

"Don't laugh at me because this is your own damn fault," hissed Marietta Edgecombe. A thick layer of foundation wasn't enough to hide the raised, angry pimples on the girl's fleshy cheeks, broken only by her slightly upturned nose.

Hermione slammed her book shut and lifted her head in surprise. "Marietta!" she exclaimed. "Oh – sorry – I wasn't laughing at you – it was just that I figured something out –" She blushed, despite herself, as Ron and Harry both winced. "Um – did you need something?"

Marietta glared at Hermione. "I need On the Inferi of Western Europe for Snape's class. Madam Pince said that you had it out – even though the essay was due a week ago – and you had yet to return it." Her voice was annoyed and a little embarrassed. The entire section now could hear that she had to make up an essay that had been due a week ago.

"Oh, of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'll go return it now. Stay here, I'll just check it back in and bring it to you. I won't be a moment!" With a feeling of nauseating trepidation growing in her belly, Hermione dug through her book bag and found the heavy tome. She put it on the table, along with two of her beautiful eagle feather quills.

Marietta sighed. "I'll be over at that table, I guess." She left, ducking her head in what was now a familiar motion, causing her dark curls to fall over her face.

Hermione stood, then purposefully glanced over at Ron's essay and loudly tutted. "Oh, Ron."

The redhead sighed deeply then looked up at her. "What?"

"You've made it through eight inches and you haven't even referenced Dedrick's Theorem yet," she told him. "I know I said I wasn't going to help you with this essay, but I don't want to see you fail."

The look on Ron's face was somewhere between annoyance and hesitant gratitude. "And where could I find this Dedrick's Theorem?" he asked warily, unsure if Hermione would help or just give more unhelpful hints.

Luckily for him, Hermione wanted him to both succeed and leave the table for a minute. "An Advanced Transfiguration Magicke" she responded. "Harry, you probably need it too. There are a few copies in the stacks."

Groaning, both boys rose and headed to the wall opposite their table. With their backs to the table, and Hermione gone to return the Inferi book, only Marietta would have a good view of the table, her quills, and Draco's actions.

The walk through the familiar stacks felt oddly final – Hermione couldn't shake a sense that she was too confident. We've planned this to a tee, she reminded herself. We've planned for everything. Almost robotically she handed the book back to Madam Pince, explained that she would give it to Marietta, and wandered back to the table.

Harry and Ron both had their heads buried in their new books, small frowns on each of their faces. Marietta was sitting alone at her table, a larger frown on hers. "Here," Hermione said, handing her the book. Part of her dared the girl to say something, anything about what she had just seen. "Anything else?"

But no – the glare Marietta gave Hermione even as she accepted the book was a look of pure malice. Intended or no, Hermione Granger had truly made an enemy of Marietta Edgecombe. Normally Hermione was able to dismiss the niggling feeling of guilt, but at the realization that this teenager wouldn't lift a finger to save her from something suspicious – whether she thought it was a nasty prank Draco was playing or truly a poisoning – was jarring.

"Fine," Hermione huffed, turning back to her own table. There lay her quills, each with a new oily sheen on them. Just a few drops would have done it – she knew Draco would have been able to work fast. With only a moment of hesitation, Hermione picked up one of the quills, twirling it through her fingers. A faintly sweet smell rose from the quill.

So much had just happened – Hermione slipped the Charms book into her book bag, feeling a tinge of excitement. Finally, a lead! She could use this time to plan fruitfully, designing a way to use this opal necklace to free Harry from his Horcrux.

She went back to work, scratching out a few words on her parchment, putting off what she knew must happen. The procrastination wasn't just bothering her –Harry flicked his eyes over to her every few seconds, afraid of missing what would happen. Hermione shook her head- she wouldn't do anything until Draco stood to leave. He would disappear into the stacks, then loop around to watch, so that the Dark Lord would be able to see Hermione collapsing in his memories.

It happened a few minutes later. The blond Slytherin closed his books sharply, then abruptly left. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat.

Hermione kicked Harry lightly under the table, warning him. Then, with a deep breath, she put the tainted quill in her mouth, noticing a certain numbing sweetness spreading over her tongue immediately. It reminded her, oddly enough, of being in her parent's dentist's chair, and having the sharp pain of a numbing shot before having a cavity removed. Tears welled in her eyes with missing her parents, and she tried to raise a hand to wipe them. Her fingers twitched, but that was all.

Her eyes frozen open, Hermione could do nothing but watch as Ron threw his quill down in frustration, then reached toward hers. "Can I use this, Hermione? Mine's spell-check thing isn't working again." He picked it up, then sniffed. "Did you dip it in something? Is that why you're always sucking these things?"

Her scream was muffled as Ron gave the quill another sniff, and then put it in his mouth.

Severus vaguely wished he smoked, that he had something to occupy his hands during such a boring evening of watching Scrimgeour. Hermione would kill him, though. He had mentioned it to her, once, he remembered. The look of disgust on her face – "yellow teeth, Severus. Yellow." – had given him pause. There were some things a Muggleborn daughter of dentists would not compromise on, and it appeared the magical alternation of teeth were one of those things.

Suddenly, the Dark Mark on his arm burned. Severus was prepared – the only sign of the pain was a slight tightening of his abdominal muscles. He was prepared for the second searing pain when it ripped through his arm, sending his heartbeat up. The Dark Lord was calling his followers to him.

He counted down the time.

The time of the burn – Draco, pressing his index finger to the mark burned onto his own skin, heart beating fast, knowing that the deed was done. Hermione would be paralyzed, almost instantly. Her mouth would go numb, her extremities would not obey her commands.

Thirty seconds in – those who were weak might retch as they felt the pull in their bellies as their Mark ordered them to Apparate to his side. Those who weren't doing anything would Apparate to him immediately. Those who were within Anti-Apparition wards would feel a dull ache in their arms until they did so. It was the Dark Lord's way of ensuring that his followers returned to him later to account for their tardiness. Hermione's heartbeat would begin to slow, her breathing to stutter.

One minute in – figures cloaked in darkness would begin to appear before the Dark Lord's throne, head bowed. When those heads were raised, the white mask of the Death Eaters would cover their visages. Silently, bowels churning with fear, they would wait to know why they had been summoned. At this point, Harry should have forced the bezoar down Hermione's throat, forcing her to swallow, and she would abruptly plateau.

Five minutes in – Draco would be halfway down a secret passage to Hogsmeade, ready to Apparate to the Dark Lord's side the moment he passed through the Anti-Apparition wards. He would be taking the time, Severus hoped, to steady his mind, hide all of the late night conversations with Severus and Hermione deep in his mind, deep enough the Dark Lord would not find them. He would be focusing on his hatred of Hermione, drawing on those real emotions to mask his trepidation. He would be cloaking himself in feelings of victory, instead of terror. At five minutes, the Death Eaters who would have needed a moment to slink away from whatever responsibilities they were bound to would have slunk away. Hermione would be in the Hospital Wing, or so he hoped. Someone would have sent for Slughorn, who would be vibrating with excitement, dressed in his most luxurious smoking gown, thrilled to play the hero.

Fifteen minutes in – Draco would be kneeling in front of the Dark Lord, recounting his triumph. Those red, reptilian eyes would be gleaming in joy. When he smiled, bestowing his favor, the throne room would erupt into cheers, and the revelry would begin. Hopefully then, Yaxley would slip away, run to find his lover in the midst of the chaos. Hermione would be still as death in her bed at the Hospital Wing, life fading beat by beat as Slughorn pretended to seek a cure.

The minutes pressed on him beat by beat, the seconds dragging out and goading his thoughts to panic. Through it all, Severus' breathing remained steady and his hand loosely holding his wand. Other, weaker men might have let internal stress show in their body, but Severus had firmer control of his mind than that. Each breath in was slow and intentional. The only sign of his worry was a slight tightening of his jaw, the slightly faster beating of his heart. His mind kept jumping to the way Hermione had looked at him the last time he had kissed her.

They had planned for every eventuality, but… there was always a twist of fate. Always, always.

A sharp pop sounded as Yaxley's gaunt form split the air, twenty-seven minutes after Severus' Dark Mark had burned for the first time. He was still in his Death Eater's robes, although he had taken the time to remove the mask. His face was beaded with sweat and his thin moustache was damp and stringy.

Scrimgeour had stood to greet his lover, fear and worry in his eyes. "Corban," he said, his voice tight. "Thank-"

"Avada Kedavra," Yaxley said quietly.

Before his last words were out of his mouth, Scrimgeour fell to the ground with a thud.

Yaxley twisted on his heel to Apparate away, only to be halted by the Anti-Apparition wards that Severus had raised the moment the man had appeared. There was a snarl of frustration from thin man, an animal sound that reflected his immediate realization that he was trapped.

Without Disillusioning himself, Severus Stunned Yaxley and bound him with ropes. He pulled out a small wallet, that could open to an alarming size and conceal a package even as large as Yaxley. Working quickly, he Levitated the man into the open wallet, then folded it up and put it back in his pocket. He would search the man for any dangerous charms or protective spells when he arrived in the dungeons. The house elves, those he trusted, would have prepared the necessary room for Yaxley, where the gemstones imbedded in the walls and in the bracelets he would place on the man would drain his magic away.

It would be a horrific feeling, for a witch or wizard. Severus – or Hermione, least – was not cruel. He would be kept unconscious, barring when they needed to wake him to riffle through his memories, ensure they had not missed a vital piece of information that would be valuable to the Order. Then he would be allowed to sink into sleep – at least until Hermione needed him for her experiments.

Once the Death Eater had been taken care of, the problem of the former, dead, Minister for Magic remained.

In death, Scrimgeour's face was drawn and haggard, and his red mane looked even more straw like than it had before. Severus sighed. He pulled Scrimgeor's wand from his pocket, then pointed it at the dead man and cast the Killing Spell once more. He then wiped it clean of his prints, then used his own wand to maneuver Scimgeour into a seated position, with his own wand gripped loosely in his palm.

Severus then cast his Patronus, mind flitting to the feel of Hermione curled into his side warm in his bed, fully intending to send Kinglsey a message about the man on the park bench. However, the sinuous shape that poured out of his wand and awaited his command, tail twitching, was not the doe he was accustomed to seeing. He was in such shock, that the lithe animal faded into nothing before he could give it his intended message.

"Fuck me," he growled, a mixture of fear and trepidation in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, bugger." Well. This was something to handle later.

He flicked his wand again, intoning, "Expecto Patronum," while focusing on his happiest memory of Lily. Still, a large - if faded- jungle cat appeared before him, waiting expectantly. "Bugger," he said again. He cast the spell one more time, allowing his thoughts to drift to a fond memory of Hermione, asleep on his couch. His Patronus appeared before him again, strong and bright. "It's Snape – yes I know, it's changed. Scrimgeour is dead in that miserable excuse for a park off of Cotswald Street. I put a notice-me-not charm on it, made it look like he did it himself. Yaxley is with me. Scrimgeour is your problem now."

The white animal streaked off into the dark night, and Severus turned on his heel to Apparate back to Hogsmeade. He would have a long walk back to the castle, during which he could mull on this new development.

And so ends Chapter 58.

I know this was much shorter than usual, but I did want to get it up while I was still motivated. Please leave a review! I really want to get excited about this story again. If you want to read other things I've written, I have lots of shorter SSHG stories out there! Feel free to recommend good SSHG fanfics as well - reading good ones inspires me.

Personal life: It's been a while! I'm a real grown up, nowish. Job, rent, bills, existential dread and angst... My lovely roommate and I are still lovely roommates (and still dating). Last year was a real whirlwind - I was interviewing at all of these Ivy League PhD programs, presenting at conferences, finishing my thesis ... and then didn't get in anywhere. It was heartbreaking. I'm ok - I have a job working in mental health and homelessness (which is rough but good work) and I'm figuring it all out! We'll see what happens next.

As I said - I'm doing a re-read! Feel free to join me - I'd forgotten how important this story was to me at one point in time, and while re-reading sometimes makes me cringe (omg I remember writing this in the hallways of my high school) it's also sweet to realize, ah yes, this is exactly the story I want. I just have to remember what was happening and what I was doing with it!

Thank you all for reading, and if you're reading this, for coming with me all this way. I was 15 when I started writing this, and I'm nearly 23 now. Funny how time flies! Hopefully I will see you all very soon (not a year and a half from now).