More than a week passed while Severus mulled over the dilemma that was
Hermione Granger, or rather what he could contribute to repair a part of
the damage he'd caused. Their tenuous working arrangement had continued
without friction, and she had given up her free Wednesday afternoons to
assist him, beginning with the rearrangement of the laboratory. Another
worktable and set of storage shelves had been added to the main room, while
the small desk had been banished to the Isolation Ward along with
everything that wasn't precisely needed in the lab. The arrangements left
barely enough room for the two of them to work without tripping on each
other, but it was a productive environment none the less.
Now, finally, he had the room to spread out his papers and several volumes on potions, cross-referencing and making notes in the margins of his previous writings and frequently referring to the latest publications. At the far end of the table, Hermione was currently grinding bogbeans for Pomfrey's favorite bellyache remedy while she kept a watchful eye on a mass of dried something steeping in hot water.
Severus scrutinized her covertly as they worked on their separate tasks. Somewhere in the past few years she'd finally figured out that trying to brush her hair straight was counter-productive to controlling it. She wore the curly mass pulled back as usual, with one hank gathered from the temples to the crown of her head, the tail of which was added into the rest at the nape of her neck. Loose, twisted tendrils lay against her cheek and swayed gently with her pounding.
Reapplying himself to his papers, he paid little attention to her getting up and moving to the stores. The case rose to the high ceiling, and a short stepladder was necessary for reaching the highest shelves.
"Professor, what is this?" she asked, and he glanced up to see her standing atop her stool and holding out a small glass pot. The lid was off and even as he watched, she sniffed delicately at the stopper.
What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, and instantly regretted it when her balance wobbled dangerously. Moving faster than he'd thought possible, he lunged to his feet and was at her side in an instant, his upset stool clattering to the floor.
"I think I'm looking for the centaur hoof clippings," she replied tartly, clutching the edge of the closest shelf. "And don't startle me like that - I nearly fell."
A fact I'm quite aware of, Miss Granger, and I'll thank you to come down from there this instant." Rather than trust her to comply, he seized her by the waist and lifted her down himself. When her feet were safely planted on the floor he took the small pot from her, along with the lid, and put them together with an emphatic click. A swiftly muttered charm sealed it.
"Now. How much did you inhale? Any dizziness or trouble with your eyes?" He cupped her chin and peered into her pupils, judging the evenness of the brown irises. At this close range he could even detect the small flecks of green.
"Just the tiniest whiff, and no." she told him. "Why - what was it?"
"The main ingredient in the Gravis Expirato." He captured a hand and pinched the tip of one finger repeatedly until he was satisfied the pink was returning quickly each time.
"Oh. Ouch. I'm fine, professor. I know better than to take a good whiff of something if I don't know what it is."
"Nevertheless," he told her, examining the color in her face critically. "I want you to sit here for another few minutes. Tell me if you feel faint, or experience any cramps."
"Honestly, I'm fine," she insisted, but obeyed his prodding as he moved her stool back to the table and pushed her onto it. "I barely got a whiff. Smelled a bit like Lion's Ear."
"Hmm," he answered absently as he scanned the recently rearranged shelves. "Yes, it's a relative of Leonurus, but a special hybrid specifically created for one use only. Some remained after I made the Expirato." The hoof clippings were on a shelf at the same height as Severus' head, which meant they were too high for Hermione's line of sight. He plucked the jar off the shelf and placed it in front of her.
"Here," he told her. "When you've finished with them, please leave them there; I'll need them later."
"Yes, sir."
Severus put his stool upright once more and retrieved his quill from floor. Taking his seat, he settled his robes and smoothed a hand through his hair, but his concentration was reluctant to return to his previous task. He watched Hermione grate the hoof clippings for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"I'll ask Madame Pomfrey to order some False Unicorn Root. If you experience any problems, I want you to go to her right away."
"All right," Hermione agreed, slightly surprised at his solicitude. One of the best known uses of the False Unicorn Root was to prevent miscarriages. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Stifling the urge to tap his toe or shred the feather quill, Severus finally broached the subject that had occupied his thoughts for the past few days.
"Tell me, Miss Granger. The last time we spoke on the subject, you indicated you planned on raising your child, rather than give it up for adoption. Have you changed your mind?"
"No," she replied after a moment. "We'll see how things go with the war, but I want to raise this baby."
"I wonder if you might find it in your heart to allow me to see the child."
Hermione carefully set down the grater and hoof rim in her hands and stared at the man at the opposite end of the table. The stern face was as unreadable as ever, but these past weeks of working in close proximity to Severus Snape had taught her to interpret small clues in his body language. The quill in his fingers was still, but the long fingers were rolling it minutely from side to side, indicating his tension as he waited for her reply.
"Of course, Professor," she answered after a moment. "I just.I didn't think you were at all interested. I thought the baby would just be an embarrassment to you."
"Nothing could be further, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that I am interested, and leave it at that."
Hermione continued to stare at him, and he returned her regard with a slight quirk of his eyebrow.
"May I show you something?" she asked, finally. With a frown for the seriousness of her request, he nodded. The frown only deepened as she moved to shut and lock the door that led to the infirmary.
"No one else is even remotely interested. I mean, Pomfrey's done it all before, and, well, Professor Dumbledore would hardly be concerned. And I can't show Ginny, or Harry, or Ron. Oh, I know I'm babbling." She approached him hesitantly, then side-stepped around him and went through the illusion wall to the Isolation ward.
When Severus followed her, Hermione stood next to one of the dusty, narrow cots which had been crammed against the wall to make room. Without a word she unbuttoned her long, heavy school robe. She left it hanging from her shoulders, but it gaped open to reveal an unattractive cable-knit sweater above stretch leggings.
"Give me your hand," she commanded, and when he did, mystified, she pulled her wand and muttered a short spell. An odd ripple ran across his palm, but no other changes manifested.
"It's a sensitivity charm," she explained. "I found it in one of the books in the library. You wouldn't be able to feel it otherwise - I'm just over three months along and that's a bit early for this. I only started feeling it a few days ago, myself."
"Feel what?" he demanded, but she didn't answer. Without relinquishing her grip on his hand, she lay down quickly and pulled the bulky sweater up and out of the way. He caught a glimpse of pale skin just where the flat plane of her stomach lifted to meet the knit waistband of her pants. The slight convex rise might have been dismissed as normal curves on a witch with more ample build, but not on someone as thin as Hermione.
"Miss Granger, may I ask." His words cut off as she pulled his hand down onto the slight bulge, forcing him to bend over awkwardly. He opened his mouth to protest the ridiculousness of his posture when something moved under his hand.
Silenced, he sat slowly on the edge of the bed by her hip. Another wriggle came.
Once upon a time, in a bit of nonsense Ron and Harry had dreamed up, Hermione had been talked into carrying a mouse in the pocket of her robe. When she'd sat down, the mouse had explored the confines of its prison, sniffing and pattering from one corner of her pocket to the other. The tickling sensation of those little feet running over her skin was the closest comparison she could make to the sensation of the baby moving inside her womb.
"There. Did you feel it?" Without waiting for his reply, she shifted his hand further until his fingertips grazed the faint indent of her navel at the edge of her waistband. She was silent for a moment, then he felt it again. And odd flutter, light as a butterfly in his palm. "Press down a bit," she encouraged him, adding pressure to the back of his hand, and when he did, the sensation repeated once more.
For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Hermione saw Severus Snape dumbstruck. His dark eyes widened as he felt the gossamer tap of his child's movement, and a look of awe made his features less severe, smoothing some of the lines that had seemed so deeply etched in his forehead. She had felt the same way when she'd first detected the stirrings, and had been in agony over being unable to share it the secret with anyone. Now, watching someone else go through those same emotions made her smile with renewed delight at the miracle taking place.
Only when he moved his hand to a new position, seeking after more of the elusive movement, did Hermione realize how intimate their position was. She lay flat on her back with his large, warm hand on her stomach, and in her vulnerable position his sheer physical presence was more than a little intimidating. Snape was lean but he was by no means a small man, a fact that was undeniably evident as he leaned over her.
His hand moved on her again, and her awareness of him seemed to explode. The dry, intellectual knowledge that Snape had had a part in the fathering of her child was nothing compared to the physical realization that he was a man. Some elemental part of her stilled under his touch, but her nipples tightened suddenly as the mental image of that act, of Snape crouched over her, touching her. Her mind ran out of similes - she didn't want to think of the violence that was inherent in the act that had made her pregnant, but he had been intimate with her body. She was carrying his child.
The medical books had told her that her hormones would be in an uproar, but this was ridiculous. With one hand on her mostly clothed stomach, her body was reacting to Severus Snape with a rush of arousal that was far beyond anything Ron had ever managed to raise, even with her willing and active participation. Hermione closed her eyes and firmly told her over-stimulated hormones to control themselves.
"I beg your pardon," Snape apologized quietly, removing his hand from her body. She was almost sorry to see him withdrawing again. "A very interesting spell."
Mortified at the thought Snape might have picked up on her pitiful longings, Hermione sat up and pulled her robes around her. The faint color in his normally sallow cheeks made her sure he had, until his eyes met hers and she detected only astonishment, not revulsion. She found herself wondering when was the last time Snape had let anyone come close to him.
At that moment, Hermione wished she were better at dealing with people. She'd never been any good at making friends, and she doubted Snape was any better. As far as she knew he was on good terms with no one but Dumbledore. He had no friends among the teaching staff and trusted none of them, at least not enough to let any of them know he was alive and secreted away in the Hospital Wing. Although he was cut off from all other human contact, he rarely let his guard down with Madame Pomfrey and treated Hermione with a detached civility at all times.
However, if she were going to allow Snape to share in the raising of this child, then it would probably be best if they were at least on friendly terms. Which meant it was up to her to bring that about.
"If you truly wish to be involved with the baby, Professor, then I have no objection."
Hermione detected the faint lessening of tension in Snape's posture and congratulated herself on guessing correctly. She gave him a slight smile, and added, "It might make things easier for him, when he gets older, to know a wizard who can talk about something besides Quidditch."
A twitch at the corner of his mouth let her know the joke - and the warning - had been appreciated. Ron and Harry were her best friends, and would most certainly be a part of her future.
"Then I'll consider it my duty to give our child an appreciation of something other than broomsticks and Quidditch pitches," he told her smoothly.
Hermione smiled wryly at that and preceded him back to the lab, buttoning her robes and resuming her tasks. It never occurred to her to mark the fact that he'd use the term 'our' in reference to the baby growing under her heart.
*****
Once the afternoon bells rang, Hermione grabbed her bag and left the Hospital Wing to finish her homework from the morning classes. Also buried in her rucksack were several drafts of a letter to her parents, but she was uncharacteristically reluctant to addressing the situation anytime in the near future. Although the subject was bound to become apparent sooner or later, it was easier to put off writing down the news that was sure to devastate her parents. They might even insist she leave Hogwarts, and that was one thing she could not risk.
Comfortable as she could be with her decision to procrastinate writing the letter yet again, Hermione made her way to the library to concentrate on her homework. She had several items to research for a Charms assignment and the work would keep her mind off her parents and the eventual need to tell them of their impending grandparent-hood. However, when she'd claimed a table in the library and spread her work out, Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.
It was not the nonexistent letter, however, that distracted her. Thoughts of Severus Snape continued to intrude, along with the occasional shiver of arousal that accompanied the memory of his hand on her stomach. Closing her eyes only brought back the visualization of Snape's long torso leaning slightly over her, and blocking that only made his voice echo in her memory.
Justifying her search by considering that her child would someday ask these questions, Hermione wandered into the alumni section of Hogwarts. She knew that Snape had been a contemporary of Harry's father James and started with the school annals for those years. The information on him was scanty, showing only a slender, stiffly proud boy with a nose that he hadn't grown into yet and a straggle of black hair that continuously drifted into his face.
His last year of school had few pictures; he was listed as a member of the Dueling Club and the Slytherin Quidditch team, which lost the cup to Gryffindor that year. He also won a scholar award for his potions special project that year, and some mention was made of his attending the Oxford School of Alchemy when he graduated. Looking at the photo of a gangly eighteen-year-old Snape (which refused to wave like the other photos), she had to admit the intervening years had not been easy on him.
The Who's Who of Potions Masters International showed him as a member in good standing and included a respectably long list of his patents, but unlike many of his peers he belonged to no subcommittees and was not currently involved in any ongoing research. The thumbnail photo of him showed the same long, unsmiling face framed by lank black hair she saw every other day, and should not have been responsible for the tightening sensation that ran through her body.
Giving in to the impulse, Hermione reconstructed the entire forty-five seconds of time Snape had touched her, deliberately wringing out all the enjoyment until she could review it unemotionally. The man was over twice her age and had things been different, she'd never even have known he wasn't in Canada or wherever it was he had supposedly gone to for his sabbatical. Be sensible, she told herself. She was nothing if not sensible, and a firm belief in mind over body meant she could control her silly hormonal surges and beat them into submission. She could be curious about the man, but not THAT kind of curious.
Hermione re-shelved the book and decided she'd indulged far too long. She had studying to do, and in any case obsessing about Severus Snape was a losing proposition, no matter what. If their current tentative truce and lack of hostilities could be made permanent they might become friends, but anything else was a fantasy that needed to be discouraged. She gave her out-of-control body a severe talking-to and determined to ignore the disturbing sensuality the man had summoned.
Despite her foray into Snape's past, Hermione finished her work well before dinner and decided to join the stragglers heading for Gryffindor tower. Colin Creevey called to her as she climbed the stairs, and she paused to wait for him. For a moment she thought she saw Draco Malfoy standing at the foot of the lower landing, but when she looked again, no one was there.
Inside the Gryffindor common room, students lounged around, some lethargically working on their homework, the majority simply glad the day was over and waiting for the dinner hour to arrive. At one of the small tables, Ron, Ginny, and Harry were talking to Parvati Patel, and Hermione drifted over to join them and was quickly overcome with a sense of history repeating itself.
"I can't believe you two," Parvati was saying, obviously incensed. "The test is tomorrow, for Circe's sake. Were you just going to make it up?"
"Always worked before," muttered Ron.
"What on earth are you still doing taking Divination, Ron?" Hermione asked lightly. "I'm surprised you haven't worked your way up to slaughtering chickens to see what their entrails tell you."
"Some people have no gift," Parvati sniffed in a fair imitation of Madame Trelawney. "Come on, give me your hand." She grimaced as Ron's slightly dirty, broom-callused hand landed in hers, but inspected it carefully.
"Oh, this is really interesting. See here, your love line is very distinct, but eventually it joins your life line. You'll have many girlfriends, but you won't meet your soul mate for a very long time."
"Really? How long?"
"Hard to tell. It's a bit blurred, which may mean you'll know her for a while before you fall in love with her. But it's definitely someone you don't know right now."
"Jammy cow," muttered Ginny over her shoulder to Hermione. The two had become close friends while Hermione had been seeing Ron, and Ginny had been as disappointed as anyone when it became clear Hermione would not become her sister-in-law.
"So when?" demanded Ron. "How much time have I got?"
"I'd say, oh, about the time you're forty."
"Forty! That's brilliant!"
"What?" Demanded Ginny, as Harry snorted with laughter. "What's so brilliant about that?"
"Well," said Ron reasonably, "It means that I'll at least live to see forty, and I don't have to worry about getting serious with anyone until then." He looked at Hermione, then deliberately away, and Hermione felt her face go red.
"Ow-OW! Hey, that hurt!" yelled Ron, as his sister and his best friend each kicked the shin closest to them. "What was that for?"
"For being a clueless git," Harry informed him.
"Exactly," confirmed Ginny. "All right, then. Read Harry's palm."
"Absolutely not," Parvati refused. "Just looking at his palm makes my head hurt. The last time I tried to tell his future I had a migraine for hours."
"Then read Hermione's," Ron said unexpectedly. "She's got a bright future ahead of her, doesn't she?"
Despite her protests, Hermione was prodded forward and pushed into the chair Ginny vacated for her. Parvati's light brown hands took hers and she peered at the creases and lines in the palm.
"Well?" prompted Hermione.
"You won't believe this," Parvati began.
"I probably won't believe it anyway," Hermione said.
"I'd say your life either has or very soon will take a huge change in direction, one you're not expecting."
"Let me guess. A tall, dark, handsome stranger is going to sweep me off my feet."
"Guessed it in one," said Parvarti simply, and dropped her hand.
Hermione laughed. Snape WAS tall, and dark, and he might have swept her off the stool when it had wobbled on her, but that was only half of the prediction and fifty percent was only to be expected when it came to divination - or just wildly guessing.
*****
Stepping through the illusion wall from the lab to the Isolation Ward, Severus Snape caught sight of Hermione's tangled mane of hair hanging at knee level and stopped short.
"Miss Granger?" he questioned, and she looked up suddenly. She was kneeling on the floor by the desk, her head practically upside-down. Books and other homework were spread out on the desk, and several sheets of parchment hanging haphazardly from the shelf of the stores case.
"Dropped my quill," she explained, having retrieved the item from the floor at the back of the desk. She clambered up from her knees and pulled the chair back under her seat.
"I see. This is Thursday, is it not?"
"Yes, it is."
"Ah. Then I have no reason to doubt my sanity. Why, pray tell, are you here?" The words were sharper than he intended, but her sudden appearance was unsettling. He'd dreamed about her just last night, in this very room, and to see her here now was more than a little disturbing.
Severus had spent the entirety of Wednesday afternoon working in the same lab with Hermione and had been on the point of asking her one thing more times than he could count. In the end, he'd bid her good afternoon and watched her leave without voicing the request that had begun to dominate his thoughts - to ask her to recast the sensitivity charm once more.
For a man who had convinced himself he loathed children, especially when it involved teaching them a subject they cared so little about, Severus had been reluctantly enthralled by the fluttering of his own child's movement. His curiosity had quickly grown into a fascination, and by the time he'd gone to bed last night, he'd determined to ask her to do it again, regardless of what it cost his dignity.
And once asleep, he'd dreamed that she had agreed. On the same cot as before, the one currently only six feet behind him, the dream-Hermione had laid down and pulled up her sweater. But instead of placing his hand on her gravid belly, he'd reached up and pinned her to the mattress, ignoring the sounds of her terrified whimpers as he'd kissed her savagely. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's laughter had brought him to heart-pounding wakefulness in his silent, empty bedroom, and any further sleep had been impossible.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to impose." Hermione shuffled her papers together, but her pensive, harried manner bothered him and made him regret even more his sharp tones.
"You're not imposing. However, I am curious as to why you're here when you're not required."
"It doesn't matter," she told him with a tired shrug of one shoulder. "I'm just hiding today."
"Hiding? From what, may I ask?"
"It's a whom. Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy? Explain," he said sharply, using the same voice that demanded immediate obedience from students, and she was already conditioned to it.
"Every day this week, Draco's been waiting in the stairway to Gryffindor tower when afternoon classes are over."
"Waiting," Severus repeated, as if to confirm.
"All he does is watch me walk by him, but I just couldn't bear to see his face today. I thought I'd come here instead."
Restless, he paced slowly across the room, passing behind her chair. "Does he say anything to you?"
"No. He hasn't said much of anything to me since the last time he tried to grab me."
"When was this?" Severus demanded.
"About a month ago. I threatened to hex him with a sex change."
"And why didn't you report him?"
"I had other things on my mind that day."
Snape was silent for a moment. "You said he grabbed you? How?"
"He grabbed my wrists and pushed me up against the wall."
"What did he say at that time?"
When Hermione didn't answer immediately, Severus turned to look at her. Her eyes were on the floor, and the flush of her cheeks made him wish he hadn't pushed, but it was too late.
"He said - he said that if I were good enough for you, then I was good enough for him. That I was your whore, and then he tried to kiss me. Well, he did kiss me."
Appalled, Severus could not have stopped his next question if he'd been under an Imperius, though he dreaded to hear the answer. "And then?"
"Then I bit him," she said with satisfaction.
Snape snorted, amused despite himself.
"He knows what happened, doesn't he?" she asked, this time with less confidence.
"His father obviously told him some part of the tale."
Resuming his pacing, Severus didn't want to talk. He wanted to find Draco Malfoy and hurt him. Badly. Instead he let his restless pace carry him to Hermione's side, where he dropped to one knee beside her chair, his face on level with hers.
"Be careful, Hermione. Do not be alone with young Malfoy. Do not allow him to approach you, no matter what."
"I am Head Girl, you know," Hermione reminded him. "If I cannot handle one obnoxious Slytherin, then I should turn in my badge." She suddenly recalled to whom she was speaking. "No offense, Professor."
"None taken," he said dryly. "However. You are vulnerable, in your condition. Even a Tickling charm can set off uncontrollable muscle spasms and cause you to miscarry."
Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded in understanding, but Severus placed his hand over hers. "If you ever have need of me and cannot find me here, I'm most likely in the gallery upstairs."
She frowned, and he explained the picture gallery on the floor above the Hospital wing. It was unused and dusty, but had enough room to let him pace when his rooms became too confining. "The portraits start with the Founding Four of Hogwarts and go on from there; nothing but wizards with white beards and witches who are even more formidable than Poppy. Who would no doubt frown on my leaving the ward without her permission."
Hermione felt only the barest need to defend the mediwitch; after all, she had kept Harry under wraps many times, no matter how anxious his friends were. "She can be a bit much sometimes," she admitted.
"Should she ever decide to leave Hogwarts, I shall be sure to issue her glowing references to be appointed head matron at Azkaban. Since I am currently at her mercy, however, I have no choice but to comply."
"But you've manage to escape her," Hermione commented, thinking of the concealment charm he'd used to walk through the Hospital ward.
"Well, I am a wizard, Miss Granger. I have more up my sleeve than arm." With superior air he pulled an inch or so of black ebony from his left sleeve. Like many wizards, he kept his wand in his sleeve, where it was within easy reach and didn't poke unexpectedly like the wand pocket sewn into the school robes. Hermione had never really paid attention to Snape's wand; he used it rarely and had made his opinion of foolish wand waving perfectly clear from the first day of classes.
The dark length of wood was strangely fascinating to her, and she had a sudden impulse to reach out and grasp it. She controlled herself, however, since such an action would be incredibly rude and a violation of the most basic wizardly etiquette. Most wizards would rather share a toothbrush than let someone else handle their wand.
The impulse passed as Snape tucked the wand back under the black cuff of his coat, but Hermione glimpsed the light gray edge of the Dark Mark on the inside of his wrist and it set of another series of impulsive mental connections she referred to as a Brilliant Idea.
"Professor Dumbledore is really at a disadvantage without you keeping an eye on Voldemort, isn't he?" she asked seriously.
"I would not place an overwhelming value on my previous activities, but at this stage, the loss of any intelligence is too much."
Hermione nodded and shoved a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. "I know it's not much, but there are some newspapers that publish all sorts of trash."
"Yes, it's called the Daily Prophet," he drawled.
"No, not them, though they're just as bad. I'm talking about Muggle papers. The Sentinel, and the like. They're always full of tosh like the PM's wife being an alien and the like." Aware of Snape's lurking impatience, she hurried. "The thing is, last summer I was clearing out my parent's surgery and I came across one that said a house had been blown up by devil worshippers. And in the photo, I swear I saw the Dark Mark over the rubble."
"Last summer, you say? Do you remember the date, or where it was?"
"Sometime in early August, maybe, and I think it was in Basingstoke."
Snape racked his memory. "I'll ask the headmaster if he knows of an attack." He frowned thoughtfully at Hermione. "And you think these rags might give us information we don't have," he surmised.
"Every little bit helps," she replied.
"I'll speak to him tonight," Snape told her. "In the meantime, make use of those two clowns you call friends. Tell them whatever you wish, but don't take any chances. Draco Malfoy may not yet have sunk to his father's level, but he's on a slippery incline and I give sod-all for his chances of escaping the path Lucius Malfoy has planned for him."
*****
Just before midnight, Severus Snape again found himself sneaking through the long hallways of Hogwarts as he made his way to the Headmaster's office. Once there, he helped himself to the decanter of single malt scotch Dumbledore kept locked in the bottom of his desk, and on reflection offered to pour the headmaster a glass of his own liquor.
"No, thank you," Dumbledore refused politely, watching his former Potions Master sip the amber fluid and move restlessly about the office.
"Miss Granger came up with an interesting notion this afternoon," Severus began, dispensing with any small talk and directly laying out the idea. "It may be waste of time to wade through Muggle papers for hints of Death Eater activity, but I've a surplus of that on my hands these days."
"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "I'll make arrangements for Hogwarts to subscribe to some of these more lurid journals. You may need to apply to Miss Granger for explanations on some of the Muggle references, but I trust in her discretion."
"She's very discreet," Snape allowed. "Too much so, perhaps. Draco Malfoy has been harassing her."
Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, concern showing on his lined face. "Has he?"
"Nothing overt, but he's being somewhat blatant in his attentions. If he discovers Miss Granger is with child, Lucius Malfoy will know immediately."
"There's nothing I can do to expel the boy," mused the headmaster. "Not unless he commits an act grievous enough to make the school's board of governors withstand the pressure Malfoy Senior would bring to bear to have him reinstated."
"If Lucius knew she were carrying my child, there's no telling what he'd do to her to get at me. I'll do whatever it takes to keep Hermione out of his clutches; the once was more than enough."
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously, "despite whatever personal enmity exists between you and Lucius Malfoy, the baby Hermione is carrying has quite possibly greater significance than as a bargaining chip. The child was conceived on Samhain, and by force. That's an auspice I shudder to consider."
"The Malfoys don't believe in the old ways," Severus objected. "The have no respect for the ancient rituals, even the dark ones."
"But Voldemort most certainly does," countered Dumbledore. "Look at what Lilly Potter did with just the wandless magic of a mother's love for her child."
"Primitive magic," Severus said with a snort. "And at the cost of her own life."
"Don't confuse elemental or primitive with ineffective, my boy. After all, a club is quite primitive, but I for one do not wish to be on the receiving end of such."
Watching the younger wizard lounging against the window frame, scowling ferociously, Dumbledore smiled to himself. Just a month ago, the man had barely spoken more than a sentence at a time and refused to participate in the most basic efforts to save his own life. Now, here he stood, angry and sharp-witted and once more the ally Dumbledore had valued for so long.
~Bravo, Miss Granger, ~ he thought to himself. ~Bravo.~
Now, finally, he had the room to spread out his papers and several volumes on potions, cross-referencing and making notes in the margins of his previous writings and frequently referring to the latest publications. At the far end of the table, Hermione was currently grinding bogbeans for Pomfrey's favorite bellyache remedy while she kept a watchful eye on a mass of dried something steeping in hot water.
Severus scrutinized her covertly as they worked on their separate tasks. Somewhere in the past few years she'd finally figured out that trying to brush her hair straight was counter-productive to controlling it. She wore the curly mass pulled back as usual, with one hank gathered from the temples to the crown of her head, the tail of which was added into the rest at the nape of her neck. Loose, twisted tendrils lay against her cheek and swayed gently with her pounding.
Reapplying himself to his papers, he paid little attention to her getting up and moving to the stores. The case rose to the high ceiling, and a short stepladder was necessary for reaching the highest shelves.
"Professor, what is this?" she asked, and he glanced up to see her standing atop her stool and holding out a small glass pot. The lid was off and even as he watched, she sniffed delicately at the stopper.
What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, and instantly regretted it when her balance wobbled dangerously. Moving faster than he'd thought possible, he lunged to his feet and was at her side in an instant, his upset stool clattering to the floor.
"I think I'm looking for the centaur hoof clippings," she replied tartly, clutching the edge of the closest shelf. "And don't startle me like that - I nearly fell."
A fact I'm quite aware of, Miss Granger, and I'll thank you to come down from there this instant." Rather than trust her to comply, he seized her by the waist and lifted her down himself. When her feet were safely planted on the floor he took the small pot from her, along with the lid, and put them together with an emphatic click. A swiftly muttered charm sealed it.
"Now. How much did you inhale? Any dizziness or trouble with your eyes?" He cupped her chin and peered into her pupils, judging the evenness of the brown irises. At this close range he could even detect the small flecks of green.
"Just the tiniest whiff, and no." she told him. "Why - what was it?"
"The main ingredient in the Gravis Expirato." He captured a hand and pinched the tip of one finger repeatedly until he was satisfied the pink was returning quickly each time.
"Oh. Ouch. I'm fine, professor. I know better than to take a good whiff of something if I don't know what it is."
"Nevertheless," he told her, examining the color in her face critically. "I want you to sit here for another few minutes. Tell me if you feel faint, or experience any cramps."
"Honestly, I'm fine," she insisted, but obeyed his prodding as he moved her stool back to the table and pushed her onto it. "I barely got a whiff. Smelled a bit like Lion's Ear."
"Hmm," he answered absently as he scanned the recently rearranged shelves. "Yes, it's a relative of Leonurus, but a special hybrid specifically created for one use only. Some remained after I made the Expirato." The hoof clippings were on a shelf at the same height as Severus' head, which meant they were too high for Hermione's line of sight. He plucked the jar off the shelf and placed it in front of her.
"Here," he told her. "When you've finished with them, please leave them there; I'll need them later."
"Yes, sir."
Severus put his stool upright once more and retrieved his quill from floor. Taking his seat, he settled his robes and smoothed a hand through his hair, but his concentration was reluctant to return to his previous task. He watched Hermione grate the hoof clippings for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"I'll ask Madame Pomfrey to order some False Unicorn Root. If you experience any problems, I want you to go to her right away."
"All right," Hermione agreed, slightly surprised at his solicitude. One of the best known uses of the False Unicorn Root was to prevent miscarriages. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Stifling the urge to tap his toe or shred the feather quill, Severus finally broached the subject that had occupied his thoughts for the past few days.
"Tell me, Miss Granger. The last time we spoke on the subject, you indicated you planned on raising your child, rather than give it up for adoption. Have you changed your mind?"
"No," she replied after a moment. "We'll see how things go with the war, but I want to raise this baby."
"I wonder if you might find it in your heart to allow me to see the child."
Hermione carefully set down the grater and hoof rim in her hands and stared at the man at the opposite end of the table. The stern face was as unreadable as ever, but these past weeks of working in close proximity to Severus Snape had taught her to interpret small clues in his body language. The quill in his fingers was still, but the long fingers were rolling it minutely from side to side, indicating his tension as he waited for her reply.
"Of course, Professor," she answered after a moment. "I just.I didn't think you were at all interested. I thought the baby would just be an embarrassment to you."
"Nothing could be further, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that I am interested, and leave it at that."
Hermione continued to stare at him, and he returned her regard with a slight quirk of his eyebrow.
"May I show you something?" she asked, finally. With a frown for the seriousness of her request, he nodded. The frown only deepened as she moved to shut and lock the door that led to the infirmary.
"No one else is even remotely interested. I mean, Pomfrey's done it all before, and, well, Professor Dumbledore would hardly be concerned. And I can't show Ginny, or Harry, or Ron. Oh, I know I'm babbling." She approached him hesitantly, then side-stepped around him and went through the illusion wall to the Isolation ward.
When Severus followed her, Hermione stood next to one of the dusty, narrow cots which had been crammed against the wall to make room. Without a word she unbuttoned her long, heavy school robe. She left it hanging from her shoulders, but it gaped open to reveal an unattractive cable-knit sweater above stretch leggings.
"Give me your hand," she commanded, and when he did, mystified, she pulled her wand and muttered a short spell. An odd ripple ran across his palm, but no other changes manifested.
"It's a sensitivity charm," she explained. "I found it in one of the books in the library. You wouldn't be able to feel it otherwise - I'm just over three months along and that's a bit early for this. I only started feeling it a few days ago, myself."
"Feel what?" he demanded, but she didn't answer. Without relinquishing her grip on his hand, she lay down quickly and pulled the bulky sweater up and out of the way. He caught a glimpse of pale skin just where the flat plane of her stomach lifted to meet the knit waistband of her pants. The slight convex rise might have been dismissed as normal curves on a witch with more ample build, but not on someone as thin as Hermione.
"Miss Granger, may I ask." His words cut off as she pulled his hand down onto the slight bulge, forcing him to bend over awkwardly. He opened his mouth to protest the ridiculousness of his posture when something moved under his hand.
Silenced, he sat slowly on the edge of the bed by her hip. Another wriggle came.
Once upon a time, in a bit of nonsense Ron and Harry had dreamed up, Hermione had been talked into carrying a mouse in the pocket of her robe. When she'd sat down, the mouse had explored the confines of its prison, sniffing and pattering from one corner of her pocket to the other. The tickling sensation of those little feet running over her skin was the closest comparison she could make to the sensation of the baby moving inside her womb.
"There. Did you feel it?" Without waiting for his reply, she shifted his hand further until his fingertips grazed the faint indent of her navel at the edge of her waistband. She was silent for a moment, then he felt it again. And odd flutter, light as a butterfly in his palm. "Press down a bit," she encouraged him, adding pressure to the back of his hand, and when he did, the sensation repeated once more.
For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Hermione saw Severus Snape dumbstruck. His dark eyes widened as he felt the gossamer tap of his child's movement, and a look of awe made his features less severe, smoothing some of the lines that had seemed so deeply etched in his forehead. She had felt the same way when she'd first detected the stirrings, and had been in agony over being unable to share it the secret with anyone. Now, watching someone else go through those same emotions made her smile with renewed delight at the miracle taking place.
Only when he moved his hand to a new position, seeking after more of the elusive movement, did Hermione realize how intimate their position was. She lay flat on her back with his large, warm hand on her stomach, and in her vulnerable position his sheer physical presence was more than a little intimidating. Snape was lean but he was by no means a small man, a fact that was undeniably evident as he leaned over her.
His hand moved on her again, and her awareness of him seemed to explode. The dry, intellectual knowledge that Snape had had a part in the fathering of her child was nothing compared to the physical realization that he was a man. Some elemental part of her stilled under his touch, but her nipples tightened suddenly as the mental image of that act, of Snape crouched over her, touching her. Her mind ran out of similes - she didn't want to think of the violence that was inherent in the act that had made her pregnant, but he had been intimate with her body. She was carrying his child.
The medical books had told her that her hormones would be in an uproar, but this was ridiculous. With one hand on her mostly clothed stomach, her body was reacting to Severus Snape with a rush of arousal that was far beyond anything Ron had ever managed to raise, even with her willing and active participation. Hermione closed her eyes and firmly told her over-stimulated hormones to control themselves.
"I beg your pardon," Snape apologized quietly, removing his hand from her body. She was almost sorry to see him withdrawing again. "A very interesting spell."
Mortified at the thought Snape might have picked up on her pitiful longings, Hermione sat up and pulled her robes around her. The faint color in his normally sallow cheeks made her sure he had, until his eyes met hers and she detected only astonishment, not revulsion. She found herself wondering when was the last time Snape had let anyone come close to him.
At that moment, Hermione wished she were better at dealing with people. She'd never been any good at making friends, and she doubted Snape was any better. As far as she knew he was on good terms with no one but Dumbledore. He had no friends among the teaching staff and trusted none of them, at least not enough to let any of them know he was alive and secreted away in the Hospital Wing. Although he was cut off from all other human contact, he rarely let his guard down with Madame Pomfrey and treated Hermione with a detached civility at all times.
However, if she were going to allow Snape to share in the raising of this child, then it would probably be best if they were at least on friendly terms. Which meant it was up to her to bring that about.
"If you truly wish to be involved with the baby, Professor, then I have no objection."
Hermione detected the faint lessening of tension in Snape's posture and congratulated herself on guessing correctly. She gave him a slight smile, and added, "It might make things easier for him, when he gets older, to know a wizard who can talk about something besides Quidditch."
A twitch at the corner of his mouth let her know the joke - and the warning - had been appreciated. Ron and Harry were her best friends, and would most certainly be a part of her future.
"Then I'll consider it my duty to give our child an appreciation of something other than broomsticks and Quidditch pitches," he told her smoothly.
Hermione smiled wryly at that and preceded him back to the lab, buttoning her robes and resuming her tasks. It never occurred to her to mark the fact that he'd use the term 'our' in reference to the baby growing under her heart.
*****
Once the afternoon bells rang, Hermione grabbed her bag and left the Hospital Wing to finish her homework from the morning classes. Also buried in her rucksack were several drafts of a letter to her parents, but she was uncharacteristically reluctant to addressing the situation anytime in the near future. Although the subject was bound to become apparent sooner or later, it was easier to put off writing down the news that was sure to devastate her parents. They might even insist she leave Hogwarts, and that was one thing she could not risk.
Comfortable as she could be with her decision to procrastinate writing the letter yet again, Hermione made her way to the library to concentrate on her homework. She had several items to research for a Charms assignment and the work would keep her mind off her parents and the eventual need to tell them of their impending grandparent-hood. However, when she'd claimed a table in the library and spread her work out, Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.
It was not the nonexistent letter, however, that distracted her. Thoughts of Severus Snape continued to intrude, along with the occasional shiver of arousal that accompanied the memory of his hand on her stomach. Closing her eyes only brought back the visualization of Snape's long torso leaning slightly over her, and blocking that only made his voice echo in her memory.
Justifying her search by considering that her child would someday ask these questions, Hermione wandered into the alumni section of Hogwarts. She knew that Snape had been a contemporary of Harry's father James and started with the school annals for those years. The information on him was scanty, showing only a slender, stiffly proud boy with a nose that he hadn't grown into yet and a straggle of black hair that continuously drifted into his face.
His last year of school had few pictures; he was listed as a member of the Dueling Club and the Slytherin Quidditch team, which lost the cup to Gryffindor that year. He also won a scholar award for his potions special project that year, and some mention was made of his attending the Oxford School of Alchemy when he graduated. Looking at the photo of a gangly eighteen-year-old Snape (which refused to wave like the other photos), she had to admit the intervening years had not been easy on him.
The Who's Who of Potions Masters International showed him as a member in good standing and included a respectably long list of his patents, but unlike many of his peers he belonged to no subcommittees and was not currently involved in any ongoing research. The thumbnail photo of him showed the same long, unsmiling face framed by lank black hair she saw every other day, and should not have been responsible for the tightening sensation that ran through her body.
Giving in to the impulse, Hermione reconstructed the entire forty-five seconds of time Snape had touched her, deliberately wringing out all the enjoyment until she could review it unemotionally. The man was over twice her age and had things been different, she'd never even have known he wasn't in Canada or wherever it was he had supposedly gone to for his sabbatical. Be sensible, she told herself. She was nothing if not sensible, and a firm belief in mind over body meant she could control her silly hormonal surges and beat them into submission. She could be curious about the man, but not THAT kind of curious.
Hermione re-shelved the book and decided she'd indulged far too long. She had studying to do, and in any case obsessing about Severus Snape was a losing proposition, no matter what. If their current tentative truce and lack of hostilities could be made permanent they might become friends, but anything else was a fantasy that needed to be discouraged. She gave her out-of-control body a severe talking-to and determined to ignore the disturbing sensuality the man had summoned.
Despite her foray into Snape's past, Hermione finished her work well before dinner and decided to join the stragglers heading for Gryffindor tower. Colin Creevey called to her as she climbed the stairs, and she paused to wait for him. For a moment she thought she saw Draco Malfoy standing at the foot of the lower landing, but when she looked again, no one was there.
Inside the Gryffindor common room, students lounged around, some lethargically working on their homework, the majority simply glad the day was over and waiting for the dinner hour to arrive. At one of the small tables, Ron, Ginny, and Harry were talking to Parvati Patel, and Hermione drifted over to join them and was quickly overcome with a sense of history repeating itself.
"I can't believe you two," Parvati was saying, obviously incensed. "The test is tomorrow, for Circe's sake. Were you just going to make it up?"
"Always worked before," muttered Ron.
"What on earth are you still doing taking Divination, Ron?" Hermione asked lightly. "I'm surprised you haven't worked your way up to slaughtering chickens to see what their entrails tell you."
"Some people have no gift," Parvati sniffed in a fair imitation of Madame Trelawney. "Come on, give me your hand." She grimaced as Ron's slightly dirty, broom-callused hand landed in hers, but inspected it carefully.
"Oh, this is really interesting. See here, your love line is very distinct, but eventually it joins your life line. You'll have many girlfriends, but you won't meet your soul mate for a very long time."
"Really? How long?"
"Hard to tell. It's a bit blurred, which may mean you'll know her for a while before you fall in love with her. But it's definitely someone you don't know right now."
"Jammy cow," muttered Ginny over her shoulder to Hermione. The two had become close friends while Hermione had been seeing Ron, and Ginny had been as disappointed as anyone when it became clear Hermione would not become her sister-in-law.
"So when?" demanded Ron. "How much time have I got?"
"I'd say, oh, about the time you're forty."
"Forty! That's brilliant!"
"What?" Demanded Ginny, as Harry snorted with laughter. "What's so brilliant about that?"
"Well," said Ron reasonably, "It means that I'll at least live to see forty, and I don't have to worry about getting serious with anyone until then." He looked at Hermione, then deliberately away, and Hermione felt her face go red.
"Ow-OW! Hey, that hurt!" yelled Ron, as his sister and his best friend each kicked the shin closest to them. "What was that for?"
"For being a clueless git," Harry informed him.
"Exactly," confirmed Ginny. "All right, then. Read Harry's palm."
"Absolutely not," Parvati refused. "Just looking at his palm makes my head hurt. The last time I tried to tell his future I had a migraine for hours."
"Then read Hermione's," Ron said unexpectedly. "She's got a bright future ahead of her, doesn't she?"
Despite her protests, Hermione was prodded forward and pushed into the chair Ginny vacated for her. Parvati's light brown hands took hers and she peered at the creases and lines in the palm.
"Well?" prompted Hermione.
"You won't believe this," Parvati began.
"I probably won't believe it anyway," Hermione said.
"I'd say your life either has or very soon will take a huge change in direction, one you're not expecting."
"Let me guess. A tall, dark, handsome stranger is going to sweep me off my feet."
"Guessed it in one," said Parvarti simply, and dropped her hand.
Hermione laughed. Snape WAS tall, and dark, and he might have swept her off the stool when it had wobbled on her, but that was only half of the prediction and fifty percent was only to be expected when it came to divination - or just wildly guessing.
*****
Stepping through the illusion wall from the lab to the Isolation Ward, Severus Snape caught sight of Hermione's tangled mane of hair hanging at knee level and stopped short.
"Miss Granger?" he questioned, and she looked up suddenly. She was kneeling on the floor by the desk, her head practically upside-down. Books and other homework were spread out on the desk, and several sheets of parchment hanging haphazardly from the shelf of the stores case.
"Dropped my quill," she explained, having retrieved the item from the floor at the back of the desk. She clambered up from her knees and pulled the chair back under her seat.
"I see. This is Thursday, is it not?"
"Yes, it is."
"Ah. Then I have no reason to doubt my sanity. Why, pray tell, are you here?" The words were sharper than he intended, but her sudden appearance was unsettling. He'd dreamed about her just last night, in this very room, and to see her here now was more than a little disturbing.
Severus had spent the entirety of Wednesday afternoon working in the same lab with Hermione and had been on the point of asking her one thing more times than he could count. In the end, he'd bid her good afternoon and watched her leave without voicing the request that had begun to dominate his thoughts - to ask her to recast the sensitivity charm once more.
For a man who had convinced himself he loathed children, especially when it involved teaching them a subject they cared so little about, Severus had been reluctantly enthralled by the fluttering of his own child's movement. His curiosity had quickly grown into a fascination, and by the time he'd gone to bed last night, he'd determined to ask her to do it again, regardless of what it cost his dignity.
And once asleep, he'd dreamed that she had agreed. On the same cot as before, the one currently only six feet behind him, the dream-Hermione had laid down and pulled up her sweater. But instead of placing his hand on her gravid belly, he'd reached up and pinned her to the mattress, ignoring the sounds of her terrified whimpers as he'd kissed her savagely. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's laughter had brought him to heart-pounding wakefulness in his silent, empty bedroom, and any further sleep had been impossible.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to impose." Hermione shuffled her papers together, but her pensive, harried manner bothered him and made him regret even more his sharp tones.
"You're not imposing. However, I am curious as to why you're here when you're not required."
"It doesn't matter," she told him with a tired shrug of one shoulder. "I'm just hiding today."
"Hiding? From what, may I ask?"
"It's a whom. Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy? Explain," he said sharply, using the same voice that demanded immediate obedience from students, and she was already conditioned to it.
"Every day this week, Draco's been waiting in the stairway to Gryffindor tower when afternoon classes are over."
"Waiting," Severus repeated, as if to confirm.
"All he does is watch me walk by him, but I just couldn't bear to see his face today. I thought I'd come here instead."
Restless, he paced slowly across the room, passing behind her chair. "Does he say anything to you?"
"No. He hasn't said much of anything to me since the last time he tried to grab me."
"When was this?" Severus demanded.
"About a month ago. I threatened to hex him with a sex change."
"And why didn't you report him?"
"I had other things on my mind that day."
Snape was silent for a moment. "You said he grabbed you? How?"
"He grabbed my wrists and pushed me up against the wall."
"What did he say at that time?"
When Hermione didn't answer immediately, Severus turned to look at her. Her eyes were on the floor, and the flush of her cheeks made him wish he hadn't pushed, but it was too late.
"He said - he said that if I were good enough for you, then I was good enough for him. That I was your whore, and then he tried to kiss me. Well, he did kiss me."
Appalled, Severus could not have stopped his next question if he'd been under an Imperius, though he dreaded to hear the answer. "And then?"
"Then I bit him," she said with satisfaction.
Snape snorted, amused despite himself.
"He knows what happened, doesn't he?" she asked, this time with less confidence.
"His father obviously told him some part of the tale."
Resuming his pacing, Severus didn't want to talk. He wanted to find Draco Malfoy and hurt him. Badly. Instead he let his restless pace carry him to Hermione's side, where he dropped to one knee beside her chair, his face on level with hers.
"Be careful, Hermione. Do not be alone with young Malfoy. Do not allow him to approach you, no matter what."
"I am Head Girl, you know," Hermione reminded him. "If I cannot handle one obnoxious Slytherin, then I should turn in my badge." She suddenly recalled to whom she was speaking. "No offense, Professor."
"None taken," he said dryly. "However. You are vulnerable, in your condition. Even a Tickling charm can set off uncontrollable muscle spasms and cause you to miscarry."
Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded in understanding, but Severus placed his hand over hers. "If you ever have need of me and cannot find me here, I'm most likely in the gallery upstairs."
She frowned, and he explained the picture gallery on the floor above the Hospital wing. It was unused and dusty, but had enough room to let him pace when his rooms became too confining. "The portraits start with the Founding Four of Hogwarts and go on from there; nothing but wizards with white beards and witches who are even more formidable than Poppy. Who would no doubt frown on my leaving the ward without her permission."
Hermione felt only the barest need to defend the mediwitch; after all, she had kept Harry under wraps many times, no matter how anxious his friends were. "She can be a bit much sometimes," she admitted.
"Should she ever decide to leave Hogwarts, I shall be sure to issue her glowing references to be appointed head matron at Azkaban. Since I am currently at her mercy, however, I have no choice but to comply."
"But you've manage to escape her," Hermione commented, thinking of the concealment charm he'd used to walk through the Hospital ward.
"Well, I am a wizard, Miss Granger. I have more up my sleeve than arm." With superior air he pulled an inch or so of black ebony from his left sleeve. Like many wizards, he kept his wand in his sleeve, where it was within easy reach and didn't poke unexpectedly like the wand pocket sewn into the school robes. Hermione had never really paid attention to Snape's wand; he used it rarely and had made his opinion of foolish wand waving perfectly clear from the first day of classes.
The dark length of wood was strangely fascinating to her, and she had a sudden impulse to reach out and grasp it. She controlled herself, however, since such an action would be incredibly rude and a violation of the most basic wizardly etiquette. Most wizards would rather share a toothbrush than let someone else handle their wand.
The impulse passed as Snape tucked the wand back under the black cuff of his coat, but Hermione glimpsed the light gray edge of the Dark Mark on the inside of his wrist and it set of another series of impulsive mental connections she referred to as a Brilliant Idea.
"Professor Dumbledore is really at a disadvantage without you keeping an eye on Voldemort, isn't he?" she asked seriously.
"I would not place an overwhelming value on my previous activities, but at this stage, the loss of any intelligence is too much."
Hermione nodded and shoved a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. "I know it's not much, but there are some newspapers that publish all sorts of trash."
"Yes, it's called the Daily Prophet," he drawled.
"No, not them, though they're just as bad. I'm talking about Muggle papers. The Sentinel, and the like. They're always full of tosh like the PM's wife being an alien and the like." Aware of Snape's lurking impatience, she hurried. "The thing is, last summer I was clearing out my parent's surgery and I came across one that said a house had been blown up by devil worshippers. And in the photo, I swear I saw the Dark Mark over the rubble."
"Last summer, you say? Do you remember the date, or where it was?"
"Sometime in early August, maybe, and I think it was in Basingstoke."
Snape racked his memory. "I'll ask the headmaster if he knows of an attack." He frowned thoughtfully at Hermione. "And you think these rags might give us information we don't have," he surmised.
"Every little bit helps," she replied.
"I'll speak to him tonight," Snape told her. "In the meantime, make use of those two clowns you call friends. Tell them whatever you wish, but don't take any chances. Draco Malfoy may not yet have sunk to his father's level, but he's on a slippery incline and I give sod-all for his chances of escaping the path Lucius Malfoy has planned for him."
*****
Just before midnight, Severus Snape again found himself sneaking through the long hallways of Hogwarts as he made his way to the Headmaster's office. Once there, he helped himself to the decanter of single malt scotch Dumbledore kept locked in the bottom of his desk, and on reflection offered to pour the headmaster a glass of his own liquor.
"No, thank you," Dumbledore refused politely, watching his former Potions Master sip the amber fluid and move restlessly about the office.
"Miss Granger came up with an interesting notion this afternoon," Severus began, dispensing with any small talk and directly laying out the idea. "It may be waste of time to wade through Muggle papers for hints of Death Eater activity, but I've a surplus of that on my hands these days."
"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "I'll make arrangements for Hogwarts to subscribe to some of these more lurid journals. You may need to apply to Miss Granger for explanations on some of the Muggle references, but I trust in her discretion."
"She's very discreet," Snape allowed. "Too much so, perhaps. Draco Malfoy has been harassing her."
Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, concern showing on his lined face. "Has he?"
"Nothing overt, but he's being somewhat blatant in his attentions. If he discovers Miss Granger is with child, Lucius Malfoy will know immediately."
"There's nothing I can do to expel the boy," mused the headmaster. "Not unless he commits an act grievous enough to make the school's board of governors withstand the pressure Malfoy Senior would bring to bear to have him reinstated."
"If Lucius knew she were carrying my child, there's no telling what he'd do to her to get at me. I'll do whatever it takes to keep Hermione out of his clutches; the once was more than enough."
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously, "despite whatever personal enmity exists between you and Lucius Malfoy, the baby Hermione is carrying has quite possibly greater significance than as a bargaining chip. The child was conceived on Samhain, and by force. That's an auspice I shudder to consider."
"The Malfoys don't believe in the old ways," Severus objected. "The have no respect for the ancient rituals, even the dark ones."
"But Voldemort most certainly does," countered Dumbledore. "Look at what Lilly Potter did with just the wandless magic of a mother's love for her child."
"Primitive magic," Severus said with a snort. "And at the cost of her own life."
"Don't confuse elemental or primitive with ineffective, my boy. After all, a club is quite primitive, but I for one do not wish to be on the receiving end of such."
Watching the younger wizard lounging against the window frame, scowling ferociously, Dumbledore smiled to himself. Just a month ago, the man had barely spoken more than a sentence at a time and refused to participate in the most basic efforts to save his own life. Now, here he stood, angry and sharp-witted and once more the ally Dumbledore had valued for so long.
~Bravo, Miss Granger, ~ he thought to himself. ~Bravo.~