Hermione watched in fascination from the back of the classroom as her older self took a fifth year class of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She had slowly come to realise that she was quite good at teaching. The students sat and listened attentively, and she got the same results as Snape without even half the unpleasantness.

'Professor Snape?'

The older Hermione smiled at the Ravenclaw girl.

'Yes, Mortiana?'

'Why do we have to wear dragon-hide gloves when we're using dragon's blood?'

'Because, Mortiana, should any of you have even the smallest cut on your hands, and you spilt the blood, you would be dead before I even reached your side. Dragon's blood is fatal should it mix with human blood. Yes, Peter?'

As she moved on to the next question, the younger Hermione felt her mind begin to work. This was her chance. There were supplies of dragon's blood in the Potion's stores in this time where there weren't in her own. All she needed to do was get close enough to Voldemort to scratch his skin with a needle or a blade covered in dragon's blood. It was perfect, and so simple. With a confident smile, she quietly left the room, determined to iron out any problems.



*~*~*



Dumbledore stared disconsolately out of the window.

'I'm worried for her, Minerva.'

His wife looked up from her desk, where she was already planning the next year's lessons. A sad smile formed on her face.

'We all are, Albus. Hermione knows how to look after herself. I would say it is Severus we need to worry about at the moment.'

He nodded absently.

'I know. But at least there is something we can do for him. Hermione is alone.'

Minerva came around to stand beside him, her hand slipping into his.

'You can't know that,' she softly chided, not accustomed to seeing her husband so melancholy. 'For all we know, our future selves are with her now. She could be with her future self. Don't discount such possibilities, Albus.'

'You're right, my heart, as always. She is a resourceful girl. Perhaps she will even find a way to help us.'

His wife kissed his cheek gently.

'Perhaps,' she said. 'Now, shouldn't you go and talk to Severus?'



*~*~*



The old wizard stood in the doorway of Snape's dungeon apartment and watched as the Potions Master paced the room, oblivious to his audience. Snape had discharged himself from Madame Pomfrey's care hours ago and had spent the intervening time trying to decide what to do.

He could refuse to find Hermione, and be subjected to a slow and painful death. Or he could try to find her, fail, and be subjected to a slow and painful death. He could give her up to the Dark Lord, and watch as her innocent soul was corrupted by the evil of her father. No, that was never an option. He would die before seeing her in Voldemort's clutches again.

He wished he knew where she was. There was no control over her movements, no restrictions on her activities that he could see. Dumbledore appeared to have no more knowledge of what was going on that he did. Was she dead?

'You know fully well that she isn't, Severus.'

Shocked, the pale man stopped abruptly. He glared at the Headmaster.

'How kind of you to spare me the tedium of welcome by just letting yourself into my private rooms, Professor,' he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly and sat down, not bothering to wait for an invitation to do so. He knew that, given half the chance, Snape would have slammed the door in his face.

'How are you feeling?'

'Like I've recently been hit with a many times amplified Cruciatus. And you?'

Snape resumed his pacing, deliberately ignoring his old friend. Dumbledore waited, patiently.

'I have one more chance. Then my life is forfeit.'

A shadow passed over the old wizard's face.

'Not if I have anything to do with it, Severus.'

'What can you do? Nothing.'

Silence reigned in the small space for several minutes as the men studied one another. Words passed between them, unspoken but understood. Dumbledore stood, coming before his Potions teacher.

'You cannot go again so soon, Severus. You have been severely weakened. I will not risk you again.'

He held up a hand to wave off the man's protestations.

'My mind is made up, Severus. You will remain here, with us, until we can think of a solution to our mutual problem.'

The Potions Master looked rebellious for a moment, then sagged in despair. He had never looked so helpless in his life.

'He'll find her, Albus. I'd rather die than see him hurt her any further.'

Dumbledore looked at him approvingly, with a sad twinkle in his eye. He squeezed the younger man's shoulder.

'I know, Severus. Who wouldn't, for the one they love?'



*~*~*



Hermione looked up as Morgan manhandled a huge book onto the sofa. The eight-year-old grinned, and clambered up beside her, Albus following closely.

'What on earth is that for, guys?'

Albus shifted slightly, turning the book around so that Hermione could get a look at the title. She read 'Dragon's Blood: The Defeat Of The Dark Lord'. Her eyebrows rose.

'Why have you brought me this?'

They looked at one another a little guiltily. Albus smiled nervously at his 'cousin'.

'Well, you see, we sort of overheard you and Mummy talking about dragon's blood . . .'

'And I remembered this book from the library,' Morgan added.

Hermione gave them a look of polite interest.

'Do go on,' she said quietly.

They exchanged another guilty look.

'We, er, borrowed Mum's Invisibility Cloak and got this out for you,' Morgan told her, her cheeks flaming.

Hermione felt a sad tug at her heart, remembering the last owner of the Cloak. Strangely, thinking of Harry no longer hurt, it just made her sad for the life he would never have lived. She wondered when that had changed. It stood to reason, she supposed, that since Ron had died too, she would have found herself the proud possessor of the Potter Cloak. Right now, however, she was more interested in the children's motives.

'Why?'

Albus coughed.

'You wanted to know about dragon's blood, and this has got everything about dragon's blood in it. It was used to kill Voldemort, you know,' he added.

Hermione tensed suddenly. Her simple little plan would work?

'Who killed him?' she asked, curious.

'No one knows, and if they do, they aren't telling,' Albus said. 'Who wouldn't want to claim the defeat of the darkest most evil man who ever lived?'

Someone who wouldn't want to confess the murder of their own father, Hermione thought darkly. Privately she thanked whoever was watching over her that she would give birth to such inquisitive children, especially ones with a desire to help. She gave them a stern look.

'Well, I suppose I don't have to tell you that what you've done is a very bad thing,' she said, watching their faces fall. 'And as long as you don't tell anyone, I won't either.'

Albus threw his arms about her neck in joy.

'We won't, we promise.'

Hermione, laughing, disentangled herself.

'Now, I want you both to promise me you won't mention this to your parents. They wouldn't approve of me dragging you into my problems.'

'You didn't,' Morgan protested. 'We did the dragging.'

'I know that, and you know that, but they don't, and I'd prefer it if they didn't have to know. Understand?'

They nodded. Hermione swept them into her arms and hugged them tight.

'Thank you.'