Both parties watched the fire, rather than each other, as Snape related the story of the Dumbledore brothers, beginning with Aberforth's reclamation of his powers and subsequent bequest to Hermione before his death, and Albus' quest to regain his lost magic. Hermione tried to interrupt once to ask questions, but Snape asked her to wait until he was finished to begin her barrage. She quieted and half-listened, half-mentally raced to the finish line of the story. It all seemed so familiar, as if she'd read it in a paperback novel and was now watching the BBC version; with echoes of things on the edge of her consciousness, and plotlines that were too fantastic to be believed.

She suspected he was leaving details out of his narrative. She could almost hear the gaping holes, teasing her with unspoken secrets. Why was he spewing so much vitriol on Albus and none on Aberforth? Clearly there had to be more to it than a simple story of grey magic and sibling rivalry – why all the intrigue? Why not just give the magic back to Albus? It wasn't as if she had any pressing need for it, and it certainly would be a relief to finally get these people to stop following her, and get back to her quiet little life.

He fell silent in the middle of a sentence about how Albus had endeavored to find her. The gaps in the narrative had caught up with him, apparently. She sighed, grabbing a pillow to lean her back against the leg of the armchair behind her, and finally looked at him again. He looked very tired, though not otherwise much different than she remembered him. There were a couple of white streaks in his hair that seemed to be the only conciliation to his aging process. Was that recent, she wondered, or the result of five hard years after she had gone?

"I'm not sure what to call you now," she said to break the uncomfortable silence, "Professor Snape seems so formal."

He had not taken his eyes off the fire, mostly because he was nervous of what he might find if he looked at her. He was aware that she was perceptive enough to know that there were words left unsaid. Why was he still protecting her from hearing this? He could reverse the memory charm now, he supposed, but that would open up possibilities that were too unnerving to contemplate. He could still feel her shaking, angry body in his arms from the night before, the tears on his skin and the way her hair had felt as it brushed against his hands. If he looked at her now, with her memory of that night revealed, she might rattle him again, and that wouldn't do. It was appalling, truly, how much she had affected him the previous night. Perhaps it was the magic, or perhaps it simply was the fact that he had come to discover through his surveillance that she was generous to her friends, warm, lonely, funny, and a woman.

That was the crux of the problem, really. He couldn't explain why he was so involved. The reasons that were there when he started were, perhaps, not the same reasons he was involved now. He wasn't really accustomed to having feelings that didn't involve hatred or loathing for teaching or various former Gryffindors, or grudging respect for a precious few wizards and witches. What he felt for the woman seated next to him was confusing, unnerving and unexpected.

He lifted one eyebrow as he finally looked at her, burying the turmoil of his thoughts. He had always had a talent for putting up barriers to intimacy, and could draw on that skill now, surely. "Severus would be acceptable, since we shall be here at least overnight and perhaps longer."

"Please call me Hermione, then."

He nodded, looking away from the fire in the opposite direction of where she was sprawled on the floor. "There is...more."

"Of course there is. Whenever you're ready." She decided that it wouldn't do to rush him, though resisting the temptation to be flippant was difficult. She clearly had him at a disadvantage now that she knew how important this gift of magic was. She sensed his tension, as evidenced by the fact that he could not look at her, and had a vague sense of unease about it; as if there was some unspoken angst that he had in her presence that she wasn't quite privy to, prickling at the edge of her consciousness. At the same time, Hermione felt as if there was something more she should be doing to extricate herself from this ridiculous situation. It was that same sense she'd had that morning when she'd put away the pictures, swearing to leave Wizards behind once and for all.

They sat in silence for nearly ten minutes. She finally stole a glance at him, only to find him finally looking directly at her. "What?"

"You're not quite what I expected, Miss Granger...Hermione."

"Funny, you're exactly what I expected," she shot back in an irritated tone. She wasn't being entirely truthful, she thought guiltily, as images of the photo and her fascination with it over the past weeks flashed through her mind.

"I thought you would be hysterical, or ask me a hundred questions that I can't yet answer, or even start talking about how you have to correct the injustice of it all. You know that right now you wield more power than anyone in the Wizarding world – the world that cast you out when you didn't deserve it. You could walk right in and throw Dumbledore and the Ministry out on their arses for what they've done, and it's likely they couldn't fight you. What I've given you is freedom, and yet you're still here, sitting quietly. Which I have to say is the last thing I'd expect from you, of course."

"You have more to tell me," she said evenly. "I don't think I'm as free as you'd like me to think, or we'd be at Hogwarts or in London right now. We're in hiding, and you believe me to be in danger - though I'm still unclear why, of course - so I think freedom is a rather relative term."

"You were always such a thorn in my side when you were a student. Things haven't really changed."

"Your point?"

He sighed. "I didn't expect to have this conversation with you again." He nearly clapped his hand over his mouth when he realized what he had said, but he forced himself to continue to appear nonchalant in hopes that she hadn't picked up on his wording.

No luck on that point. "Again?"

Well, he'd done it now. His subconscious had forced the issue. Feeling uncharacteristically queasy, he turned to face her. He'd stared down Death Eaters, Voldemort, even a very angry Dumbledore, but none of these had quite matched up to his feelings about what he had to tell her.

"You've had a memory charm placed on you recently."

Her eyes widened. "You?"

"Yes. Last night."

"Last...oh, bloody hell. This has been a long day. It rather neatly explains the tea cups and the crazy feelings I've been having." She rubbed her temples, not daring to look him in the eyes again. There was something that made her feel both very drawn to him, and very fragile in his presence, in those eyes. She'd known it since the first time he looked at her in the photo. Now it was flesh and blood and right within striking distance.

"You agreed to it, Hermione, and at the time I thought it was best. I'm sorry. I wanted to protect you from this, but I can't protect you any longer. You have to take an active part in what is happening now that we know someone dangerous is following you even here in the States, so I should tell you everything."

"Okay," she said. "Reverse it."

"Well, that's the rub," he said. "I cast the charm, but I don't have the wand I used."

"You have your wand."

"I didn't use my wand. I used Dolores Umbridge's."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"It's complicated..."

"Everything's complicated with you! Make it uncomplicated! Holy Christ, I'd forgotten how difficult this all is. Being a Muggle is so easy compared to the intrigue and constant angst of being a Witch. Is it so much to ask that I simply be left in peace? No charms, no hexes, and no bloody stalkers!"

Snape bit his tongue in the interest of peace, though it took most of his willpower. "I will use my own wand. Let me know what you remember, and for God's sake, keep a civil tone, girl," he said through gritted teeth. He raised his wand, but she stopped him.

"You said I was a very powerful Witch now."

"Yes."

"I want you to understand this. If you hurt me, I will hex you. You understand that I'm not afraid of you any more. I'm not an easily intimidated schoolgirl and I have no particular love or loyalty to the Wizarding world. We are not on the same footing we used to be. I'll have any tone I want with you, Severus."

"Don't be impertinent, girl. I haven't come all this way and taken all these risks to hurt you. And to think they used to say you were bright." He waved his wand, murmuring quietly, and she closed her eyes, smiling at his backhanded compliment despite herself.

Suddenly, everything changed. Not only could she remember clearly what had happened at her flat the night before, but she could see other images and thoughts that were clearly not her own. Her mind was flooded with memories that included quite a bit of Narcissa Malfoy; in fact, far more of her than Hermione could stand to think of. She had memories of making love to Narcissa in a golden bed with forest tapestry hangings. Lips moved over the woman's breasts, soft sighs and unfamiliar smells flooded her mind. She saw Lucius Malfoy, and heard his voice, causing her to shiver. She was inside a cell at Azkaban, plotting revenge against someone.

"Hermione!"

She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her, heard a voice beseeching her, but she couldn't quite open her eyes. She was drowning in another person's memories, and they were threatening to overwhelm her. She saw Harry, huddled at a desk, scratching out sentences with blood pouring from wounds on his hands like a modern-day Christ suffering for his sins. She saw Draco Malfoy on his knees before her, and Minister Fudge caressing her cheek. She was screaming, screaming, and felt arms around her, lips in her hair, but she could not reach the arms or the lips.

"Legilimens!"

He ran blindly down the halls of her mind, searching for her, finding no resistance but a lot of memories that were undoubtedly not her own. Finally, at the end of a hallway, he found her crumpled on the floor. He picked her up, shaking her none-too-gently. "Hermione! It's all right. You're safe now. Wake up and come back. Hermione."

No response.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor if you do not wake up, Miss Granger!"

Nothing.

"I...I will tell you everything you wish to know, just come back. Something went wrong - we'll fix it. Wake up, girl, god damn them all for what they've done to you - wake up!"

~*~*~

Only a few feet away through a thick enchanted wall, John Thacker was seated in a shabby office chair at Malfoi Brothers' lone American office, nonchalantly casting different combinations of Locator spells. A crystal ball to his left shimmered, a hazy image in the center coalescing into his elegant British cousin.

"Dude," John said.

"Any luck?"

"Nope. But I'll find them," he said, "I'm one step behind and movin' fast."

"You can use the office as long as you want."

"Yeah, all right. I can transfigure something into a bed to flop on - hopefully I won't have to be here long, though. The surf was unbelievable back in..."

"Get her for me. I mean it - she is in tremendous danger with that bastard she's with. Snape has to be stopped." The connection winked out, and John Thacker kept lazily casting spells while sipping on his latte. "Whatever, dude." He knew the man on the other end well enough to know that most of what he said was suspect, but he was family and John was good at finding and retrieving lost things. It was just a matter of time.

~*~*~

Severus was as close to panicked as he'd ever been. His mind had been so actively trying to draw Hermione back, that he hadn't even realized that her physical body had moved close to him, wrapping her arms around him. He only became aware of her when his arms instinctively reached out to draw her closer, as if to give as much physical energy as mental to bringing her back from the spell gone wrong. Or, at least he thought it had gone wrong; he'd never had an experience with a memory charm that had to be reversed with someone else's wand. He backed out of her head, assuming that the attempts to bring her back from her own mind's dungeon were futile. He had to think of something else...quickly.

"I never should have done this," he whispered into her hair as he held her tense body.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she murmured.

"Hermione?" He released her, backing off as if he'd been caught being soft, but she tightened her grip on him.

"Hold me. I need you to hold me until I can see everything, Severus."

He put his arms around her again stiffly, unsure of himself in his relief and sudden realization that she asked him to touch her. She laid her head on his shoulder, eyes still tightly shut. "I can see everything she knew. The wand...I see echoes of her, of spells she's performed, of sex she's participated in, dreams she's had, people she's hurt."

"Who?"

"Umbridge. I know, Severus, I know what she wanted. I know she's working with Lucius but that she hates him, and I know she also is using Narcissa simply to have access to Lucius' contacts and money. I know why she needed the power. My power. She is not powerful herself, and she intended to use Imperius to get named sole heir in Narcissa's will, and then kill her to get her share of the Black fortune. She needed the extra power to ensure that her Imperius would work. Until she got caught, that is."

"Do you know why Lucius is interested?"

"Umbridge believes that he wants to use Dumbledore to get his position back as power broker in the Wizarding world, then once he does, he will kill Dumbledore. I am a pawn to ensure Dumbledore's compliance, but Lucius will kill me too when he takes my power and no longer needs me. I cannot say if that's accurate – that's simply Umbridge's perception." She spoke in a singsong voice that made Snape wonder if she was in some kind of trance. She still hadn't opened her eyes.

"So we know everyone's motivation here, finally," Severus said. "Can I release you? I tire of playing nursemaid."

"No," she said, "we don't know your motivation. I suggest you start talking. I can't open my eyes until I can truly see."

"This is blackmail of the worst kind," he growled, but she could tell that he didn't mean it.

"If you are so afraid of me, tell me why you're here."

"It is a long story."

Her eyes were still closed as her hands found the back of his neck, rubbing gently.

"We have time."

He closed his eyes too, feeling her hands, her hair, and her heartbeat against his skin, and relaxed despite himself.

~*~*~

As much as John Thacker liked to play dumb, he had done quite well for himself in his choice of career. Advanced Charms had been his area of expertise coming out of school. He'd landed a top R&D job with the Magic Lab at University of California-Berkeley. Sure, they called it something else on the door, but the researchers inside that ostensibly studied physics to the Muggle world actually had several multi-million dollar grants from top companies to develop various scientific advances using magical means. The details were never provided to the Muggles, of course; but the results were worth the nebulousness of the process as far as the sponsoring companies were concerned. The university provided facilities and took their share of the grants and said little. It was a worthy arrangement, and one that suited this young Malfoy cousin just fine.

A colleague had recently invented the logistics behind wireless 911 tracking of cell phone calls, using the Australian Ministry's unique system of tracking underage and banned Witches and Wizards. The prototype device, now sitting in John's hands rather than safely locked away in the Lab's storage drawers, was trained to locate magical energy within a one-mile radius. The technology had been adapted for GPS and wireless 911 tracking, and then the prototype was labeled and stored. John knew it was useless to him as a finder of magical people – New York was teeming with Witches and Wizards and magical creatures of all stripes – but he'd brought it along to Malfoi Brothers to tinker with it to make it show relative intensity of energy. Two magical people in one place might not be unusual, but when one of them was as well-endowed with magic as Hermione Granger was, tracking might become much simpler if he could charm the device properly.

There was just one problem, though. No matter how many times he tried different combinations of spells on the thing, it seemed to be shrouded in interference. He knew that his personal magical aura alone couldn't be scrambling it. He knew there was history of magic in the building itself, but the device showed such a high concentration of magic that he thought it must still be out of calibration. He had seated himself at the first-floor Starbucks, sipping an iced moccachino and trying to decide what course to pursue next, when it hit him. He lifted the device and stared at it. Still off the charts, but he was sitting in a Starbucks on the first floor of the same building he'd been in since he entered Manhattan. What would happen if he took a stroll down to the mall over on Broadway, or took the train a few stops up to Rockefeller Center? He nearly hit himself with his rolled-up newspaper for assuming the device was flawed when he hadn't even followed rudimentary scientific procedure.

He took a leisurely stroll down 33rd Street, getting all the way to 9th Avenue before looking at the device again.

It registered only a small amount of energy – perhaps himself and a few other Wizards or Witches in the vicinity. Ducking into an alleyway, he Apparated to the center of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It was about the same as 33rd and 9th. He walked over to the train back to Manhattan and sat in the rear car, watching his device surreptiously as people got off and on. Chinatown was much more active and concentrated, which he had expected. He got off and changed trains to go downtown. Wall Street was not as intense, and there were no other Wizards than himself as far as he could tell in Shea Stadium when he Apparated there to catch the ninth inning of a dismal nightcap to a day-night doubleheader.

So the device seemed to function correctly. Something was afoot in the Empire State Building. Could it have been that she had been under his nose while he'd been sitting there tweaking?

It was time to find out.

~*~*~

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she said.

"Not tonight. I'm exhausted," he said, still absently stroking her hair and holding her as if she might break.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, Hermione, tomorrow. I give you my word. I'm going to bed." He tried to disentangle himself to stand, but she held firm.

"This is ridiculous. Let me go," he said, summoning up his best irritated 'Potions Master' voice. "We both need our rest so we can plan our strategy tomorrow."

"You said this was just like the Room of Requirement, correct? It determines what we need, and then provides it?"

"Yes. Your point being what exactly? And make it quick, Miss Granger."

"There's only one bed. The room decided we didn't need two, for some reason." She wasn't even trying to be coquettish, but he could see amusement in her eyes as she finally dropped her arms, crossing them over her chest.

He crossed his arms in response. "I'll take the couch."

"You don't have to."

"You're insane." He turned his back on her, wincing as he did so, and lay on the couch that had suddenly become hard, cold, and uninviting.

How dare she play these games with him?

"Whatever." She turned around with a nonchalant shrug. Snape swiped a blanket and lay on the couch, feeling miffed at various Dumbledores', Malfoys', and a Hermione for putting him in this position. It's not her fault, you know, his inner Bats50 reminded him.

It was so much easier to live without the feeling of a woman in your arms. She had awakened something inside him with her anger, her fear, and the tender way she had caressed the back of his neck. The final insult was the way in which she had stubbornly refused to let him go until he promised to tell her the whole truth. Damn her, anyway. It wasn't supposed to have been like this. And the situation certainly had no guaranteed favorable outcome.

He forced his mind to think about something else that he'd been putting off. Which interested party did John Thacker represent, and why was he after Hermione? He'd looked familiar, but not familiar enough to place. He certainly would have remembered someone with such an obnoxious accent. There were a number of possibilities, none of which seemed benign.

Of course, Hermione was placing an inordinate amount of trust in him even though she still didn't know what he was after. He wasn't entirely sure it was deserved, or that anyone in this game had snow-white motives. Everyone was looking for something in that abundance of magical power for which Hermione played both an unwitting guardian and storage vessel. Everyone stood to gain – everyone, that is, except Hermione.

Had his own motives changed, as he had uncomfortably observed earlier? Had Dumbledore's? And Malfoy – was Umbridge right about his plot to kill Albus? Severus fell asleep thinking of Narcissa Malfoy's Will, and Hermione's frizzy hair sliding between his worn fingers.