10.



* * * * * * *

"That," he said, after a long pause. "Cannot possibly be good."

* * * * * * *

She didn't say anything.

"I gather Miss Weasley had vanished? I'm afraid I don't really keep up on these things."

"She eloped. Said she was going to New York with some Andriano Something. Didn't want the press all over her again. I understood that, but I guess she didn't even tell her family. Not the first time she's disappeared, so I guess they didn't worry. It's been about five months, and I haven't gotten any more than a postcard."

"We'll have to find her, then, before the Deatheaters can do whatever it is they plan to do with her."

"Wait. What? 'We?' I need to warn Ginny, and I need to alert the Ministry-"

"Doing so will undoubtedly alert the other side as well, Miss Granger."

She fell silent. "So what do we do?"

He sighed. "We take a few minutes to think about this rationally. Why is she so important?"

"That business in her first year, probably..."

He nodded.

"But I don't know-"

"Wait," he said suddenly, and began counting on his fingers, muttering softly: "Curses, dragons, paperboy, twins, sidekick, girl."

"Huh?"

"Curses; one. Dragons; two. Paperboy; three. Twins; four and five. Sidekick; six. And Ginny. Fuck."

*Maybe he's gone mad. I probably would, if somebody killed me, I suppose.* "What are you going on about?"

"To hell and back again," he snarled, and it was a true snarl, fangs and all; he shoved her away from him and stood, violently. "Why the HELL didn't anyone EVER MENTION THIS?!"

He was, without a doubt, scary when he was angry, but he'd been scaring her rather nonstop since she'd met him, so she managed to say, calmly: "Snape. What are you talking about?"

He was, suddenly calm again. He sat back next to her, elbows on his knees, forehead resting in his hands. "Have you ever considered Ginny Weasley to be a particularly powerful witch?"

"Not really, no," Hermione said, a little guilty. "I mean, she was good at charms, and herbology, but-"

"No. Not talent. Oh, hells. Power. Do you understand? No one thinks Albus Dumbledore is -good- at anything. He's just powerful. Is she?"

"No, then. Why?"

He took a deep breath. "Because she's the seventh child in a wizarding family, and a pureblood family at that. Which generally means that somewhere within her is a great amount of latent power, and we're all in a hell of a lot of trouble if the Black Hats get their paws on her."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Fuck."

"Precisely."

"I've never heard of this seventh child thing."

"How many wizarding families these days go up that high?"

"True."

"Indeed."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"I'm not sure. I think I know what they need her for--when that charmed diary took hold of her, Ginny, being the extraordinarily powerful witch that nobody knows she is must have absorbed some of it. It all boils down to memory. Within her, she carries the memory of Voldemort young and powerful and...well...human. Given her status as a seventh, they might be able to use her to revive him somehow."

"That..." It was a pretty big leap of the imagination, she had to admit to herself, but he sounded very much like he knew what he was talking about.

"It simply cannot be allowed to happen."

"No. What do we do?"

"'We,' Miss Granger?"

"Well, the ministry isn't going to be much good in this, is it? And who am I to turn down a vampire as an ally?" seeing his annoyed look, she added: "You do kick ass, after all."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically.

"Do you think we could go see Dumbledore?"

He looked mildly surprised. "Yes, I suppose we could do that. I hadn't thought of it. He might be able to confirm my theory. I haven't seen the man in years."

There was a dark look in his face she didn't think she had ever seen before. He looked almost betrayed. She would have thought that he would have clung dearly to one of his last connections to the world.

"Why?"

"Because I lost my faith in him, and I had too much to start with. He gambled too easily with other peoples' money, and he lost too much for his victory."

She looked him in the eye for what may have been the first time. Hermione felt, for the first time, how unfair it was that her own close circle had come through the last battle so relatively unscathed. "I'm sorry," she said slowly . "I said that before, and you laughed at me. But I am sorry about what happened to you."

He returned the gaze, looking a little sorrowful. "Thank you, then, I suppose. So am I."

And she kissed him.

She rose to her knees and placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned over, brushing her lips against his. He was soft, and cold and she had been thinking about this for some time. For a long moment, he didn't move, and visions we passing before her eyes of Snape tossing her aside scornfully and sweeping out, leaving her to stew in her embarrassment.

But he didn't. He simply wrapped his arms around her, one at the small of her back, one at her neck, and pulled her closer, so that she tumbled forward onto his lap.

She was pressed close to him, his cool, hard frame starting to stir warmth within her, just prepared to deepen the passion in their kiss when he did, in fact, push her away.

Only to arm length, though, and he stared at her in mild surprise. She looked at him, eyes wide with innocence and fear, waiting to be crushed. She wasn't a girl fond of, or used to, being vulnerable.

"You don't," he said carefully, "want to do that."

She blinked. "I think I might be a little better equipped to determine that, Snape."

He let his hand trail along the curve of her jaw. "You're young. Alive. Not prepared to deal with what I am."

"I -know- what you are."

"No. You don't." He sighed. "And I have no intention whatsoever of showing you."

"Do you like me, even a little?"

"Yes," he said wearily. "I do. It doesn't help."

"And I like you, God knows why. And we both need someone, I think. You hated me once."

"No more than I hated any student. Although, in my defense, you were damned irritating. Incidentally, one of the benefits death is the extreme rarity with which one encounters children."

She smiled weakly. "Were?"

He smiled, close-mouthed and non-threatening. "Are, then." She giggled.

She took his hand in hers. He let her hold it, wondering at the length and grace of his long fingers. And then, blinked sharply, swallowed hard, and reclaimed it.

"No. Not now, at least. All right? We have too many other things, far more important things, to worry about."

"All right. Not now."

He sighed again. "I'm a vampire. You, Miss Granger-"

"Hermione."

"Fine. Hermione. You, Hermione, are at least twenty years my junior. I am vampire. I used to be your professor-"

"Later, Snape."

"Severus," he said heavily, and she smiled wickedly.

"Severus. We can be friends, at least."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you have the energy to make it to Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Not it we're walking," she answered. "Barely made it here."

"I highly doubt I'd want to walk to Scotland. But you seem to have recovered somewhat, so we'd best be off. Time is of the essence, Hermione."

So she simply went back downstairs and brushed the chalk off her pants, gathered up her bag and gave Snape her sunblock, noting idly that it was a little past dawn. *When did that happen?*

He filled a backpack with various materials; potions ingredients, by the look of it, she thought. Tea packets and iron pills and a few extra shirts. (All black, predictably.) A carton, astonishingly, of cigarettes, and another pack in his pocket. He lit up the minute they got out the door.

"Filthy habit," she pointed out as they reached the sidewalk. "I didn't know you smoked."

"I didn't, at Hogwarts. Albus insisted I quit. Post mortem, I thought I might as well take it back up again, as most of the harmful effects are rather meaningless."

She sighed. "So how are we getting to Hogwarts?"

"We," he said with a smirk, "are going to Apparate."

She looked annoyed. "You know perfectly well that I -can't- Apparate; the minute I do, the Ministry'll know I'm not at home."

With a flick of the wrist, he brandished his wand. He grinned, wickedly, looking for a moment like some odd lovechild of Mephistopheles and Puck.

"You," she said sharply, Ministry-witch at her most formal, "are NOT supposed to have that."

He laughed, coldly. Of course he wasn't. She knew enough about vampires to know they had certain inherent magical powers; she had witnessed a degree of Snape's mind control only days ago. And furthermore, the Ministry absolutely forbid allowing wizards-turned- just-about-anything wands, much less what was possibly the most dangerous creature any human could become.

"Ah, there's the little rule-loving, rule-breaking know-it-all we knew and loved at Hogwarts," he snickered. "Such righteous outrage. Going to tell on me?"

"Not at the moment," she said wryly. But she wasn't really outraged; she was just plain scared.

"If it's any help, I'm not very good with it. Just doesn't come naturally."

"Oh?"

"Vampires are geared toward certain types of magic and wand-waving isn't one of them."

"You're still good with potions though."

He shrugged, looking a little forlorn. "Still good, but very limited. Nothing with live or fresh plants works well for me. Vampires and flowers don't get along."

She'd heard that before, somewhere, and nodded sympathetically. It must be awful for his genius to be so contradicted by his very nature.

"I don't need your pity, by the way."

She didn't say anything, just stared at him--some odd amalgamation of wizard and vampire, impossible, really, not to mention illegal. He held out a hand, and she took it, and felt with strange clarity the cool, smooth skin and the strength of it, before the familiar-and-yet-unsettling tug pulled at her and the world disappeared.