Just like every other year, the final week of August saw Hogwarts bustling with activity as the school and grounds were made ready for the imminent invasion of students. A steady stream of deliveries arrived by various means to stock the kitchen and classrooms. The Potions dungeon alone received three separate shipments from various apothecary supply houses. With all the comings and goings, no one noticed when Remus Lupin slipped onto the grounds late one afternoon.
Arthur Weasley arrived near tea time, bearing the usual missive from the Ministry with the official objections to the Headmaster's latest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Kingsley Shacklebolt accompanied him, as most Ministry officials were routinely accompanied by an Auror for safety's sake. They were graciously invited to stay for dinner, and the two men graciously accepted.
Nymphadora Tonks Apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade, skirted her way through the edges of the Forbidden Forest until she made it to Hagrid's hut. She and the half-giant shared a cuppa and some of Hagrid's rock hard scones before making their way up between the greenhouses and into the back entrance of the school.
Hermione herself caught Alastor Moody as he stumped his way through the sixth floor corridor towards the Room of Requirement. His famously rolling eye kept a sharp look out all around, but he gave no indication that he detected her presence as she floated invisibly near the doorway leading to the main staircase. Remaining silent and unseen, Hermione merely nodded towards the retired Auror and maintained her post, keeping a careful watch for anything unusual as the Order of the Phoenix gathered.
Despite her vigilance, she nearly missed the odd glimmer of shadow on the floor where no shadow should be. At first, she thought it was merely a trick of the light thrown from the torches, which had sprung to life after the sun had gone down, but in fits and starts the wavering shadow moved stealthily and steadily along the floor towards the Room of Requirement.
"Who goes there?" she demanded as she swooped down towards the shadow, the words sounding stupid even as they came out of her mouth. The reaction was gratifying, however, as a stifled exclamation and a hex burst from the invisible person at nearly the same moment. The spell passed harmlessly through Hermione's form before taking a fist-sized chunk from the opposite stone wall.
With a sharp flick of its wrist, a strong hand emerged from the nothingness, bearing a dark wand. It moved rapidly back and forth, searching for an opponent, but as a lone hand in mid-air it was both odd looking and oddly familiar. Small silver scars showed on the back.
"Harry?" Hermione called uncertainly. On impulse she appeared, hoping she was correct.
The hand hesitated, then rose up and pushed back the hood of the invisibility cloak, revealing messy black hair, vivid green eyes, and a famous scar.
"Hermione?" Harry queried. "Is that really you?"
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione knew she was grinning madly, but didn't care. "It's so good to see you!"
Harry, too, wore a broad smile. His head now floated in mid-air, along with his hand, but to Hermione that was hardly disconcerting. After having one of the Headless Horsemen flirt with her before a match – his head firmly clamped under one arm as it spouted overblown flattery – talking to a floating head was nothing out of the ordinary.
"It's great to see you, too," Harry said. "You look different – I almost didn't recognize you."
"Do I?" she asked, surprised. To Hermione, she looked as she had always imagined herself, though without the student uniform. "How have you been?"
"I'm all right. Sorry I haven't written lately – I've been pretty busy, really."
"I know, I've seen the articles in the Prophet." She giggled at the face Harry made, knowing he would react that way.
"You wouldn't believe how many complaints the Aurors College made against the Prophet, trying to make them stop following me around. They finally had to get an injunction from the Ministry."
"It's a good thing they're not here now," Hermione said with a chuckle, indicating the hole in the opposite wall. "You know they'd come up with something outlandish about that."
"Sorry about that," said Harry sheepishly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, of course not. You know most spells don't affect ghosts."
"That's right, we looked it up that one time. Did you ever find out all the answers you were looking for?"
"Not exactly. I've been working on some other things, but I do have some theories I'd like to go over some time."
Harry shrugged. "You know I've never been that great with theory. If you want to talk about that sort of stuff, you should really talk to Moody. He's always going on about things like phases of the moon and such. Most of it's pure guff if you ask me, but he's a cagey old bugger."
"And you're a late young bugger, as well as a cheeky one," added a rough voice from down the hall. "Hurry up – the others are waiting."
"Coming," Harry told Moody, who had ducked back into the Room of Requirement.
After another quick glance up and down the corridor, he yanked off the invisibility cloak and rapidly rolled it up, revealing his official Auror robes. A pin representing two crossed wands on his collar showed his rank, which had been rapidly advancing during his short career. Despite his self-deprecating manner, Harry Potter was a crack Auror and well respected by those peers who didn't give a bent Knut for his fame, only for what he could do with a wand.
"You're coming, aren't you?" he called over his shoulder when Hermione made no move to follow him.
"I'm not a member of the Order," Hermione told him, proud of the way her voice didn't reveal any of the regret she'd felt at being excluded.
"You would have been, so I'm inviting you now," Harry countered. The assurance in his voice was a far cry from the modest and unassuming boy he'd been. "Besides, you were always the one who figured out how to make work any of the wild ideas Ron and I came up with. Makes me wonder how I've managed without you!"
None of the other order members protested as Hermione followed Harry into the Room of Requirement. He quietly cast a complicated ward before taking the last empty chair and patting the high back, indicating where he wanted her to sit. She settled her weightless self on the spot indicated and gave her attention to the meeting.
Most of the evening was spent discussing rumors, Death Eater activities, prevention and countermeasures. Some time was devoted to debate over whether folk who had recently disappeared were refugees fleeing from possible Death Eater persecution, Death Eaters themselves, or already victims of the same.
After a while, the meeting turned to Voldemort himself, and the few scraps and bits of information Snape had been able to glean from his spying activities. Facts were hard to come by, and he had only the swirling cloud of rumor and back-biting between Death Eaters to base his information on. Stray comments and innuendo were collated into a sketchy portrait of the Dark Lord's current mood and plans.
"He no longer seems to eat," was one tidbit Hermione found interesting, if slightly disturbing. "Any appetite he has is for blood, and quite a bit of that is spilled. Punishment and torture are often bloodier than they have been."
"He absorbs it?" she asked.
The infamous Snape Sneer was watered down, but still recognizable. "He doesn't drink it, if that's what you're asking."
"No, but you indicated he stays close to the victim – that he seems to enjoy it, almost feed off it. I was thinking of something I read about ghosts or spirits who feed off the negative energy of pain and despair."
"Like the Dementors do?" Arthur Weasley queried.
"Exactly!"
"So you think You Know Who has turned into a Dementor?" asked Tonks.
"Well, perhaps not exactly, but close. Is anyone familiar with the concept of polarity?" Hermione asked.
Severus frowned thoughtfully. "I've heard the theory, but it's not a concept used in the wizarding world," he confessed.
"I'll bet Dementors are on the opposite end of the magic polarity," she announced. "And I think Voldemort is close to that end, too."
"And what do you know of magic polarity, Miss Granger?" asked the Headmaster in a slightly frosty tone.
Surprised at the hostility suddenly focused on her, Hermione gathered herself. "It's an idea that occurred to me when Professor Snape was ill," she answered. "I theorized that magic has a polarity, just like magnetism or electricity."
Dumbledore nodded into his beard. "Go on," he said.
"Well, just as magnetism has a polarity, and just as electricity flows between a positive and negative, perhaps magic has both a positive and negative flow."
"And what exactly do you base this theory on?"
"Temperature, or what I perceive at heat. Real fire doesn't feel any different to me than rock or wood. It's a different texture, but no temperature difference. People, however, and magical implements, they feel horrid. The Muggle boy I haunted just after I became a ghost, he was merely unpleasantly warm, but full-fledged magic folk are much worse. The time I touched Professor Snape's wand, it was like hot lava."
Intrigued, Severus inhaled through his impressive nose like a bloodhound scenting prey. "What about other ghosts? What sensations do you receive from them?"
"Cool, actually. Pleasantly cold, almost comfortingly so. The Baron, especially, can be quite comforting if he's not shouting at us."
Fingering his left forearm thoughtfully, he made a 'hmm' sound. "The Dark Mark… when it burns, it looks like a brand but it's actually quite cold…"
"Really? Cold, as in the way a ghost feels cold?"
Snape nodded, and they looked at each other intently. Each could see the other's mind whirling with ideas and coming close to the same conclusion.
Kingsley Shacklebolt glanced at the clock, which stood at 'Getting Awfully Late.' "I'm certain this is all very fascinating, but what's the point of it all?"
"The point, Shacklebolt, is that we may be onto something here."
Hermione leapt in. "You know that most spells don't affect ghosts. The few that do are oddly different from the standard hexes, and those hexes have almost no effect on humans, Muggle or Wizard."
Harry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but Shacklebolt and the others looked blank. Hermione barreled on, hoping to clarify things.
"What if... what if the temperature I feel, that humans feel from ghosts, is not really heat as we know it but more to do with the polarity of magic? A wizard's wand is as close to pure magic as it gets, the spells and enchantments on the core and the wood, not to mention the fact that it constantly acts as a channel for magic. It's intensely hot to me, and most live people find an unsuitable wand burns their hand. The Dark Mark burns cold, according to what Professor Snape just said. I was close to him once when he was summoned, and it was very cool to me, almost familiar, but it was very unsettling."
"Voldemort has gone to great lengths in his search for immortality," Severus pointed out. "Ghosts are supposedly immortal. What if some of the things he's done to make himself immortal have changed his polarity, so to speak, so that normal magic, the normal world as we know it, no longer affects him?"
"He's been damned hard to hit with a spell," Moody rumbled. "We've actually had a wand up on him, once or twice, and gotten sod-all for our efforts."
"Do you really believe that somehow his search for immortality has affected this alignment?" Remus Lupin asked. He, more than the other pure-blood wizards, had a solid grounding in theoretical spell manufacture.
Harry's green eyes were wide with eagerness as he put two and two together. "If Voldemort has changed himself so far as to realign his magical polarity, then a set of spells designed just for him could be what we need to kill him, once and for all!"
"It's possible," Dumbledore spoke at last, his voice heavy with meaning. "That could explain a lot of things."
Everyone in the room had turned to the Headmaster, recognizing the tone of his voice. He made a grimace, but pushed back his hat and scratched thoughtfully at his forehead. "It's not widely known, but Miss Granger is entirely correct. Nicholas Flamel and I discovered that magic has a polarity some decades ago. We decided there are some things that are better left unknown and did not publish our findings. I'd forgotten about it until now."
"You mean you knew about magical polarity and said nothing?" demanded Hermione, offended. "Knowledge like that needs to be shared. It needs to be studied!"
"It was during dark times, Miss Granger," Dumbledore told her mildly. "We judged it better off lost than in the wrong hands."
Hermione crossed her arms with a humph of displeasure, forcing both Harry and Severus to hide a smile with varying degrees of success.
"Same old Hermione," said Harry quietly.
Severus was forced to agree. "Headmaster, if you have any of your old research still available on this subject, I should hope you'll make it available for further study. It could very well make a difference when the inevitable confrontation comes."
"Nymphadora and I will be glad to work on those with you, Snape," volunteered Moody. "She may be dead clumsy, but she can cast a hex with the best of them."
"Flattery like that will get you nowhere, old man," Tonks shot back. "And Remus should be involved, too. Give us your best guesses, Snape, and the three of us will work it out."
"It would not be prudent for Severus to leave the castle too often," Remus reminded them all. "We'll duplicate the research so each of us has a copy, but we should keep contact to a minimum."
Dumbledore voiced his agreement to this plan, and promised to search through his old files for the old research. This seemed to be the signal for them to break up the meeting at last.
"Brilliant, Hermione!" Harry told her as he left. "I should have known we could always count on you to come up with something."
Hermione blushed silver, but it was the quiet comment from Severus that meant more to her. Leaving the Room of Requirement in the wake of the others, he had turned and murmured a parting remark to her.
"You see, Miss Granger? You're not a forgotten book after all."
&&&&&
Only the dire prospect of possibly waking Severus Snape kept an expletive behind Hermione's tightly clenched teeth as she reapplied herself once more to her search of his bookshelf. He had mentioned the reference tome to her a few nights ago – more than once, actually. Surely he had meant to get it for her. Surely, he wouldn't mind if she got it herself. Surely, he wouldn't care if she borrowed it, especially if she returned it before he noticed it missing.
Reassured by her own specious logic, and even more so by the steady sound of light snoring coming from Severus Snape's bedroom, Hermione started over – again – at the top of his shelves. It would have been nice if he'd actually mentioned the title of the book, rather than tossing off a casual comment about the author. Was it too much to ask that he might have said "that RED manual by Discorides," or "the manual I left on the third shelf down?"
Apparently, it was. Several times already she'd been over the bookshelves in Snape's sitting room, the ones on the opposite wall where they wouldn't be damaged by the temperature fluctuations from the fire, as well as the set of shelves in his office and the rack in his lab. Nowhere in evidence was anything that resembled the text she was looking for.
Which left her with two options: wait patiently until tomorrow evening, or venture into the serpent's den… 'Do stop being melodramatic,' Hermione told herself firmly. 'It's not like you haven't been there before.'
And it wasn't as though he would shout at her. As a matter of fact, it had been some time since he'd vented his considerable venom at her. Still, she hadn't invaded his room in ages. Well. Except for his occasional nightmares. Nightmares he apparently had no memory of, and Hermione's perusal of the admittedly scanty research into dreams and memories of dreams in Hogwarts' library told her that most people did not remember their dreams very often, unless they were exceptionally vivid or traumatic. And Snape's scale of traumatic was skewed so far it was nearly out of sight.
Steeling herself, she gently phased through the door of his room and scanned the room. The absolute darkness did not keep her from making out the shelves, but unfortunately they held no books, only a scant few personal trinkets. A stack of reading material lay on the floor near the bed, but most of them were periodic publications, not valuable reference books.
Finally giving in to her disappointment, Hermione turned to go, only to hear a moan from behind the dark curtains which were drawn around the bed. She waited a moment, reluctant to violate his privacy any more than she already had. It had been several weeks since he'd been summoned to the Dark Lord's court, and because of that it had been a while since she'd kept a vigil against his nightmares.
Another sound came from the shrouded bed, adding to Hermione's conflict and reminding her that she had good reason to be worried about the man. The dual lives he led as unpopular professor and spy in the Death Eaters were enough to break another man, but he had borne those pressures for an exceptionally long time without complaint. A nasty temper, perhaps, and a vastly reduced tolerance for any nonsense of any sort, but no complaints.
A third unspecified sound made up her mind. Poking her head through the curtains, she could make out the lumps under the blankets as Snape lying mostly on his stomach. The pillows had been pushed up and away, leaving him only his own arm to rest his head upon. His other arm lay flung out over the covers, almost as if begging for something.
For several long moments Hermione hovered over the sleeping man, until his throat forced another strangled sound out, his head twisting against his arm and causing the black strands of his hair to fall across his craggy features. Gathering her concentration, Hermione leaned over the sleeping man and allowed herself to sink into his unconscious mind.
No landscape revealed itself to her mind's eye; instead her body seemed wrapped in warm, encompassing weight and tension. A deep thrumming ache within her grew to an unbearable pitch, causing her nipples to peak and an uncontrollable moan to come from her without realizing it. From nowhere a mouth pressed onto hers, and a pair of demanding hands pulled at her body.
"I want you," murmured a voice, baritone and masculine and thrilling her in ways she'd never felt before. Other sensory data were missing, sight and smell, but electrifying sensations washed over her, around her, overwhelming her sense of up or down. Helplessly she was swept along towards an unknown pinnacle, one that was at once exhilarating and terrifying.
The uncertainty and fear edged their way past the pleasure, and with a wrench Hermione separated herself from Severus' dream. Below the man slumbered on, oblivious to the ghost that hung, shocked and disoriented.
"All right. NOT a nightmare," she said unnecessarily.
&&&&&
Rising up through the ceiling, Hermione spent the rest of the night hours aimlessly wandering the hallways of Hogwarts. The sudden thought that Severus Snape was a man after all, subject to all the facets of that condition, had left an unsettled and hollow ache within her. Thinking of Severus, both sparring and research partner, in those terms made her terribly uncomfortable. And for once, she could not formulate an acceptable theory for this reaction.
Hermione had seen Severus Snape out of his teaching robes no more than a handful of times in all the years that she'd known him, and on each occasion she was forced to remind herself that he was actually a human being under that black cloak of fabric. This time, however, was even more startling than usual since he had shed both the robes and his frock coat, leaving him clad in shirt, vest, and of all things a long white apron. The broom in his hand was the ordinary variety, and was currently employed in sweeping a pile of broken glass and other debris into a pile.
"What happened?!" she asked floating in a small spiral as she surveyed the damage. "Did something explode?"
"Not yet," Severus answered in clipped tones. "Though if I find the right incantation, I'll certainly see to it that a particular poltergeist does indeed explode."
"Peeves did this," Hermione guessed in disbelief. "What happened to the wards you put up?"
Severus glared at the bits sent scuttling by the wrath of his broom. "I cannot ward this room against spirits, Miss Granger. There is no way to exclude Peeves without that extending to yourself."
A gasp of mingled rage and sorrow made him pause in his clearing-up; he glanced over to see Hermione had found the remains of the original manuscript. The parchment was just so many scraps, the protective glass shattered beyond any Reparo. He'd already seen the damage and had opted to leave it until last in the slim hopes that he might salvage at least part of it. The sight of his personal haunt doubled over in grief prompted him to try to offer some comfort.
"I'll have a word with the Baron, Miss Granger. This isn't the first time Peeves has wreaked havoc in my lab but he's gone too far."
Several bits of debris began to vibrate on the floor and the table between them.
"Miss Granger?" he inquired, slightly disturbed as he registered the sudden drop in the room's temperature.
"Bugger the Baron!" Hermione bit out. She turned to him, her eyes larger than physiology had ever made them, and glowing slightly with a dark gleam, a black light shining full of fury. He frowned tightly at her appearance; her usually neat gray robes had become alive, as though stirred by an invisible wind, and her hair began to writhe around her face like Medusa's snakes. A terrible sound like rushing wings filled the room as she let out an inarticulate screech of fury and abruptly shot through the ceiling.
Setting his chair upright, Snape debated for a moment before setting off in pursuit of his personal haunt. He wasn't sure exactly what Hermione could do to Peeves, but the Baron ought to be warned of the confrontation about to ensue.
In any event, it ought to be entertaining.
Hermione could not have said exactly how she knew where Peeves was lurking, but like an arrow speeding towards a stuffed bulls-eye she flew through the castle, leaving tapestries fluttering and a deep, teeth-chattering chill in her wake. The poltergeist must have sensed her coming, for he was retreating down the second floor corridor when she caught sight of him, laughing inanely and throwing out insults even as he back-pedaled.
"Was the Professor sniveling over his precious toys?" he jeered, waggling his long feet at Hermione. "Shouldn't leave such pretty things out to play with! Ickle Firsties and nasty Slytherins will come to put sticky fingers all over them!"
Clenching her teeth, Hermione followed the bouncing jester through several walls and down through the floor. Peeves tried to lose her by zig-zagging among the classrooms and taking sharp turns, but she was not to be deterred.
"I'm going to tie those sticky fingers of yours around your neck in a bow tie!" she shouted, cutting off his attempt to dodge past her. "You're going to regret EVER coming in the dungeons!"
A loud raspberry was the poltergeist's reply, but his maniacal grin was looking a bit strained and his protuberant eyes were rolling wildly as he swerved among the statues and suits of armor. One set went down with a wild crash, but did nothing to stop his pursuer.
His cackles were sounding a bit thin as he rounded the great staircase and fled down it. He looped once around the great lamp at the end, but Hermione anticipated the move and dodged the other direction, nearly catching him as he came around again. Peeves let out a shriek as she grabbed the end of his pointy toed boot and ripped it right off, leaving his stodgy, hairy toes bare to the world.
Desperate now, the poltergeist shot towards the dungeon entrance, only to let out another screech as Professor Snape appeared at the top of the stairs with his wand brandished. Reversing directions, Peeves flew towards the hall opposite and the entrance to the Great Hall.
Ignoring Snape's call after her, Hermione gave chase and popped through the huge doors directly behind her quarry. The accumulated throng of students eating their dinner startled them both momentarily, but Hermione ignored them in favor of tackling Peeves just as he attempted to zip over the Ravenclaw table and disappear through the floor below.
With a tremendous crash, the two spirits slid down more than half the length of the table, scattering dishes and food in every direction. Students leapt to their feet, screaming, adding to the chaos. At the head table, the teachers rose in one consternated body, only to pause as Dumbledore raised his hands and motioned them to wait.
As Snape followed the crashing into the Great Hall, he could see nothing over the crowded heads of the students all standing about, their voices raised in a murmuring sea. Through the din, a heavy banging made itself known, accompanied by Hermione Granger's voice, shouting. Forcing his way through the crowd, he stopped short at the sight of Hermione kneeling on Peeves' stomach, his jester's hat clenched in both fists, emphasizing her words by pounding his head against the solid wood of the table. The hat did very little to cushion the impacts.
"If you EVER(bang) come into my lab AGAIN(bang) I'll stuff(bang) you in a BARREL(bang) and TOSS(bang) you down the SEWAGE(bang)drain! Don't you EVER(bang) come near my WORK(bang) ever again, you MISERABLE(bang) little insect!(bang-bang-bang)"
"It was just a joke," protested her victim, attempting a weak laugh. "Can't you take a joke?"
"A joke?" Hermione shrieked. "You want a joke?" Her hand ruthlessly dove into the pocket of Peeve's purple checked jacket. "I'll show you a joke," she threatened, coming up with a handful of Dungbombs. As Peeves gaped at her, she thrust her fist, Dungbombs and all, into his mouth. His eyes grew immensely, comically wide as his face expanded to accommodate her hand, and then even larger as she grabbed the boot she'd previously torn off him and stuffed it into his mouth as well.
"THIS is a joke, Peeves!" she declared, pinching his lips shut around the protruding heel of the boot, even as the Dungbombs began to detonate. His eyes bulged grotesquely, along with his cheeks and nose, as the muffled explosions resonated through his body. A vile yellow smoke began to stream from his ears, sending the nearest students staggering away, coughing.
A huge plume of smoke erupted as Hermione released his mouth. Peeves coughed and choked out several more puffs, but only struggled feebly as Hermione seized first his arms, then his legs, bending them in directions nature had never intended. Fortunately, not being corporeal, her move only caused him to squeal in indignation rather than pain. She ignored his yowling as she forced both of his long, spindly legs to fold up against his chest, then tied his arms together in a square knot.
Peeves belched loudly as he peered up at Hermione, rather awkwardly considering he was tied up like a Christmas package. "Here, now," he protested. "You can't leave me like this! It's not dignified!"
"Oh, I'm not going to leave you like that, Peeves," Hermione assured him, holding out her hand. A cricket bat materialized in her grip out of nothing, although no team would have ever gotten away with fielding a player with such an oversized piece of equipment. "I just want to be sure you know what's going to happen to you the next time you bother my things," she told him.
"You wouldn't," Peeves begged, wiggling slightly and managing to rock from side to side. "All right, I'll leave your things alone. Miss Granger, I promise – I'll be good, really. I PROMISE!"
"You'd better," Hermione warned him, even as she hauled back with the six foot bat. "If you know what's good for you, Peeves, you'd better stay the hell away from me."
"AUUGGHHHHHH!!!!" screamed Peeves as the bat swung down, and with a mighty thwack sent him flying over the heads of the students, who ducked anyway, through the far wall of the Great Hall, and out into the evening air.
Hagrid, coming in late for dinner, was mystified by the sound of a large splash coming from the lake, but shrugged it off as another antic of the giant squid. The giant squid was equally mystified by the struggling ball of purple-checked poltergeist sinking down past his realm, but shrugged it off as another antic of those strange land walkers above.
In the silence of the Great Hall, Hermione banished her bat and gazed around the room, suddenly realizing she had an audience of several hundred astonished students and teachers. Glancing up, she saw the Baron, the Gray Lady, Sir Nicholas and Professor Binns staring down at her. The general air of expectant shock held for several very, very long moments.
Paper thin, the sound of a single pair of hands clapping broke the silence, and everyone in the room turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing before his huge chair, clapping. The students likewise began to applaud, slowly at first, their enthusiasm growing like an avalanche accompanied by a roar of excited voices, cheers, and much laughter.
Thoroughly embarrassed, Hermione bobbed a short bow to the mass and rose up to join the rest of the assembled ghosts in the rafters of the room. The Gray Lady tucked her arm through Hermione's and patted her hand.
"That wasn't precisely what I'd consider lady-like, Hermione, dear," tutted the beautiful ghost. "Though I won't deny I've often wanted to do that to Peeves. I just hope you won't make a habit of that kind of spectacle."
"No, not planning on it," Hermione gritted out, still blushing bright silver. "Oh, please don't tell me the Baron was here," she moaned, noticing the Slytherin ghost floating down towards the Head Table. "Is he terribly upset with me?"
"Not at all," the Lady soothed. "He's just gone down to have a word with the Headmaster and his head of house," she pointed out. "The dear Baron will smooth everything over. Don't you worry."
Relieved, Hermione peered down to where the Baron had indeed stopped between the Headmaster's chair and the dark, lean form of Severus Snape. The three were apparently involved in a discussion of her sins. Hermione devoutly hoped Professor Dumbledore's applause was an indication that he approved of her actions; after all, Peeves had been exceptionally obnoxious lately.
Little did Hermione know that while the three males of various centuries were indeed discussing her assault on Peeves, it had little to do with whether or not she had been justified in her actions.
"Impressive, wouldn't you say, Stockard?" Albus murmured to the Baron.
"It proves nothing," replied the Baron in a surly tone. "The gel was angry, and I doubt she could have kept Peeves under control for much longer."
"Perhaps not," Dumbledore allowed. "But you must admit her potential. Don't you think so, Severus?"
Severus Snape, scowling as he digested the fact that the ghost he'd known for more than thirty years apparently did have a name, was not exactly sure to which potential the Headmaster was referring. A Slytherin never admitted he didn't know something, however, and he was accustomed to the Headmaster's cryptic observations, so he settled for a bland comment.
"Miss Granger has always been an individual of surprising talents," he hedged.
The Bloody Baron was, unfortunately, also a Slytherin, and knew a bluff when he heard one. "Ghosts like myself have only one measure of power, my boy," he proclaimed in glum voice, "and that's how well we influence our surroundings. Granger's gaining fast for a spirit who's only been dis-incorporated for such a short time."
"Miss Granger was able to force Peeves to accept her version of reality," Dumbledore clarified. "Peeves has been a poltergeist in this castle for more than a century, and he should have easily passed through the tabletop and escaped. Her willpower, not his, held supremacy during their little spat, and thus it was solid while she took him to task." The wrinkles around his faded blue eyes creased even deeper as he finished his understatement with a merry wink.
"I see," Severus admitted carefully. "And is this a cause for alarm?"
"For celebration," Albus corrected him cheerfully. "It seems we have another ghost in the castle who is capable of making Peeves behave."
"And one he'll respect," the Baron said, disgusted. "I never thought a good thrashing would be so effective."
"Gryffindors have no appreciation for subtlety," Severus sniffed.
The Headmaster smiled at this blatant dig and quickly replied, "Subtlety is all well and good, Severus, but now and then a jolly good thrashing makes a lesson stick better."
&&&&&
In the week following her battle with Peeves, Hermione was aware of the Baron observing her, surreptitiously keeping tabs on her comings and goings within the castle. He dropped by the potions laboratory several times, theoretically making sure that they were no longer bothered by the poltergeist. Hermione knew this was humbug, because Peeves had beat a hasty retreat every time he'd seen her coming, going so far as to dive through the walls in an attempt to avoid her. When she left the castle to gather dew off the mistletoe under the new moon for one of Snape's odder experiments, she was 'kept company' by the head ghost, and when she finished a late-night tutoring session with an insomniac third-year Hufflepuff reviewing for a transfiguration test the next day, she caught sight of the swashbuckler as she helped the child avoid Filch on his way back to his dorm.
So, it wasn't much of a surprise when the Baron intercepted her on the way to the dungeons one night. What was surprising was his almost reluctant manner as he swept off his wide-brimmed hat and bowed to her, just as he did to the Gray Lady.
"I wonder if I might have a word with you, Miss Hermione," he asked.
"Of course," she agreed, slightly wary.
"It's a rather delicate situation… regarding my Head of House."
"What about Professor Snape?"
"You've been spending quite a lot of time with him."
"I'm helping him – with his research, and with the grading. The other professors have assistance from their senior students, but he does not."
The Baron did not respond to that immediately, but his blood—stained fingers worked their way along the edge of the brim, causing the fluffy feathers on his hat wafted gently. "I'm wondering, is that entirely wise? I really don't think you should spend so much time with the Live ones. It won't do, Hermione."
"Are you forbidding me to help …"
"No, my dear, you misunderstand me. I'm merely concerned for you."
"Whatever for?"
"It's just – I don't think you should be getting attached to him, Miss Hermione. I wouldn't want you getting your heart broken."
"What?" Her first instinct was to laugh, but for some reason laughter would not come. The Baron gave her a knowing look, sympathetic but one that allowed no room for denial.
"You know what I'm talking about, lass. Severus Snape is a fine Head of House, and all I could ask for in a Slytherin. But he is human. Will it break your heart to love him now, only to lose him? He will die, sooner or later."
Hermione looked down at her hands, unable to refute the Baron's assumptions. Being a ghost had liberated her from the burden of hormones, but she was still essentially a woman. And while she had not considered her interactions with the dour Potions Master as a relationship, there was no doubt that he had somehow the most important person, living or dead, in her afterlife. She could not envision a time when he would not be there, making his sharp comments and pointed rejoinders.
"I don't suppose there's much chance he'll become like us?" she asked at last.
The Baron shook his head. "No, Hermione. Of all the men I've ever known, Severus Snape is not likely to become a ghost. He may have a tortured soul, but he's weary of this life. He'll be more glad than most to lay down that burden."
He was right, and she knew it; but even knowing it would eventually mean a great deal of pain, she could not bear the idea of stopping her interaction with Severus Snape.
When she voiced that thought, the Baron only sighed. "I guessed not. I left it too long, thinking Severus would eventually run you off. The Gray Lady told me I was wrong, and so I was."
He donned his elaborate hat once more, then gave her a respectful nod. "Care for him if you must, my dear. Love him, if you must. But don't be losing your heart to him."
"I'll try," she whispered. "I'm rather afraid it may be too late."
&&&&&
Still mindful of the Baron's talk, Hermione arrived at the potions laboratory at the appointed time a few evenings later only to find the place deserted. A hastily scribbled note in Snape's distinctive scrawl told her to begin without him as he had been called out on an errand for the Headmaster. That alone told her it was Order business; if he had been summoned by the Dark Lord the note would have simply said he'd gone out.
The few tasks she needed to accomplish were long finished by the time Severus Snape returned to his quarters that night. His normal commanding stride was absent as he walked through the classroom where Hermione loitered; instead his entire manner was subdued and he did not acknowledge Hermione's greeting beyond raising one hand in a warding gesture.
She followed him into his quarters, not entirely sure of her welcome. He neither greeted her nor ordered her out, but made his way towards the shelf where his little-used liquor supplies were stored. The quiet clink of crystal and liquid burble of amber were the only sounds in the room.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
Rather than comment on inane questions, Severus uttered one word. "No."
The heavy square stopper went back in the brandy decanter with a chink. With the same deliberation, he lifted the squat tumbler and drained nearly half of the contents.
"You shouldn't be drinking like that," Hermione told him.
She was half-tempted to scold, to fall into the nanny role that so often irritated him, but her instinct told her that now was not the time to use any cardboard cliches to get a reaction. Whatever was wrong, and it was quite obvious something was desperately wrong, would not be brought to light by taking refuge in the shorthand personas they sometimes used with each other.
"Yes, I should be," he answered at length.
Moving forward until she was sure she was within his line of sight, Hermione kept her voice gentle. "Has something happened?"
"Your precious Harry and his sidekick are fine. They weren't even there."
"I'm not worried about Harry and Ron. I'm worried about you."
He examining the remaining liquor in his glass before consuming it with a quick toss of his wrist and carefully put the crystal tumbler down. His long fingers toyed with the rim, then moved on, flitting across book spines and shelf edges as he meandered around the room, touching things without really seeing them. Just as Hermione gave up thinking he would answer, he began talking.
"We – Moody and Tonks and I – went to raid a shop just outside Wizarding London tonight. It's a low-rent place, importing Muggle trinkets to sell off pushcarts and such. We'd heard the owner was also shipping in what he thought were drugs. Actually, he was getting in shipments of Ki-ren horns and hoofs."
"Those are endangered species," she noted, all the while watching his restless movement around the room.
"But very useful in Dark Arts. The Dark Lord had recently ordered me to research some potions using those, so we thought the rumor was quite possibly true. And since it didn't come from me, it should have been safe to raid the place."
Hermione nodded in understanding – if the importer were a Muggle, it was highly unlikely he was dealing directly with any Pure Blood wizards in Voldemort's plans. The man was most likely being used by Death Eaters who used Muggle means to smuggle proscribed items past the Ministry.
"What went wrong?" she asked softly, envisioning the worst. Tonks dead, or Mad-Eye Moody.
"The intended recipient – a known Death Eater – came to get his shipment. He caught Tonks going through his package and hit her with a Crucio. Then he saw me."
"Did you recognize him?"
Severus' eyes closed, and it was a moment before he could speak. "Of course I did. He was Lucius Malfoy."
The sense of foreboding grew in Hermione, but she could not stop the words any more than she could come back to life. "And then?"
"He hesitated," Severus responded, his deep voice nearly cracking. "I did not. I hit him with an Expelliarmus and Stupefy." Dark eyes opened once more, luminous with unshed tears and staring deep into a darkness Hermione had no hope of penetrating. "I didn't know - - I didn't realize Lucius where was standing. He fell – onto a display of cheap glass vases.
"We couldn't save him. He bled to death."
The room was silent, save the faint, uneven sound of Severus breathing. At last, Hermione summoned her courage.
"I'm sorry, Severus."
"Why would you be sorry?" he asked in a voice that attempted to be reasonable. Only the slightest quaver in certain vowels gave away his emotional turmoil, and Hermione longed to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him. "Lucius Malfoy hated you even more than his son did."
"I'm sorry your friend is dead."
"He was my friend," Severus repeated hollowly. "The first person who ever treated me as though I were something of value rather than an imposition for simply existing. I loved him like a brother even when I knew he was seducing me to the Dark Lord's service, and I thanked him for it. I've hated him as much as ever loved him, and now he's dead."
Moving like an old man, Severus sat in one of the chairs before the cold fireplace. A heavy silence fell in the room, and after a moment Hermione drifted to the other, wishing she could provide more than her mere presence for comfort. When Severus began speaking again, his voice was more controlled, but still had a lost quality that tore at her.
"I was ripe for the picking when Lucius brought me to Voldemort," he told her absently. "My family was dead, disgraced and bankrupt. An appeal to my pride and arrogance, a vague promise to return my family honor and fortune to the prominence it once had, and I was one of his entirely."
"You were young," Hermione ventured. "Young men are known to be… impulsive."
"Foolish, you mean. Your friend Potter is a classic example – always leaping into the flames without any regard for his safety. Never realizing how his actions may affect the rest of his life, should he be so fortunate to have one. He never gives a single thought to the price he might pay for his recklessness."
Severus peered up, looking at Hermione directly for the first time. "I envy you sometimes, Hermione Granger. You're finished with life. No responsibilities, no one demanding anything from you. No…outstanding debts…of any kind."
His black eyes stared at her, and Hermione did her best to radiate calm sympathy even though his words tore at her heart. It was as the Baron had said – Severus Snape considered his life to be a burden beyond bearing, and knew that he would fling himself headlong into the oblivion of death and whatever waited beyond rather than chose to stay for any reason. She chose her next words with care, doubting they would have any effect but hoping they would.
"I may not be alive, Professor, but I still have responsibilities, even if they're only to myself. A wise man once said that we have only the time we're given, and we have to make the best use of that time while we can. I didn't get a chance to make use of my life, so I do what I can with my afterlife. You were right, you know. My own death meant very little in the grand scheme of things. But my death meant something to my friends. Lucius Malfoy's death is significant to you, and no one can tell you that it shouldn't be."
And your death would mean something to me, she longed to add, but did not voice aloud. He continued to stare at her, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he considered her words, but his fathomless eyes continued to hold hers for endless moments. The intense atmosphere between them was turning awkward, and she seized upon the first thought that entered her head. Clearing her throat unnecessarily, she nodded towards the brandy.
"Will you need a detoxifying potion?" she asked.
"What? No, I don't think so," he answered, startled out of whatever reverie he'd been in. "I've been careful of late, so I should be fine." He rubbed his hands over the arms of the chair, his restlessness returning.
"I should go to bed," he added, frowning. "It's been… a long evening."
"Good night, then," Hermione told him.
"Good night," he answered, turning away. For a moment she thought he might say something else, but he went into his bedroom and closed the door.
Hours passed, and Hermione silently paced the floor. Severus had not taken a Dreamless Sleep, not that she had expected him to, but neither had she heard the tell-tale sounds of his nightmares. She guessed he was likely lying awake, staring at the bed-curtains.
It was not until she could feel the dawn in her bones that she heard the light snores coming from the bedroom. Barely daring to hope, she phased into the room and hovered over the sleeping Potions Master. A slight smile appeared on his face, replaced almost immediately by a frown.
Dreading the inevitable, but knowing it would happen, sooner or later, Hermione sank further over the man sprawled on his side in the bed and allowed herself to fall into the reality of his dream. When she opened her eyes, she stood in a shady copse of trees that nearly obscured a nearby lake. Hermione could not tell if this were an actual location Severus remembered, or perhaps merely a representation of a bucolic, youthful spot in the woods. Ahead of her, she could just make out the forms of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.
The two were walking side by side beneath the spreading canopy of leaves, both young and exuding the pure masculine beauty of young men in their early twenties. One was elegant and handsome as an angel, the type some would whisper about unless they were observant enough to see exactly how predatory he really was. The other had more classic features, immortalized on a thousands statues of commanding Roman men both senators and generals.
As they walked, Lucius began to draw ahead of Snape, occasionally walking backwards as he cajoled his friend. Despite her efforts to get closer, flitting between the trees like a wood nymph, Hermione could not catch but fragments of their conversation. The breeze blew back single words and short phrases, along with the deep laughter as they bantered back and forth. So intent was she on catching up to them, Hermione barely noticed as the gaps between the trees became wider, the leaves and moss on the ground giving way to sharp rocks, dank ground and sludge. Only when the graceful trees turned into macabre, twisted dark growth did she realize they had moved from the idyllic landscape to a nightmare.
Abruptly she plunged into a small clearing, just in time to see Lucius Malfoy, still several yards ahead of Severus, stumble into a quagmire. His beautiful long blond hair caught in the black leaves and duckweed on the surface of the dirty, swirling water as he struggled, but the superior expression never left his face.
Even as Severus shouted and threw himself down on the mud and muck, reaching desperately for his friend, Lucius was dragged down further, his hair darkening. He never reached back, but the accusation in his blue eyes was evident until he went under the surface of the water, and the floating vegetation covered him over completely.
Severus clawed at the water and plunged on arm down into the depths, screaming Lucius' name. He did not seem to notice Hermione as she knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, but continued to thrash in the water, sending up dank waves of it without finding anything. Eventually, his movements slowed, and then stilled, one arm still trailing in the water, his own hair damp as he panted for breath.
"Lucius," he croaked desolately.
"He's gone, Severus," Hermione told him softly. "I'm so sorry." She rubbed his heaving back until he calmed, and with a groan rolled over, looking up at her. His sharp features were drawn and hopeless.
"He was my friend," Severus protested quietly, sounding almost like a child who did not understand why his toy had been stolen.
"I know. I know he was your friend."
"The others… Tonks and Moody. They wanted me to go with them. To celebrate. That he's dead. They were glad he's dead."
Brushing his damp hair away from his face, Hermione cursed the thoughtlessness, the callousness of the other two and stalled until she could think of something more appropriate to say. "They didn't remember him like you did, Severus," she told him finally. "No matter what they said or thought about Lucius, you knew him as a friend, And you're allowed to mourn for him, no matter what."
His face twisted, but was quickly buried against her stomach as he arms went around her like steel bands. He clung tightly to her while his shoulders shook, and Hermione held him just as fiercely. While he would likely not remember this dream any more than he had his previous ones, what comfort she could not give in reality she was determined to give his subconscious.
"They weren't wrong, though," Severus argued against Hermione's belly a long time later. "He was bad."
"Maybe he was," she agreed. "But you'll always have the memories of him. Memories can't hurt you."
"Sometimes they can," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Not the good ones."
That got a wordless, noncommittal sound from him, but his grip finally loosened enough to let him look up at her. At least, mostly at her. His gaze kept falling in the middle ground, somewhere around the level of the neckline of her robes.
"Are you real?" he asked suddenly.
"I'm as real as you need me to be," she told him, both curious and apprehensive as to what he might have meant by that question. "For as long as you need me to be."
Her response only got a smirk from Severus, a silly, exhausted, that's-leaving-yourself-wide-open smirk, before he closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into her embrace, leaving sexual innuendo aside in favor of her comfort.