"Hmm.

"Hmmmm.

"Ah."

"Really, Poppy. You're starting to sound like the Headmaster. Either that, or a bumblebee."

Poppy Pomfrey withdrew the small scope from Severus' left ear and fixed him with a stern glare. "Don't you get shirty with me, Severus Snape. After all the times I've put you back together, I'm not about to pat you on the head and send you toddling back to your dungeon just because you've cooked up some supposedly miraculous glop."

"I'm perfectly fine, woman. Leave off."

Poppy ignored him in favor of sticking her scope into his other ear, apparently attempting to see daylight on the other side. Given the rather firm grip she had on his earlobe, Severus was more inclined to behave whether he liked it or not. Thankfully only one student was currently in residence in the Hospital Wing, and the boy appeared to be sound asleep with the covers tucked up around his shoulders.

"I really don't understand what the fuss is, Poppy. I'm simply feeling better than usual lately."

"Feeling better, are you?" The mediwitch left his ears alone and began digging her cold, bony fingers into his throat and jaw. "I'd say you're feeling better. You haven't been this healthy since you were a boy. Swallow."

Obediently Severus swallowed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. So far, she'd performed five different diagnostic charms on him, thumped his chest, demanded he stick out his tongue, and poked him in places he hadn't realized were still ticklish. It was unseemly for a fifty-year-old man to skitter sideways on an exam table just because his mediwitch wanted to palpate his innards. All the while, her actions were accompanied by a monologue deriding his impetuous actions and lack of judgement.

"Of all the irresponsible behavior…testing an unknown potion all by yourself in that hole of a dungeon…you could have died down there and no one would have noticed for days. Heaven knows the children would never have volunteered the fact you were missing from class."

"I am a Potions Master, in case you'd forgotten. I knew what I was doing."

This earned him another harrumph. "As a Potions Master, you should have known better!" Poppy clucked her tongue and did her level best to make Severus feel like a First Year student again, but eventually stopped her poking and crossed her arms over her thin chest. "So – what's in this new miracle potion you've concocted?"

Severus told her, glossing over many of the details and all of the preparations. The older woman frowned thoughtfully and nodded several times, but did not interrupt. When he'd finished describing the purgative effects of the potion, she silently handed him back his shirt, which he donned with all due haste.

"It will be interesting to see you develop this, Severus, but I still think you were a damned fool to test it like that. You could have turned yourself inside out."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," he replied frostily. "I've already heard that opinion from more than one person."

"And I would be one of them, Severus," added a voice from the doorway as Albus Dumbledore entered the room.

"Really, Headmaster," Severus drawled. "It took you two days to notice the difference. I hardly think the situation merits such attention."

In his long, star-embroidered robes, Professor Dumbledore looked far too old to be chiding his employees like recalcitrant children, but he still managed it. "Perhaps if you joined the staff for meals more often, Professor, we might have taken notice sooner. How long has it been since you took it upon yourself to play guinea pig?"

Severus refused to be cowed. "A week, sir."

"And you've had no other recurrence of your illness?"

"None," he denied. "I've even indulged in a plate of fish and chips, without repercussions." In truth, he'd gleefully eaten two full helpings of the greasy food; something his stomach would never have withstood ten days earlier.

"No side effects whatsoever?" Poppy questioned sharply.

"None. Unless you count a sudden surge of randy dreams," he added blithely, taking an obscure satisfaction in the embarrassed huff his words elicited. Dumbledore chuckled into his beard, however, and the mediwitch stalked off, telling them she washed her hands of him and muttering under her breath about wizards who never grew up.

"It's wonderful to see you in such good health, Severus," the old man told him. "I've been worried about you, these last few years."

"I don't see why," Severus replied, buttoning his vest and retying his cravat. "I've had Braxdyce since I was a child."

"Yes, and you're one of the few children who survived to adulthood. Thanks, in no small part, to your dedication to your art. This potion – Phoenix Tears, did you call it? – will quite possibly save the lives of countless people who suffer from chronic diseases."

"Only from systemic failures or external trauma, Headmaster," Severus warned. "And not until after we have achieved our final goal."

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look over his half-moon glasses. "Are you saying you will not make this discovery public?"

Severus paused for a moment in the act of pulling on his frock coat. "I believe it would be prudent to delay a bit, Headmaster. This elixir is a powerful healing agent. It could make a very large difference on a battlefield, should one side possess it and the other not."

A heavy sigh answered this proposition, but Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I agree, although it pains me to do so. Your sudden improvement in health will not go unnoticed among certain parties, however."

"No, it won't," Severus agreed. "After all, my condition is – was – a well-known source of humor to those same parties. When I inform a particular individual that I have found a cure for Braxdyce, and go into significant detail as to my discovery, I can guarantee that all listeners' eyes will glaze over in very short order. I'll be lucky if I escape a hexing for boring him with my twaddle."

"That sounds like an excellent approach, my boy. Trust a Slytherin to fool another Slytherin with the truth." Professor Dumbledore's rusty chuckle was a bit more robust that usual, and Severus should have caught that warning signal. As it was, he did not become suspicious until his supervisor encircled his shoulders with one arm, directing him to walk down the hall with him.

"Since you're feeling so much better, Severus, I have a small task I'd like you to take on." The Headmaster beamed at him, and a sudden apprehension shot through him. He glanced down at the older man's encompassing limb with something close to alarm.

"Actually, Headmaster, I do have several duties I have neglected--" the Potion Master protested, only to be cut off.

"Nonsense, my boy," Professor Dumbledore assured him. "It won't take more than an afternoon. Perhaps into the evening, but no more than that."

&&&&&

"I've received a wedding invitation," Severus told Hermione that evening, his voice more suitable for announcing a death. "Normally I would not even bother to owl my refusal, but in consideration of the Headmaster's prior commitment, it seems I will attend."

"Really?" Hermione replied absently, most of her attention on the hippogriff talon she was reducing to a fine powder. Severus routinely shared a weekend dinner with his godson, and occasionally shared some of the tidbits with her. It seemed possible that Draco had finally settled on one of the parade of witches he courted and regaled his Godfather with, but surely he would be a bit more enthusiastic about attending Draco's wedding. "Anyone important?"

"Ronald Weasley," was the clipped answer.

"You're joking. Ron – getting married? Is he mad? He's only just gotten out of Auror school!"

Severus gave her a long, measured look. "He is twenty-seven, Hermione. A tad young, from my point of view, but not that unusual."

Hermione paused her grating, the utensils in her hand drifting towards the table as she stared at him, incredulous. "What year is this?"

"Two thousand eight, and close your mouth. It's very unattractive to see the bookcase through the back of your tongue."

Completely flummoxed, Hermione left her worktable and drifted over to the empty chair, where she settled absently, a blank, pensive look on her translucent features. Severus let her gaze off into space for several moments while she came to terms with the previously unnoticed passing of time.

"Do you think Harry will be his best man?" she asked finally.

"As certain as the sun rises and bread falls butter side down," he answered crisply. "Those two are as thick as thieves and not nearly as discreet. While I'm officially representing the Headmaster at this wedding, the Dark Lord will – theoretically – appreciate any report I would make regarding Potter and his friends."

"You should go," Hermione told him abruptly, focussing on him once more. "Enjoy yourself."

Severus gave her a look of patent disbelief. "What could possibly make you think I'd find anything enjoyable about a wedding?"

"I don't know. A lot of people meet their future spouses at weddings."

"I bed your pardon?" Snape now stared at her as though he feared she'd gone mad.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, you can never tell. Maybe some lady will catch your eye. When's the last time you spent any time socializing with a pretty young witch?"

"Listen to me, Nanny Granger," he sneered. "My grandmother has been dead for decades, and the last thing I need is someone else tutting over my social life."

"Or lack thereof," Hermione shot back dryly. It took every ounce of fortitude Hermione had to maintain a light-hearted tone while she advised Severus Snape to find a woman.

The last thing she wanted was to give up her relationship with Severus, but a week of being drawn repeatedly into his dreams, both erotic and mundane, had only served to clarify just how impossible the situation was. He was human, alive, and only fifty. With his returned health, he had quite possibly a century or more ahead of him to find happiness, and someone to share it with. Someone who could share his entire life with him, not just potter about with his potions and a few snatched moments of intimacy while he was unconscious. Despite his grumbling, she knew he'd be better off with a real – living – woman.

"Seriously, Professor, you shouldn't hang around a dungeon with old, dead people. Get out and live a little."

"Old, dead people," he scoffed. "I'm older than you are, I'll have you know. You're what, 26 now?"

"Twenty-seven, same as Ron," she reminded him. "Although technically, I should have stopped counting at seventeen."

"Urgh," he replied succinctly. "To be eternally seventeen – I can't imagine a hell worse than remaining seventeen forever."

She shot him a glower, which he returned.

"You don't look seventeen, you know, and you certainly don't act that way. Nor did you when you actually were seventeen, as I recall."

"I had my moments," she confessed. "Being a ghost changes your perspectives quite a bit."

"So I'd imagine."

He said nothing else, but watched her pensively for so long that she finally blurted out "What?"

His voice was soft as he shook his head, and then answered. "One of my greatest regrets is your death, Hermione. I would have liked to see what you turned out to be. As much as I ridiculed Minerva, I must admit you had a great deal of promise."

"The world goes on without me, Professor Snape."

"Would you not call me that? Your help – your friendship – has become something of value to me, these last few years, Hermione. I regret many things, but more than that I wish I'd done so many things differently. If I had cultivated your talent for potions when you were a student, it's possible you would have realized the danger that afternoon… Odd, isn't it, that my closest confidante is someone I was responsible for killing?"

Hermione had no answer to that; she could not speak at all. In all the time she had known Severus Snape, his layers of black robes and frock coat were incidental to the layers of sarcasm and temperament. To see him thus, dressed in his preferred working attire of white shirt and black trousers, and to hear such plain, genuine honesty was almost more than she could bear.

Severus did not seem to expect an answer. He smiled slightly, more a wry lift of the corner of his mouth, before going back to preparing the lesson plans spread across his desk.

Although she knew she was staring, Hermione could not tear her eyes away from Severus. He was doing nothing more exotic than calculating an order for the coming year, seated at his desk, but a sudden burst of otherworldly clarity allowed her to see the man for all that he was and all that he had been. Tormented child and tormenting professor, Death Eater and penitent sinner, all forged together to form the man she loved. This was the man who had tried desperately to resuscitate his dying student, the same man who wept silently and alone at the foot of her funeral bier.

The man she would have to let go, if he were to have any chance of a real life.

&&&&&

"How many times do we have to go through this?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt was exasperated, and it showed in the way he rubbed his broad hands over his baldpate, adding even more wrinkles to the ebony skin over his nearly non-existent eyebrows. The other members of the Order all shifted diffidently in their seats, reluctant to make eye contact with each other. The regular meetings had become too regular of late, all reporting bad news and progress reports that showed little progress.

"I understand your frustration, Kingsley, but we cannot afford to do anything rash at this juncture. Our forces are spread too thin as it is."

"With all due respect, Headmaster, we're always spread too thin. My Aurors are called out once or twice a week to deal with Death Eater activities. If we're lucky, it's just to clean up the evidence, and not deal with dead bodies. The Ministry talks a good game, but they're gie weak on the follow through."

"The Ministry has quite enough to deal with now, Kingsley," warned Arthur Weasley, who looked chagrined to be defending his employers. "I'm not a supporter of Fudge, or his policies, but the recent upsurge of Purebloods in the Ministry requires him to step very carefully when it comes to making changes. One foot wrong and he'll be out of office before you can say 'whoops.' And then there's no telling who will be in power after that."

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't," added Tonks, tugging on her (for now) bright green locks.

"This arguing is getting us nowhere," growled Moody from the corner. His wooden ball at the end of his false leg rattled across the floorboards as he turned to stare at Tonks and Shacklebolt both. They were at opposite ends of the Room of Requirement, but with his rolling magic eye he managed it quite well. "We've been at this for nearly twelve years now, and we're no closer to defeating Voldemort than we ever were."

"It's hard to hunt someone when you don't know where they are," Shacklebolt pointed out tersely. "And Snape here can't tell us where he's going to be."

"If we had a way to track Snape when he's summoned," Harry began, only to be cut off by his superior.

"I've told you before, Potter, I'm not sending a squad of men in blind after a bunch of Death Eaters. Without knowing the lay of the land or some intelligence on their possible escape routes, we would either be committing suicide or allowing all of them to get away. I'm not taking that chance."

Harry slumped back in his chair, dejected.

Strategy was never his strong point, Hermione reflected fondly as she perched in her usual place on the back of Harry's chair. He was absolutely unparalleled when it came to actual combat, and he had a knack for getting his fellow Aurors out of tight spots when the battle plans went completely in the toilet, but he was hopeless at the pre-planning stage.

"Is there anyplace Voldemort does return to?" she asked aloud, cutting through the disgruntled rumbling among the Order members. "I mean, I doubt he goes back to Godric's Hollow on Halloween every year for memory's sake, but surely he repeats once in a while?"

She had directed her comments to the crowd at large, but her question truly was for Severus. Eyes turned to the man, and he steepled his fingers together as he thought.

"Occasionally," he replied at last. "There's an old, deserted abbey in the Wye river valley in Wales.1 It's been deserted for centuries. He has summoned us there on more than one occasion, but not recently. The ruined Norman fort in Wilshire. It's a local Muggle historical site, and it suites his sense of humor to use it. And I can recall an old roman amphitheatre in Caerleon." He shook his head, frowning. "Those are truly the only places I remember being used more than twice in the last dozen years."

A dejected sound came from Tonks as she let out a disappointed breath, but Harry remained intent on Professor Snape's information.

"Those could at least give us a place to start. My teams can check each of those sites out, and get a feel for the place."

"Somehow," drawled Severus, "I think even the Muggles will notice a pack of Aurors trooping all over a Registered Historical Site, not to mention word is sure to get back to those we'd least like to hear."

"Don't worry so much, Professor," Harry assured him with a grin. "We know what we're doing. A single team goes in, dressed in Muggle clothing, and play tourist all over the place. They put their memories in a Pensive and the others train from there. It's been done before."

"It has the added benefit of keeping those locations a secret," added Moody. "The trainees can see what's what without knowing exactly where those locations are. Keeps the leaks to a minimum."

"It's a waste of time," protested Hestia Jones. The passing years had not been kind to her, and she bore deep crow's feet around her eyes and her dark hair had several shades of gray streaking through it. "It could be another year before You-Know-Who decides to use one of those places again."

"And sitting around here with our thumbs up our arses isn't?" Harry shot back.

Before the rest of the group could wade in with their own objections and opinions, Dumbledore raised his hands and quieted the rising voices.

"It is a sound notion, and we will include it along with all our other plans," he told them in a voice that brooked no opposition. "If we have even a chance of catching Voldemort when he least expects it, it could make the difference between victory and utter defeat. We are all aware of how long this struggle has gone on, and how much more we have yet to endure before this nightmare is over.

Now," he continued, when the rest of the Order had settled again, "you have all been given the briefing on this potion Severus has perfected."

"It's hardly perfected, Headmaster," the Potion Master protested. "There are still a variety of subtle variations that need clarifying before it's even close to acceptable."

"Nonsense, Severus," protested Arthur Weasley, whose glasses were perched atop his balding head, making him look even more scatter-brained than usual. "It's amazing stuff, really. Wish I'd had some when that beastly snake bit me, that one time."

"One of my men was hit by a flaying hex last week," Kingsley Shacklebolt mentioned. "My medic tells me he would have died if I hadn't had that sample on me."

Severus put on the sourest face he had, though Hermione knew he did it only to keep from seeming pleased at the compliments.

"When can we get more of this stuff?" Harry asked. "It has a lot of potential for saving our Aurors when they tangle with Death Eaters."

"I'll be glad to make it in bucketloads, Potter, as soon as you find me a solid gold bathtub and a meteorite the size of your overly-inflated head," Severus sneered. He caught a look of disapproval from Hermione, but Harry merely grinned at him. The sour look returned as Severus realized he'd completely lost the ability to intimidate his former students.

"We're still working on refining the formula," Severus confessed. "I am saving each successful batch, and more samples will be distributed among the Aurors and other members of the Order who most need it. Unfortunately we are, as Mr. Potter pointed out, quite limited in quantity. The cauldron I must use will only produce a pint at a time, and certain supplies are rather limited. Additionally, we have no idea how long the potion will remain effective, though preliminary results are optimistic."

"Any contribution you can make is appreciated," the Headmaster told him. "Now, let us turn our attention to the latest Ministry employees. Arthur, what can you tell us?"

The focus of the meeting turned, then, and Hermione also turned her attention to the intelligence provided by those Ministry employees in the Order who suspected their coworkers of being Death Eater sympathizers.

Another hour passed before the meeting broke up at last. Many took their leave in the same circumspect manner they arrived, although with the summer break there were very few eyes around to notice them leaving. Some lingered to have private discussions with the Headmaster that were not part of the general Order business. Severus Snape gave Hermione a questioning glance, to which she nodded in an affirmative after indicating Harry Potter with a subtle tilt of her head.

Harry made a show of stretching his now better than six-foot frame, groaning as muscles extended after several hours of being trapped in an over-stuffed chair. "How's things, Hermione?" he asked as he flopped down in the same seat, this time with one long leg slung over the arm of the chair.

"Oh, same as usual, Harry. Peeves is still obnoxious, the students are still exploding cauldrons in Potions, and the inter-house rivalry is as fierce as ever."

Bright green eyes followed her as she perched on nothing within easy conversation distance from his chair. He grinned, as if appreciating the things she could do. "Ron and I missed you at his wedding, you know. Did you get the pictures I sent?"

"I did, thank you. Where did he meet Moira, anyway?"

"Chasing dragons with Charlie," Harry told her with a snort. "Ron went out to visit him, about a year ago. Moira was an intern at the reservation, but one season was enough for her. She told Ron his brother was barking, and Ron couldn't really argue with her, seeing as how he'd gotten bit by a hatching just the day before."

"Is he happy?" she asked, her voice cracking suddenly.

"Yes, I think he is. I know he's not really kept in touch with you, Hermione. I think… well, it doesn't matter."

"No, tell me," Hermione insisted. "You think what?"

The look in Harry's eyes turned grave and serious. "I honestly think Ron was still a little bit in love with you when you died, Hermione. It was bad enough, you being friends with him after you two broke up, but add your death on top of that…Ron seemed fine, those last few weeks before we graduated, but once we were away from here I think he realized that you were really, truly out of his reach, forever. It was like you died all over again. And now that he's found his true love, it's just too hard for him to keep you in his heart as anything but a memory."

"I think I can understand that," Hermione replied slowly. "It was a bit of a shock when Severus told me Ron was getting married. He had to let go, eventually. I'm just sorry it was so painful for him. I'm glad he's finally found someone to make him happy."

"Oh, he's happy, all right," Harry told her with a chuckle. "Even more than you'd guess – he just told me Moira's expecting."

"What?" She let out a peal of laughter. "He didn't waste any time, did he? Heaven knows, Molly will be counting on her fingers when that baby's born."

"She's not the only one. His brothers are all marking their calendars, and Draco Malfoy's been almost sick with having to keep his mouth shut."

"Draco? What's he got to do with Ron and Moira?"

"You haven't heard?" A gleeful sparkle returned to Harry's eyes. "He's been dating Ginny."

"Malfoy? And Ginny? That's impossible!"

"That's what we all thought. Apparently, Malfoy was at some Ministry affair last fall. Molly Weasley couldn't go with Arthur for some reason, so he brought Ginny with him instead.

"They started arguing over something trivial, and kept it up all through the dinner. Molly was appalled when she heard about it, but Malfoy must have enjoyed it, because he showed up the next opportunity he had. They've been bickering ever since."

"Either Ginny is insane, or Draco Malfoy really has changed," Hermione observed.

"Well, he still has an attitude about Muggleborns, but Ginny may be bringing him around. Ron nearly chokes every time he has to sit at family dinners with him, and I can barely stand to be in the same in the same room with him. But Gin threatened to hex all three of us if we don't behave. Nobody's bled yet," Harry added cheerfully, "but we've managed to pull a few jinxes on each other when she's out of the room."

"Draco actually sits down with the Weasleys for dinner? At the Burrow?" Hermione was nearly speechless with shock.

Harry held his hand over his heart. "Wizard's honor. Didn't open his mouth unless it was to put food in it. And he seems sincere in his courting. He even gave Ginny a gob of money when she was fund-raising for that orphanage she's helping to run."

"I did wonder what Ginny was going to do after school," Hermione confessed. "I think she'd be good at that – she's got Molly for an example when it comes to providing for a lot of children on a shoestring budget."

"I know for a fact she's not entirely fooled by Draco Malfoy's charms," Harry added. "I heard her make him a promise one evening. Said if she ever found the Dark Mark on him, she'd make him think Crucio was a tickling charm."

"Good for her. She might actually be what Draco needs. He's been a bit lost since his father died, and she's as levelheaded and no-nonsense as they come. He may have started dating her for the sake of appearance, I doubt he'd have kept it up, let alone visit the Burrow, if he weren't serious."

"How do you know what Malfoy needs?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "He talks to Severus now and then. He's Severus' godson."

"Severus, is it?"

"I haunt his classroom, Harry," she told him patiently. "We had to come to a truce or else it would have gotten very ugly."

"I can see that," he admitted. "I also saw you two making eyes at each other."

"Harry!" Hermione cast about for something to throw, but didn't see anything.

Laughing, Harry held up his hands in surrender. "Only kidding, Hermione. It was just interesting, watching you doing the silent shorthand with the old bat. You two worked together on this potion, didn't you?"

"It was truly a collaboration, Harry. It was completely brilliant."

"I'll say it's brilliant. I wouldn't have expected anything else from you, you know."

A slight silver blush grew on her gray cheeks, but she smiled at her old friend. "Now all Severus and I have to do is perfect it."

"That shouldn't take you long," Harry told her in a light-hearted voice. "Then you can work on that polarity thing. Kingsley and Moody have come up with a few interesting variations on some high-level hexes."

"Sorry, Harry. I haven't given it much thought lately. Without a wand, I can't cast any spells."

"You can't use one?"

She shook her head. "Real wands burn my hand, and when I make one materialize," and she demonstrated, pulling a translucent wand from her sleeve with a frown of concentration, "it doesn't do diddle. I think I'm just at the wrong end of the magical spectrum to perform the kind of magic that can be channeled through a wand."

"Hmm. Well, maybe once this war is over, we'll all have the time to work on it. I think you'd be magnificent."

Hermione smiled at her friend fondly, but after a moment she detected a faint shadow in his green eyes. "What's wrong, Harry?"

He waved away her concern. "Oh, just thinking. About you, and Ron."

For a moment she thought he might have been jealous of Ron's happiness, having started a family when Harry had always craved just that, but his next words dispelled that thought.

"I always figured it would be the three of us, you know? You, me, and Ron, facing down Voldemort at the very end." He laced his fingers over his stomach, settling down into the chair a little deeper. "I've already decided not to ask Ron to be there, when that day comes. If I have my way, he won't even know about the battle until it's all over." His messy black hair, in need of a haircut as usual, riffled over the back of the chair as he tilted his gaze up to meet hers. "I just wish you were able to be there with me, Hermione."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione told him. "If there were any way I could be there, I would. But I'm anchored here at Hogwarts. I can't go any further than a few miles in any direction."

"I know. I asked," he responded. "But I know you'll always be in my heart, Hermione."2

"And you in mine, Harry. I love you, you mad idiot."

His smile was lopsided, but warm and sincere. "You too, you daft cow."

&&&&&

Since the night he had personally tested the potion that had so dramatically improved his health, Severus had also noticed some other improvements. His body, no longer fed a steady diet of stimulants, demanded regular and more than negligible amounts of sleep. He was no longer able to spend half the night stirring and experimenting in his private lab, since staying awake past midnight more than a few nights in a row left him with headaches and the unbearable urge to crawl into bed and spend ten hours at a stretch there. It also left him with a ghost who nagged at him endlessly.

If he noticed that Hermione had changed her own hours to suit his, he did not comment, but retired to his rooms as soon after dinner as could be considered acceptable by his employer. Some nights he was able to squeeze in a full four hours of work before being sent off to bed; he argued out of principle but was finally forced to accept the wisdom of pacing himself. Severus had no idea whether it was the potion itself or the regular schedule of rest that made his working hours so productive, but he could not deny that his mind was sharper and his leaps of logic more accurate as he slaved to understand and perfect the Phoenix Tears potion.

The one thing he could not quite fathom, though, was the subtle sense that something was missing, or rather not quite right, with the hours that he spent in the lab. His personal haunt was present, as always, and although it ran against his instincts to acknowledge, even to himself, that he enjoyed her company, he was honest enough to admit that he did. Many years had passed since he had worked beside another Potions Master, and while Hermione was not a master and, technically, incapable of becoming one, he put her skills above anyone he'd ever dealt with save the Master Alchemist himself, Albus Dumbledore.

As Severus watched her prepare yet another trial of their breakthrough formula, his thoughts returned once more to the night she'd told him to go out and find a young witch to court. In not so many words, Hermione had indicated she thought he should find company other than her own with which to spend his time. He wasn't sure if that was for his sake or for hers, though she'd given him no indication that she was bored with his companionship.

Once or twice he had noticed a witch during his infrequent forays to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. He was always wary in crowds, and was usually aware when he caught a female's eye. They had never been worth pursuing, in his opinion, since their appeal was superficial and waned rapidly after a few minutes of conversation with them. The one and only benefit the ladies could provide was just as easily ahem handled in the privacy of his bath. Other than relieving his recently revived libido, he had everything he needed at Hogwarts.

Something nagged at his jumbled thoughts, and he frowned as he retraced his mental path. What was it? Companionship. Perhaps that was the right word, he mused, his attention only half on the notes in front of him. A comely witch was good for what she was good for, and not much else. He'd long since grown tired of giggling witches and the games associated with courting them. Hell, even his godson had apparently given up light skirts and free kisses for something a little more down to earth.

A snort escaped him without his realizing it, causing Hermione to glance up at him, but he shook his head and she returned to her task. Ginevra Weasley, youngest child and only daughter of Arthur and Molly Weasley, was the most sensible witch he'd ever seen come through Hogwarts. Second most, he amended, glancing once more at his lab partner. Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger were very similar, he decided.

Like Ginny, Hermione was sensible, and pragmatic, an excellent sounding board, and certainly better than talking to himself. That alone made her more than enough companionship for anyone. And if he were indeed lucky enough to survive the final battle between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter, Severus could easily imagine spending the next several decades exactly as he had the last – forcing the subject of potions between the ears of dense students by day and puttering around his lab by night.

No sooner had he finally put order to the random, swirling thoughts in his head, the squat clock on the desk began to chime the hour. In all his woolgathering, midnight had crept up and announced itself with a slightly off-tone brass chime.

"Don't worry about that, Hermione," he called out, forestalling her reach towards another bag of roots. "The students will be arriving next week, and those will make an excellent detention."

"Already counting your next victims?" she asked lightly, even as she began to clear up her workstation. "Are you sure they'll do it right?"

"They'll bloody well better, or they'll have their next detention with Filch," he told her. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight," she answered without looking up.

Alone in Snape's private laboratory, Hermione put her things away and tried to decide why she was in such a funk this evening. Her 'day' had begun early, as requested by the new Muggle Studies Professor, who was as qualified as most of the subject's teachers were – which was to say, not very. She'd spent hours explaining the workings of a blender and a mobile phone to the teacher, without even mentioning the theory of electricity to the hopeless little man. She was successful, however, in convincing Professor Wilmington that a 'magic fingers' bed was not an appropriate display item for schoolchildren.

By the time she'd taken her turn to patrol the corridors of the school, it was already after ten o'clock. When she'd finally joined Severus in his lab, they'd barely spoken to each other, both going about their tasks with little need to converse.

While they often worked side by side quietly, tonight had been different for some reason and she was at a loss to explain why. Severus had been working on his papers, in the vague idea that he might someday be able to publish a dissertation on the Phoenix Tears. Usually, however, he asked for her input on certain passages as he wrote, and then read back the final product. Tonight, he'd written less than a page and had looked at her often when he thought she wasn't aware of it. Hermione did not possess a stomach any longer, but she was very nearly queasy with anxiety.

If Severus ever suspected her of violating the privacy of his dreaming mind, his furious reaction would make all his other rages pale by comparison. The hollow yearning that overtook her several times a month, however, could only be assuaged when she followed the silent call to a dungeon room inhabited by that same sleeping, dreaming man. Those dreams followed no predictable pattern, but varied between nightmares, erotic fantasies, and run of the mill, meaningless mental wanderings without purpose or significance. One incident had even involved Severus as an old man, wandering Hogwarts like an odd rendition of Albus Dumbledore, with the students addressing him as Headmaster. It was possible Severus would be promoted to that office at some time in the distant future – as long as he had never personally taught any of the Ministry officials or Board of Governors who might vote on his election to that post.

Amused despite her mood, Hermione let out a snort of laughter. The thought of Severus Snape presiding over a Leaving Feast and being required to award a House Cup to Gryffindor was a mental image worth preserving. She chuckled as she racked her last tools and put brushed the scraps into a bin, then flew over to the single remaining candle. The flame went out quickly as she brushed her cold, phantom hand over the top of the wick.

No sooner had she left the dungeons, intent on returning to the small nook at the top of the stairs where she retreated for privacy, than she felt the tenuous, whispering call against her mind. It wasn't a voice, per se, so much as a feather-light touch on her temples. No words or images were present, just a faint inkling that she was wanted somewhere.

It was no secret that Severus was able to summon Hermione from anywhere in the castle by calling her name aloud, but she did not know if he had realized it was not his voice but his unwitting use of Legilimency that drew her to him. It was this same ability that allowed his sleeping self to reach out to her, telling her she was wanted in a way that would appall his conscious mind.

For long moments, she resisted. Sometimes, he would give up, or his dreams would end as he slid into a deeper, dreamless sleep. The call continued, however, actually growing stronger, and with a sigh Hermione turned and streaked back towards the dungeons, regretting both her weakness and her delay in equal measures.

When she found his dreamscape, Severus was standing before her in his usual dark trousers, vest, and white shirt, a frown on his face. "I looked everywhere for you. I couldn't find you," he said, sounding confused and forlorn.

Hermione twisted her fingers in the pleats of her (for now) pale green dress. "I'm sorry," she replied at last. "I was delayed." The candor of his emotions always required a bit of adjustment when she joined his dreams, but that openness was one of the parts that most appealing.

"Well, let's get going, shall we?" he asked abruptly. One angular elbow was extended, and Hermione took it, bemused.

They were on a quest, apparently, and the landscape around them became lush and green. The grasses and wildflowers were rampant, although the sunlight was strange and pale, and the sky nearly indecipherable. A small basket appeared on his other arm, complete with shears and a damp cloth to wrap around fresh-cut greenery to keep it from wilting.

It was one of those dreams, Hermione decided a short while later. She watched as Severus combed through the meadow grasses on his hands and knees, only to dash to another site and drop to his knees once more. One of those vexing, endless quests for something you cannot find, no matter how hard you searched. She remembered vividly a recurring dream of her own, of digging frantically through her book-bag for a quill and never finding one, all the while the teacher droned on and on about something very important that was guaranteed to be on the next test.

Severus' movements were becoming more and more desperate, and a dew of perspiration appeared on his forehead as Hermione tagged along after him in this twilight meadow. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep up with his frantic pace, and finally she reached out and dragged his collection basket from his arm.

Snape lunged for it, but she danced out of his way. "What are you looking for?" she demanded.

"None of your business," he snapped, making another grab for the wicker handle.

"Tell me. I might be able to help."

A ferocious scowl crossed his face. "I need four-leafed clovers. I can never find them, and I need them for … for…" The scowl faltered as he tried to remember.

"No worries," Hermione told him lightly. Four-leaf clovers were nearly useless in potions work, but if that was what he needed, she would help him find them. "I think I saw some over here," she fibbed, concentrating on the indistinct edges of their dream reality. "See that little hollow just beyond the patch of Maiden Pinks there?"

Severus impatiently brushed the stray hair from his eyes and peered at the ground she indicated. "What of it?"

"It's full of clovers," she told him in a voice that brooked no argument. "See? Go look. There's scads of them, just waiting for you."

As predicted, the little hollow was full of absurdly robust clover, nearly all of which were four-leafed. With a glad "Aha!" Severus dropped to his knees and began to snip neat handfuls, placing them meticulously in the basket. Hermione was happy to fold her legs under her and sit amongst the wildflowers, simply observing the graceful movement of the man regardless of the circumstances.

Once the basket was full, he meticulously folded the damp cloth around the greenery. Hermione struggled not to laugh aloud as the expression on his face turned almost smug with satisfaction. The look he turned on her was just as smug, and grew even more so when he reached out a casual arm and pulled her towards him. She did giggle, then, until his mouth stopped hers with a kiss that was as warm as the sunlight should have been, and sweeter than it had any right to be.

"I can't stay, Severus. Not here, not like this," she protested, but his arms were too strong to fight against, and her own traitorous body was weak as it pushed against him.

His lips moved down the column of her throat, his deep voice murmuring against pleasure points that sent shivers up and down her body. "You said you'd be here when I needed you."

"When did I say that?" she managed to ask. Coherent speech was becoming an effort.

"Before," was all the answer she got before he claimed her mouth and kissed her thoroughly. His lips were warm and seeking, and her self-control was at an all-time low before Hermione was able to disentangle his arms from around her. Severus let out a frustrated groan as he fell back onto the crushed wildflowers, the petulant expression on his face more suitable to a Seventh Year boy.

"I do love you, Severus," she told him, even as she sat back on her heels, putting more distance between their bodies.

Somber black eyes stared straight at her, and for a moment she wondered who, exactly, she was in his dreams. Was she Hermione Granger, the student who died? Or Miss Granger, the Gryffindor ghost? She even considered, though it did nothing for her ego, that he might see her as a woman from his past or a nameless conglomeration of all the women he'd ever known. She could only be sure when he called her by name, and that did not happen with any reassuring consistency.

"I know you do," he replied soberly. She half-expected a demand that she demonstrate her affection, but to her surprise he reached out and captured one of her hands with a strong, comforting grip. "I care for you as well," he told her. "Just stay with me. That's all I ask."

Hermione nodded, and allowed him to draw her down beside him. His shoulder was lean and, in all honesty, a bit knobby, but it was still a fine pillow for her head as he gathered her next to his body and began to elaborate on the properties of four-leaf clovers.

After a while, he shifted his hold on her. Shortly after that, he began to press soft kisses against her face and neck, all the while still going on and on with interesting tidbits about the flora around them. Eventually, the kisses became longer while the talk became shorter, and when he ceased speaking at all, she did not push him away but instead welcomed him with open arms.

&&&&&

The school year started yet again, with a new crop of First Years who seemed even younger than ever to Hermione. She made friends with many of them, even the Slytherins who seemed eternally wary of all around them and associated with no one from the other houses. Her old favorites sought her out, asking how her summer had gone, and she was regaled with endless stories of family trips, sibling rivalry, and far too often references to the nearly invisible war Dumbledore sought so hard to keep away from the gates of Hogwarts.

The first signs of fall were putting a snap in the air just before dawn one morning when Snape finally returned from a summons that had caught him in mid-review of the first wave of homework assignments. As usual, Hermione waited down the hallway from the Headmaster's office, hoping to see him with her own eyes after his usual report to Dumbledore.

Eventually, just as the horizon began to glow pink through the tall mullioned windows that ran along one side of the passageway, the stone gargoyle ground around and disgorged a familiar figure still swathed in a flowing black cape. His fatigue was evident in the measured step of his black boots, but he did not hesitate as he strode along the galley towards the windows where Hermione waited.

"The Dark Lord is marshalling his forces at last," he said by way of greeting. "The date is set. 22 September."

"Are you certain?" she asked, surprised. "Not that I doubt you, but the timing seems odd. I would have thought he'd go with the traditional Halloween, rather than so soon after the school year has begun."

"There's no mistake, Hermione. The Dark Lord was absolutely clear in his orders, and he has obviously been planning this for some time. All the Death Eaters in the Ministry are ordered to create as much confusion in their various departments as possible between now and the twenty-second of September."

"Hang on. That's Mabon, isn't it?"

Severus nodded grimly. "Exactly. All symbolism aside3, a large majority of the older generation will be celebrating in one form or another. Additionally he expects Dumbledore to be absorbed with the usual chaos of a new school year."

"Then we have nineteen – no, eighteen days," she mused, falling into step with Severus as he walked along the windows. "What are you expected to do?"

"I have been ordered to brew poisons," he admitted with distaste. "Every Death Eater will need to be armed with vials of poison when they go into battle that night. I was not given the battle plan, but the Headmaster believes many of the top ranking Ministry officials will be the target of assassination that night."

"What are you planning?"

He surprised her with a rakish grin she'd seldom seen outside his dreams. "I'm strongly considering the Knightime Knockout drops. The true version, not your variation. That way anyone hit with them will be incapacitated, but not killed outright."

"That actually appeals to my warped sense of justice," Hermione told him with an answering grin. "It's too bad you can't booby-trap them, to go off when they're about to be used."

A black eyebrow rose in sardonic amusement. "How very Slytherin of you, Hermione. I'll discuss it with Flitwick – perhaps the glass can be charmed to vaporize when held in a warm hand, or the stopper dissolve or some such." He yawned suddenly, and grimaced in irritation. "Damn it all. You'd think my improved health would let me get along on less sleep, but I actually need more these days. And there's bugger all chance I'll get any sleep before my first class."

"I doubt it," Hermione told him, indicating the window with a nod of her head. "Sunrise already."

They both paused to look out over the sloping lawns of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest beyond, where the early morning sun was putting a razor sharp edge on every leaf and blade of grass.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Hermione commented softly. As usual, the dawning light filled her with a languid serenity. Beside her, Severus Snape gave out a huff of disdain, although he was visibly reluctant to look away from the glorious array of colors on the horizon.

"Don't be so sentimental, Miss Granger. The sun comes up every day, day in and day out."

"Are you sure?" she teased back.

"As sure as there are papers to grade and potions to make," he replied. "I dare not let the dunderheads slag off, even considering the vast amount of work that remains on the Phoenix Tears and the need for several hundred vials of Knockout drops. Will you be available to assist me on that?"

"Of course," she answered, surprised that he'd doubted it. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Severus' shoulder shifted under the black cloak he still wore. "I thought you might object to working on that particular potion," he admitted.

Knowing better than to comment on his thoughtfulness, Hermione shrugged instead. "I'll be down to help you in any way I can, Professor. Whatever you need me to do, I'll do."

The half smile on Severus' face stilled, his dark brows frowning slightly.

"Whatever…" he repeated, his focus suddenly elsewhere. His long fingers came up to rub at his temple. "What…"

A dark foreboding blossomed in Hermione's heart, and she hesitated, perhaps just one fraction of a moment too long, before she made an attempt to distract him. "You really ought to change out of those robes before the students start roaming the halls," she told him, forcing her voice into a cheerfulness she did not feel.

She might as well have said nothing; he paid no heed to her words. All his attention was on the tendril of memory that had been uncovered, and with a stubborn tenacity he pulled out of the depths of his mind and into the light.

"I've heard that before," he murmured, his voice confused and uncertain. Hermione remained absolutely still, unable to flee this moment despite all the instincts that screamed at her to escape the inevitable wrath to follow.

"A dream I had – a dream…more than once," the man mumbled. He stilled, almost motionless, before his black eyes slowly rose to meet hers, full of horror and accusation and worst of all, betrayal.

"Your voice," he declared, his voice hardening. "You, telling me that. You've been in my dreams – haven't you?"

Hermione shook her head, not in denial but in an endeavor to placate him. "Severus – I only…"

The reaction was worse than she had even imagined. His upper lip curled with pure fury, and his voice was a deadly hiss, rising quickly to an explosion of rage. "How DARE you?! How DARE you put yourself where you're not wanted? I should have known better. You and Potter, you're just the same! I should have known! I should never have trusted you!"

"You can trust me," she protested. "I never meant you any harm…"

"The motto of fools and bungler everywhere!" he shouted. "I thought it was the potion, giving me these ideas! I should have known it was some well-meaning, artless fumbling of an imbecile Gryffindor! Oh, let's take pity on poor, pathetic Professor Snape!"

"I'm not—I didn't!" she protested quickly. "I was merely there. They're your dreams. I cannot change them."

"Don't LIE to me!" he thundered. "You're very good at changing reality, or the perception of it. How do I know you're not in my mind, changing things?! Telling me I have control – of all the absurd, asinine tripe to peddle! You must have laughed yourself sick at the irony of it all!"

Before she could refute, he plowed on, spouting accusations with a viciousness Hermione could scarcely comprehend. "Did you have some other plan in mind, Miss Granger? Plant some ideas in my head? Make me fall in love with you, like some pathetic schoolboy? Or was there another plot – something you cooked up with the Headmaster, because he doesn't really trust me?"

Hermione had always known this moment was coming, but nothing had ever prepared her for the savagery of his response. Even as she argued, she knew he was not likely to believe her. "It's your mind! I can't change anything! I only suggested to you what they could be."

She held out one hand in entreaty, but Severus took a step backwards, putting the window at his back, nearly crouching as he held her at bay. "I don't believe you, Granger. You betrayed me. Betrayed my trust in you, and all because you cannot bear to leave well enough alone." His voice dropped into a seething bitterness, as cutting and spiteful as anything she'd ever experienced from him. "Cannot even death teach you to curb that damnable curiosity of yours?"

Hermione drew herself up, tamping down her anguish and distress until it wrapped her in a shield of shattered dignity. "I dared because you called me," she told him. "I tried to stay way, but you called out to me, in your sleep."

"More lies!" he spat out.

"No – the truth. Your Legilimency reaches out when you have a nightmare. I can hear it."

He sneered, but his fury seemed to pause. "And then what?"

"I can join your dreams – make them focus," she confessed. "Make them more realistic. But your mind directs them, not mine. And it's not all the time – just when you call out to me."

"You must stop," he ordered flatly, pulling his cloak around him. His simmering, barely controlled anger turning arctic in the curt, sharp tone of his voice. "Don't you ever invade my privacy again."

"I tried," Hermione told him. Even without a corporeal body, her throat was thickening with suppressed tears. "But you were in so much pain, Professor. I only…"

Severus cut her off with an abrupt sweep of his hand. "I don't ever want you to do it again, do you understand? NEVER!" His shout echoed down the hallway.

"I was trying to help you!"

"Help me?" he repeated, incredulous. The glass pane behind him cracked suddenly, and a wave of nauseatingly hot magic swept out of him.

"No one bloody asked for your help! I didn't ask you to meddle in my business! I didn't ask you to take an interest in my work! And I damned well didn't ask you to spend eternity in my bloody classroom!"

She stared at him for a moment, hardly able to believe the vehemence of his words, but there was nothing in his eyes to make her doubt or give her hope. Flat, black, and cruel, his gaze held nothing but contempt and cold hatred and pure, unrelenting fury that beat against her much like the waves of hostile magic emanating from his body.

Something inside of Hermione crumbled at that moment, gone before she could even begin to grasp its significance. In its wake, it left only despair, and an emptiness that surely would have killed her, had she been mortal. A split second later, she was a streak of gray bursting through the stone ceiling above the Potions Master and leaving behind only a chilly gust of wind in her wake.

Author's note: A huge thank you to my beta, Nancy, who helped me make this much better.

1 Tintern Abbey in Wales. Here's the link – just take out the spaces. http: www . castlewales . com / tintern . html. The Norman Fort in Wilshire is called "Old Sarum."
2 I know it's a cheesy line, but dang it, it fits!
3 Mabon is a Celtic holiday that has several reputed sources, including a Welsh god who is King of the Otherworld and the God of Darkness. Another associated Mabon myth involves a Welsh God Gwyn Ap Nuad, which means "white son of darkness". He is seen as the God of war and death, the patron God of fallen warriors. I can see Voldemort adopting that symbolism easily.