Reviews, yay! I was originally waiting to finish this chapter sometime next week, but decided to put it up earlier cos of you guys; so here you go, a slightly longer and somewhat tedious chapter.

Ghost of Allknowing, blackiebrens, Nore, Wembricken, BadBoyLover, Natsuyori, green and silver – thank you so much )

Akalei – thanks, I'll be doing that!

Dark One – you flatter me too much, and yes, I was wondering what Hermione would say in a situation like that, thanks though!

ShadowMoony – I can't promise you anything, but I will say that I'm planning an angsty ending!

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"There, you got what you've wished for," Ron said out of the corner of his mouth as they exited the room.

"I didn't wish for anything, Ron," Hermione said crossly. "Don't be ridiculous."

He managed to remain quiet for about five seconds before starting again. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't been thinking of a way to get information about that stupid spell."

But Hermione's attention wasn't on their daily banter anymore; it was on what Dumbledore had said. Had the old wizard finally lost his marbles? What Befuddlement Draughts had been fed to him, she wondered, to make him contemplate sending three teenagers to face Lord Voldemort? Stupid spell, indeed. And what had he meant by 'training' anyway? She dreaded the answer, but all the same…

"Ow… wha-" Harry started as she stopped abruptly, causing both boys to knock into her. She paid no heed though, and started to turn back, fully intending on confronting Dumbledore about the whole sorry situation. But there was a tightening around her arm, and she was led back towards the kitchen, where merry laughter and snitches of conversations trickled through. "Don't be daft, Hermione, if Dumbledore didn't want to answer, then he won't answer. It'd be best to wait until he explains himself."

She shot a glare at the tall, dark-haired boy, but it was parried only with a steady green gaze.

Finally, with a haughty little huff, she relented, "Oh, alright, I suppose if anyone knows him, you do. It doesn't mean I'm happy about it though." She stomped towards the kitchen and shoved the door open with an unnecessary amount of force that garnered many surprised stares.

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Two weeks later found Severus Snape behind his desk, which was bearing the brunt of his students' rather dismal works. However, the professor's attention wasn't on the essays, and his quill was not moving in rapid strokes to rectify the many mistakes they had made. He found that, instead of steps on how to prepare a Draft of Peace, a pair of wide, vivid brown eyes had somehow surfaced in his brain, teasing the edges of his conscience tantalisingly, daring him to snatch it and store it in the precious few memories he found memorable enough to dwell on.

His quill fell abruptly from his fist, and pale fingers rose to rub at aching temples. It must've been the fire whiskey he'd had earlier. A knock caused him to look up sharply, and he steadied himself for a second and picked up his quill before saying, "Enter."

The heavy door swung tentatively open, and a head of bushy curls peeked into the room. Mentally, he gave a start, for he had forgotten about his appointment with Hermione Granger.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger." He swiftly recovered from this mild surprise, though, and his severe features tilted in a curt nod at one of the desks. "Have a seat."

She chose one of the chairs nearest to him, and settled comfortably onto it, folding her hands primly on the desks and training her avid gaze onto him. So much of those bright eyes reminded him of… well, himself, if anyone could believe so. Himself before the Dark Lord's rise to power, himself as a bright student, greedy only for knowledge and not for power. Not yet, anyhow.

Hastily he averted his gaze from hers to stare dourly at the tornado of words in front of him. Dear gods, the least these children could have done was to learn and write properly.

The pile in front of him diminished steadily, and Hermione sat still and unquestioning, until he had at last finished marking the papers. He was, frankly, put off by her quietness. She hadn't earned the reputation of Hogwarts' resident know-it-all for nothing, after all. He wouldn't be surprised if this was the longest time she had went without talking when sitting in a room with someone else. Of course, it could have made a difference that that someone else was him. He wasn't exactly seen as a great conversationalist one would go to when wanting to discuss Arithmancy theories or hold idle chitchat with.

"You're early, Miss Granger."

He looked at the ornate clock that hung over the chalkboard. She was nearly half an hour early.

"Better early than late, sir."

"I trust that the Headmaster has designated a time to discuss with you the details of his scheme?"

Scheme, indeed. He'd wondered many a time of the wise old wizard's intents, for no one in his right mind would send those three nuisances to defeat the greatest, most terrifying presence ever to be introduced to magical history. He would not put so much faith in a bunch of prophecies and predictions, Hogwarts itself housed a Divination 'professor' that provided enough proof to certify that the subject was rubbish.

Perhaps that would be the reason why he wasn't occupying Albus Dumbledore's shoes, he thought with a cynical little curl of his lips.

"No, sir."

"No?"

She shook her head to confirm the fact. Trust Dumbledore to leave all the dirty work to him. He sighed once again and resumed the massaging of his temples in a vain attempt to tame his growing headache. "Tell me, Miss Granger, are you truly comfortable with the arrangements?"

After approximately two minutes had passed and there was no response, the Potions master focussed his carefully inscrutable gaze on the girl. She seemed taken aback at his inquiry, her eyebrows were knitted in a delicate little frown and she was nibbling away at her bottom lip in what he assumed was bemusement.

"Well, girl? Kneazle got your tongue?"

"I, um– well, I honestly haven't thought about it much."

"I suppose that in itself must have been a feat for you, Miss Granger." he retorted almost without thought as he tidied the essays and slipped them into a drawer, studying the girl subtly from where he was perched. She was bristling with barely concealed indignation; that much he could fathom. He leaned back on his seat to observe her properly now, waiting her out.

After about five minutes of tense silence, Hermione spoke at last.

"Professor, I was wondering… what exactly will we be training for?"

His head shot up, and he trained glittering dark eyes on her for daring to speak without his permission. His headache throbbed worst than ever now, and he stood to stride silently towards one of the many shelves on the walls to pick out a deep blue concoction. He brewed a batch at the end of every month so that he'd have a steady supply for his never-ending bouts of headache. After downing the potion in one go and disposing the container in a bucket he kept for such purposes, he started to speak, keeping an eye on the clock whilst he did so.

"You will all be learning individually, not one of you will train for the same purposes. To extent of my knowledge, Professor McGonagall shall be refining Weasley's shielding skills, if he possesses any at all; and Potter, of course, will be working on the… banishing spell with Lupin. Now, I, Miss Granger, will be honing your hexing ability and most probably, the spell that will weaken the Dark Lord's defences."

"Is it – is it finished, that spell?"

He looked down at the fresh-faced girl from his position before her, her soft features – and those bright hazel eyes – were turned up to look at him properly, for he had drifted forward until he was almost touching the desk which she sat behind. He wondered if he should acknowledge her questions at all, or waste his time conjuring a satisfying enough answer that would not reveal as much to the trio. Perhaps to be on the safe side, he'd keep to the barest minimum of words.

"Certain aspects of it, yes. Now," he glanced once again at the ticking clock, which was a rather Muggle-like contraception, with the usual two hands and twelve numbers on its face. A wisp of a voice drifted through his mind, idly questioning if it was for practical purposes, or only a diversion from that probing, expectant gaze. "The Headmaster will be expecting us."

He turned precisely to the dormant fireplace and grasped a handful of glittering powder from a small, wooden bowl on the mantel. "You are familiar with Floo powder, I suppose?"

"Of course I am," she said, striding to his side and sinking her hand into the grains defiantly. A whisper of a touch brushed by his face – her hair, he realised. There was an odd tightness in his chest, which gave a small leap when something brushed against his hand. He turned almost instinctively to glare at the culprit…Hermione Granger, in this instance. She herself gave a little flinch, and he noted the way the porcelain skin on her slender neck convulsed as she swallowed, whether from fear or nervousness, he did not know.

But of course, why would anyone want to touch a nasty, greasy old Potions professor if they could help it? He thought sourly as he stepped back and snapped moodily at her, "Well? Get on with it, then. I don't have all day, you know."

He thought he saw a flash of something – anger, or maybe…hurt? No, of course not – in those doe-like eyes, but it disappeared quickly as she stepped forward and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace. Great licking flames of emerald hissed and sparked into life at that, and Hermione stepped in and said clearly, "The Headmaster's office."

Nothing happened for a second, then the roaring fire embraced her and she was gone. The room was once again cold and silent. And empty without her, a little voice whispered in his head. The vision of that bold stare of hers as it met his a millisecond before she was Flooed away stayed stubbornly in his mind; he leaned against the fireplace, relishing the cold, metallic surface against the planes of his face, a slap of reality that roused him from those oh so alluring eyes. It was nothing. He had only been lonely for too long and was grasping at any a being who dared to come near him. It was a phase. It would pass. It must.

With a shaky sigh he opened his palm to let the Floo powder filter through his grip, watching as they trickled onto the hearth and burst into green flames. He stepped in and echoing Hermione's earlier actions stated his destination. There was a familiar jerk behind the region of his navel, and a dizzying spin before the fireplace spat him out, this time in a cheerily lit room.

"Severus, how nice of you to join us at last," Dumbledore boomed..

He said not a word of greeting in return to Dumbledore as he sank into the seat between McGonagall and Hermione. Everyone, including Lupin, was here. He made a little reminder to himself to ask Dumbledore how he was transporting the werewolf to and from the castle.

"My sincerest apologies for my abrupt departure at our first meeting," the Headmaster started, bushy brows rising as he surveyed the trio over steepled fingers, his clear blue eyes as always twinkling merrily. "You have been provided explanations on your training, yes?"

Everyone was silent, which Dumbledore took for a yes. He nodded to himself and leaned back, adjusting his lopsided hat, purple today to match his robes.

Harry, however, cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. He tugged at his scarlet and gold tie anxiously. "Professor Dumbledore, I wanted to know if to destroy Voldemort –" Ron gave a nervous twitch at this. "- I would have to use the… the Killing Curse?"

So, the boy wasn't as naive as Snape had originally thought him.

"But that would be illegal!" Hermione exclaimed, her features arranged in an incredulous frown.

"That would be the least of our worries, Miss Granger." Dumbledore said gently, his tone suddenly much graver. "And I'm sorry to say that yes, Harry, you will have to, since no other curse has been unearthed that will slay another with such effectiveness."

The boy looked troubled now, and Snape felt a twinge of pity despite himself. If he had, at that age, been saddled with the weight of murder on his mind… well, he had actually experienced such a thing during his Deatheater days, and it ate away at his conscience even now, every single hour of every single day. He was surprised to say that it bothered him that Dumbledore was going to willingly condemn Harry to the very same fate, knowing what it would do, that it would haunt his every move in the future, that even in sleep he would dream of death and terror that even the strongest of dreamless sleep draughts couldn't stop, until the day that he himself died.

"I expect, by summer, that you will all be well versed in your roles." Dumbledore started again, looking at them all over his half moon glasses. "All of you must be familiar with various hexes, of course; Harry with the Avada Kedavra spell, for obvious reasons; Ron with your shields, so that you may protect your friends whilst they launch their attacks; and last but not least, Hermione, with the weakening spell. We have, I am pleased to announce, established that it will be in the form of a spell, since we have found no other solution to get near enough to Lord Voldemort to feed him a potion. I will speak to you and Severus about it later. Now, Harry," he smiled at the boy, who was ruffling his unkempt black hair in distress. "You will be spending your first session with me, although Minerva will also be present."

Harry nodded to show that he understood. "That's tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, tomorrow. Are there any misunderstandings that need to be cleared, then?"

"Er," Ron volunteered, and Dumbledore nodded at him encouragingly. "Well, I was wondering… if the spell thingy needs to use a love between two people, then why is Hermione the only one who has to learn it?"

"Ah, a good question." The tips of Ron's ears turned red at that. "The spell requires two whilst in use, of course, but only one has to familiarize himself with the activation of the spell. Hermione has shown talent in her spell work, as with every other subject, so she would naturally be the best choice; now you, Mr Weasley, are more gifted with Defence Against Dark Arts, and thus would be the likelier candidate for brandishing shields."

"But why can't Aurors like Tonks or Mad-Eye Moody do it?" Hermione blurted, then immediately flushed when she realised what she had said and hastily explained, "I'm not saying that you aren't good, Ron, it's only a question."

"Yeah, I understand," the lanky teenager mumbled, the blush now reaching his cheeks.

Dumbledore fished a lemon drop from the folds of his robes and popped one into his mouth before saying, "They will be there for your protection, as will I."

Now that their curiosity was satisfied, the boys seemed anxious to leave and mull over their thoughts in silence. Dumbledore picked up on this and stood. "The meeting will end here. Remember, Harry, eight 'o clock tomorrow." He tapped his rather crooked nose and waved his wand so that the office door swung open.

Hermione, too, stood to leave, and Severus almost reached out a hand to stop her before thinking better of it. He instead settled for purring, "Miss Granger, I believe that the Headmaster has requested that you stay behind."

"Oh," she looked flustered; a strand of hair had escaped her braid to hang hinderingly over her face, and Snape had to quell the sudden urge to brush it away. Honestly, what had gotten over him?

Dumbledore returned after a moment, holding a long, thin box which seemed to be clothed in black leather.

"This is the wand you'll be using, Hermione," he said as he drew the cover away.

Snape had seen it before. He had been one of the people who had made it, after all, so he didn't quite feel as astounded as Hermione looked, although he couldn't quite fathom why.

"A problem, Miss Granger?" he inquired silkily.

She shut her mouth hastily and lowered her gaze for a moment before looking up, directly into his eyes. "Well, it only looks so… plain."

"And what did you expect, dandelions adorning the hilt while bunnies hop gaily along the length of it?"

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, although he couldn't stop the gentle chuckle that left his lips. He retrieved a bag of lemon drops and offered one to each of them (they both declined) before taking one himself.

Snape shifted restlessly, he had never quite mastered Dumbledore's patience, even after so many years of working alongside the man. "Headmaster, is this about the binding?"

To be frank, the binding ritual had troubled him ever since he learned the Hermione would be the sole bearer of the weakening spell's power, even though he knew that it was safe as ever, doubts couldn't help gnawing at his conscience.

"Why, yes, it is in fact. You read my mind, Severus. I was thinking, perhaps it should commence now. After all, it would forward our progress tremendously."

Not for the first time, Snape wondered if the Headmaster wasn't so blinded by his aspirations to get rid of the Dark Lord once and for all that he was putting aside the students' safety; it had grown almost to be an obsession for the wizard after so many years of darkness and turmoil, not to mention when Voldemort had foiled him so many times. He imagined it must've been very frustrating for Dumbledore to have the Dark Lord so within his reach, yet just barely out of his grip all of the time. And now, here, a chance had been presented right under his nose after many years of research and experiments… why would he care if three innocent bystanders were injured in the process? But… no, that wasn't like Dumbledore. The welfare of students was always first and foremost in the Headmaster's mind, it wouldn't change now... he was only grasping at straws. He forced himself to nod.

"And Hermione has the weekend to recover, if it should sap her strength too much," Dumbledore continued, although he didn't sound nearly as confident right now. Snape had a sneaking suspicion that it was only to reassure himself, and not Hermione. "I have everything set up, Severus. Would you mind doing the honors, though? I'm afraid my frail old hands would not do nearly as well as yours."

Snape wanted to spit 'nonsense' at the old wizard, but held himself back from doing so and merely nodded. He stood to trail after him, sparing a glance for a bemused Hermione. They headed for a little, unnoticeable door at the back of the office, which opened into a bare, white, windowless room. It was the size of a broom cupboard and very dim save for a ringlet of candles set in the center.

"What is this?" Hermione finally asked from behind them. The little tremor in her voice weakened his resolve to be cold and clinical, and as he turned to shut the door, he led her to a corner to explain the proceedings while Dumbledore conjured four clear glass dishes and set them in precise corners just outside the circle that formed a square.

"This, Miss Granger, is a ritual that will bind your aura to the wand that the Headmaster displayed earlier. That is why he designated a specific wand for you to use, it was built for this spell, and this spell only." He could tell from the sudden light her expression took that she wanted to know more about the formulas and reasoning behind this, and cut her off abruptly. "Now, all you will have to do is sit still in the middle, don't tell me you can't even manage that."

She frowned, but nodded all the same. "Of course I can. Anything else?"

He hesitated when her gaze never wavered from his, a rare occurrence where he was concerned. What on earth was motivating him to strip her of this blessed innocence?

He steeled himself and turned to observe Dumbledore, who was now filling the dishes. "Have faith in me, Granger. That's all."

His throat suddenly felt parched and dry, like someone had vacuumed all the moisture from it, and swallowed to try and rid himself of the feeling. She didn't answer, of course she didn't, and he hadn't expected her to. You wanted her to, said that irritating, tinny voice in his head. No, of course didn't want her to. No one in their right mind would trust him after all.

When Dumbledore had at last finished pouring various elements into the dishes (sand, water, fire and an empty one, for air) Snape lifted his wand and murmured a little charm that exchanged her common robes for pure white ones. "Come, now."

He made to step forward, but almost toppled over in shock when a small, delicate hand slipped into his. His hand twitched at the unfamiliar sensation of someone actually touching it before closing instinctively over hers. He stood very still, and then looked down at her. Hermione was already staring back, her expression so serene that it made his heart ache.

"I do, you know," she whispered, giving him a flicker of a smile before starting towards the circle.

A dull sort of burning sensation filled his throat at that; Merlin help him, the emotions this girl could stir, the things she did. It made what he was about to do all that much harder. Before he could reply, though, Dumbledore came bustling over, giving only a passing glance at their adjoined hands before waving Hermione off. "To the middle, Miss Granger."

"Headmaster, are you certain…?"

"Yes, Severus, it's all for the best." he said firmly. "Now, I have denied myself sleep last night to craft this," he held out a crumpled piece of parchment. "Read it during the spell, it will serve to strengthen it. You remember clearly what you have to do?"

"I'm not some incompetent dunderhead, you know." said Snape. He ran through the carefully inked words, which were in Latin and couldn't be translated immediately, much to his chagrin. "No last words, Dumbledore?"

"None, my dear friend, except to be careful with the girl."

"That, I will."

The Headmaster smiled and patted him on the shoulder before retreating to the corner and lifting his hand as an indication for him to start. He couldn't help being fond of the old fool, even if he disagreed with his decisions at times.

Snape turned with parchment in hand, his mind on the exact order of things he had to do; but they promptly flew out of his head at the lovely sight that greeted him. Hermione, as instructed, was kneeling in the middle of the circle in the simple white dress he had fabricated for her, her normally wildly bushy hair tamed into a braid right down her back, her eyes closed and the candles casting an unearthly glow about her. Damn Albus Dumbledore. Why did he have to torture him so? No, he mustn't think of such things, he couldn't for a spell as intricate as this… he closed his eyes to clear his mind of all emotion, envisioning all his bottled up feelings sliding away from him like an icy blanket.

After casting a purifying charm on himself, Snape stepped into the ring of candles with a heavy heart. He stood behind her, a bottle that contained clear, transparent liquid floating along behind him, the result of a levitating spell. He had brewed it personally for this spell, and knew the biting sensation on one's skin when it was applied. Oh, if he had known… but no, no thoughts, Snape, no emotions.

He took a deep, deep breath, then raised his wand and rolled his wrist in a complicated little twirl. The fire from the candles turned blue. He then hissed 'Wingardium Leviosa' so that the parchment Dumbledore had handed him floated at eye-level.

"Now, Miss Granger, however much… discomforted you are, you must not utter a sound, nor make a movement."

His lips pressed into a thin line of concentration, and he read the words before him in a low, lilting voice – it was quite a bit different compared to the usual, silky tone he employed. He rested his hands on her shoulders, and when finished reciting the first two lines, unsealed the bottle to pour it down her back. There was a subtle shiver along her spine, he could see the delicate texture of her skin rising in goose bumps but emptied the thought the moment it had penetrated his mind. He read the next four lines, and then lifted his hands to fish the wand from his robes. It was, as she had observed earlier, nothing special, but the wood was subtly finer so as to increase chances of absorption, and it was hollowed in the middle. He kneeled too, although still behind her, and had time to note that her head came just up to his chin before he pressed the wand firmly to her wand arm. He knew the effort she went to not to gasp at that, for the potion had, along with its original function, increased the sensitivity of her skin. He continued muttering along all this, feeling the rise of magical energy in the room, knowing it to be Hermione's. He could sense that it was draining her of her powers, of her aura, to be more precise, but pressed the wand even more firmly against her skin. The hollow was slowly filling now with a rainbow tinged substance that shimmered gently… almost… any time now. When there was only half an inch or so left to fill, Snape took a small, intricately carved blade from beside him. He couldn't falter now, or the whole thing would be ruined. Swiftly he brought it to her arm and sank it into the unblemished silkiness of her skin. He himself would have cried out when it bit into the flesh, sullying the milkiness with droplets of pure red, but she needed his concentration right now; he needed to concentrate right now. Her blood seeped into the wand, and he was so intent on counting how many drops filled it that he didn't notice when the blade shot up of its own accord and plunged into his arm. What…?! He flinched and turned his arm up so that it wouldn't spoil the spell, but nevertheless five precise droplets fell into the wand, matching the number required from Hermione. Was it ruined, now? He'd have hell to pay with Dumbledore…He lifted it from her skin. The swell of magic in the room roared, as if put out that it had been denied from its source of power, before clashing into the buzzing, mundane level of energy.

The drugging sense of adrenaline in his veins gradually lessened, and Snape was about to turn and ask Dumbledore about it all when there was a sharp sigh… Hermione! He whirled back, still on his knees, just in time to catch her as she fell.