Author's note: Hi this story was posted under another screen name emie554, for whatever reason my acct was deleted. I am reposting the story, however it may be slightly different. This story is rated M for adult themes and situations. There will not be graphic sexual scenes here at it you want to read the story with these scenes it will be posted at ashwinder(dot)sycophanthex(dot)com/viewstory.php?sid10385 Chapters that have adult content will be clearly labelled. Thanks for taking the time to read my story, please spare a moment and review.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, oh how I wish I did and I could have my way with him and so many other ickle characters. Alas, I am poor and pathetically obsessed with the world of Harry Potter so I only can write about him.

"Perhaps kind heaven in mercy dealt the blow,

Some saving truth my roving soul to teach,

To wean my heart from grov'lling views below,

And point out bliss beyond misfortune's reach."

SHAW.


As the plump colourful figure of Molly Weasley shut the bedroom door behind her, tears sprang from Hermione's eyes. All Hermione had in the world sat on the strange bed that was not her own. She couldn't see her parents, but yet she felt safe for the first time in two weeks. She cried at the conflicting emotions and let it out.

It had been a long two weeks since the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts; the war had progressed to such a point where her parents had been placed under a Fidelius Charm, and not knowing if she would ever be able to see them again was weighing on her mind heavily. How could a world that held so much wonder, also produce so much pain due to the ignorance of bigotry.

Bigotry of someone's blood was no excuse. For if purity of blood was the holy grail of their beliefs, how could the followers of Voldemort not see the fallacy of the situation. How could blood be so important, to those that would follow a half-blood? Was it just an excuse to cause pain on a world they did not understand? Was there some past wrong they thought allowed them to ignore the humanity that every human should feel?

The bigotry they were taught in childhood, if maintained, could even end their own magical world. There were fewer than seventy-five "true pure-blooded" families left, and intermarriage had led to birth defects and squibs at a rate that was alarming. How could you promote such a policy that would be the end of not only your line, but possibly your world? Could men like Malfoy and Parkinson really want that for their children?

Now here she was stuck at Grimmauld Place, the house that had become a virtual prison for Sirius Black, now a prison for her as well, and it had her dwelling in thought. The thought of being in such a dour dark place, when she should be enjoying the summer holiday, the last before they left Hogwarts for their future, added to her sadness. What lay beyond the final year of learning? What would the war leave them? What friends would she lose as the battles raged on?

No answers were to be had; no certainties were available to her. The books she immersed herself in, could hold no peace, no answers for her now. Not for her and not for an average boy that was destined to save the wizarding world, or die trying.

She cried for the unfairness of a world that could place all of their hope on an emotionally fragile boy, someone that knew all too well the pain of war. The same war that tore from him his parents and godfather that took his childhood away by demanding him to complete tasks that would have broken most grown men.

She cried for the unfairness of a world that required a strong man to debase himself in front of a crazed leader to gleam a small amount of information, to help the war effort. A professor that had to risk the possibility of being tortured to try and atone for sins and choices made when he was but a boy.

She felt the pain of the world, which stole the innocence of school children, the pain they felt when realizing a friend would not be coming back to school, the pain of knowing their mum or dad would never tell them goodnight again. The children that would not be free, until the hate use was put aside.

The pain of choices made by the Ministry of Magic, which was supposed to protect them that instead hurt them. The very leader who denied the very existence of the threat until it was too late. Who was corrupt enough to let Galleons buy people out of justice.

She cried until she felt she could cry no longer, eyes red and puffy, throat sore, curled up on the bed in what was her room and prison.

She woke up hours later, still feeling the grief that she was sure would never end. Hermione felt a resolve enter her; to help those she loved most to have the strength to face the horrors ahead. What good would it do to fall apart? There was work to do.

Headmaster Dumbledore had asked her to assist in making an experimental potion, one that if developed correctly, would steal the magical strength of the evil megalomaniac that called himself Lord Voldemort.

She hoped that working with Professor Snape would in time lead to a friendship between them. The feelings of respect for his work had grown over the last year, the love of potions and of reading, which were dear to her own heart, had strengthened those beliefs even further. A belief that underneath the icy exterior was a man that was worth knowing.

She hoped the potion would be a success, so the man who risked his very life every day, to save the future of the world she had come to love, would finally know peace. The pain he felt showed, not in his expressionless face but in his fathomless eyes, eyes that were so mesmerizing you could lose yourself for days in their inky blackness.

But mostly she hoped for selfish reasons, from a need to see her parents, a wish to not know the pain of losing further friends, the joy of being able to see Harry enjoy a life outside of the war.

Placing her maudlin thoughts in the back of her mind, she wandered down to the kitchen to procure some breakfast. As she opened the kitchen door, she was surprised to see Professor Snape sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea.

"Professor, good morning. Would you care for a spot of breakfast?"

"No thank you, Miss Granger," Snape replied.

Walking over to the stove, she started to cook some eggs and sausages. "May I ask when we are to start working?" she asked.

"We will start when you are done eating."

"Do you have any notes that I may go over, I have not found much research done on potions of this type."

"That does not surprise me, very few people would want it known that they were trying to take the magic away from someone. I do have some research; however, the Dark Lord will pose a greater challenge due to the reptilian nature that is part of him."

"Sir, do you think that may be his downfall in this instance instead of an advantage? I mean maybe the interfusion a reptilian DNA into his own might have caused weakness that we could exploit?"

"Explain your theory?" he questioned.

"Well, sit, I did some reading into Muggle medical science and, well, DNA is a very delicate thing. Say you want to create a new plant; you splice the DNA and combine it basically in simple terms, to hopefully get the traits that you want the new plant to contain. But if the DNA is not compatible, if there is even the slightest error, then instead of creating the stronger more resistant plant that was your goal, you might have created a plant that in unstable, maybe weaker or even unable to sustain life. What if instead of making him stronger the reptilian part of him makes him weaker? Reptiles are cold blooded, how would the cold affect him? Would he grow tired, maybe even hibernate?"

"Slow down Miss Granger. These are all good questions, which may provide an avenue to research. Did you bring these DNA books with you? I would like to read more on this theory," he replied, amazed at the wealth of information her mind contained. It was a joy to teach someone who had a love for learning, and a shame that due to political circumstance, he could not openly encourage her.

Hermione had really grown into a beautiful, intelligent woman; it really was unfortunate that she had become a target for the Dark Lord, not only because of her friendship with Potter, but because of the fact that she was proof that the rhetoric he spouted was lies. Here was a Muggle-born student, top of her class, a pure talent not just of magic but of the intricate love of the art of potions. In all of his years of teaching, he had never seen a student with as much talent as the young woman in front of him. Maybe if this war ended this year and he managed to live, he would offer an apprenticeship.

He pulled his mind in quickly and stated, "We don't have all the time in the world. Let's get to work."

Hermione quickly placed her dishes in the sink and followed him to the potions lab. The lab was set up in the cellar of Grimmauld Place, and was a remarkable sight. It had everything she could ever want in a lab of her own. It was a bittersweet feeling to know that, here in her perfect room; they were plotting a way to kill a man.

Not that she didn't want to destroy him with her own hands; it just was a heavy feeling. The power that they to could wield to their advocacies, the destruction that could be caused by the knowledge if it fell in the wrong hands, hands like those they sought to destroy.

"I want you to start to read these notes. I will expect you to know this information thoroughly," Snape informed her.

"Yes Sir," Hermione replied.

Hermione read and Snape started brewing, falling into a working companionship easily.