Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


Chapter 43

On Sunday, a rare moment of excitement and good cheer came in the form of the Quidditch final between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Traditionally held on the weekend before final exams, Dumbledore insisted the game be played despite the trials currently facing four of the key players in Harry, Malfoy, Ron and Ginny. It was, after all, their final year, and their last chance to compete for the Cup with their fellow housemates.

Undoubtedly, winning the match would be wonderful, but it wouldn't hold the same jubilation felt at such successes in their earlier years; it was more of a chance to escape reality for a few hours, to pretend they were carefree teenagers whose biggest concern was dropping the Quaffle or missing the Snitch and costing their team the match. It saddened Hermione that there were far greater problems for all of them now.

Packed into the stands with her fellow Gryffindors, Hermione's voice grew hoarse cheering her housemates. In the closest competition for fifty years, Gryffindor was one hundred and forty points ahead when Malfoy, in a spectacular move, snared the Snitch just ahead of Harry, giving Slytherin the victory by a mere ten points.

Ron shook hands with Malfoy at the end of the match, prompting the rest of his team to do the same, and Hermione found herself far less disappointed at losing to Slytherin than she had been in previous years.

Harry's opinion on the matter became clear later that night, when Severus offered his commiserations in front of Hermione and Dumbledore. Hermione looked uneasily between the two men, wondering whether Harry would take the almost-sincere words at face value.

"No matter," Harry said after eyeing the older man warily for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. "I've got another match coming up that I'd much rather win."


The week the seventh-year students took their NEWT exams was a strange time for Snape. After weeks of endless meetings, brewing, time spent with Hermione and working with Draco and Potter, he was suddenly left with very little to do at all. Further experimentation with the Wolfsbane Potion at this stage was pointless - who knew whether there would be another opportunity to use it? His other research had fallen by the wayside in the last six months, and he couldn't seem to concentrate enough to pick it up again at the present time. The nagging thought echoed in the back of his mind that there may not be another opportunity to use that, either.

He saw very little of Hermione in between her practicals, theory exams and last-minute revision. When he did see her, it was only for a short time in the evenings, and she was usually too exhausted to participate in anything more than a quiet conversation, regaling him with brief details of that day's exams before retreating to her own room to sleep.

Spending so much time alone, he was growing restless, as he had during the first weeks of his confinement. He remembered his own NEWTs well, though, and occupied himself as best he could; the exams were both physically and emotionally draining at the best of times, and with the added worry of the approaching Monday, it was no wonder the Head Boy and Girl both seemed near breaking point.

During the time the students were undertaking their Potions practical, Snape found himself pacing back and forth across his sitting room, unable to concentrate on any one task for more than a few minutes. He was slightly bemused at his anxiousness; teachers never attended the strictly-controlled Ministry examinations… though, to be fair, he had never particularly cared for their outcomes in the past, either. Those who were worthy of success would do well on their own merit, and those had been few and far between in his time as a teacher. He wanted Hermione to do well, though… more than well. He knew she was capable of brewing anything a NEWT level Potions exam could throw at her, even though she lacked the natural instinct to know what ingredients may or may not successfully modify a potion. Still, experimentation in the field of potions was a dangerous thing, and not learnt until well beyond NEWT level. He was confident it was something she could learn later, if she chose such a path.

It was following those thoughts that he realised, startled, after all the time he had spent with her, they had never talked about what she planned to do beyond Hogwarts. It was unthinkable that she wouldn't go on to further study of some sort. He knew she enjoyed Potions, was very good at Arithmancy and skilful at Charms, but there were an infinite number of careers one could follow with some or all of those competencies.

He felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't asked her about her plans thus far. It was the Head of House's job to take students through career counselling, of course, but only now he realised how little interest he had shown in her future beyond encouraging her to study sufficiently for the NEWTs.

Thinking back to all the students of his own House who Snape had guided in making decisions for later in life, he considered what McGonagall might have advised Hermione. The Head of Gryffindor would only want the best for her star student, of course, but it occurred to Snape that Hermione may not be attracted to the highest paying, most glamorous job. He liked to think he knew her reasonably well, and it seemed to Snape that facing a challenge and making a difference was more important to her than money or recognition. She had come a long way, he reflected with a wry smile, from the overeager first-year intent on proving her worth to the whole of Hogwarts and the wizarding world beyond.

Severus wondered if she might go to Europe, to one of the wizarding universities their home country sorely lacked. She would be accepted at almost any of them, no doubt. Or would she stay here and apprentice with a Master of her chosen field? Practical experience was as highly regarded as university study in most fields, but he knew from his time as a Head of House that Muggle parents often favoured their sons and daughters having a more traditional, Muggle-like education.

He wondered what would happen between them if she left the country… She had made it clear she had no intention of walking away from him… but it was a very different world out there. Would she change her mind?

He pushed that thought aside, recalling her reassurances to the contrary. Have some hope, she had said. He would try.

Lost in thought, the green flare of the Floo brought him back to awareness, and Hermione appeared, potions kit in hand, looking tired but happy.

"Well?" he enquired as she set the kit down on the coffee table. "How was it?"

"Difficult," she admitted. "Exhausting… but I think I might have done all right."

"Might have?" he echoed, folding his arms across his chest. "Explain."

Her mouth twitched slightly as she sat down, waiting until he sat as well before she spoke.

"My first two potions were exactly the colour and consistency they should have been. My third was almost right - I think it was a little on the green side of aqua, but I know it's better to add too much powdered bicorn horn than not enough."

"It sounds as though you may have done all right." He smirked, tossing her words back at her, and her face broke into a grin.

"How could I not, really?" she mused, resting her head against the back of the couch with a tired sigh. "I've spent more time making potions in the last six months than studying for all of my other subjects put together."

She yawned widely.

"I'm glad it's nearly over, though," she continued. "My head's just about ready to explode with all the information crammed into it."

"What do you have left?" he queried, mentally trying to add up all the exams she had taken so far. "Defence, isn't it?"

She nodded, stifling another yawn.

"The practical. Tomorrow morning, outside."

"Outside?" He frowned.

"Yeah, I remember one of the seventh-years saying last year that the Ministry usually sets up some sort of obstacle course in the Great Hall – a bit like Professor Lupin did it in my third year, only that was outside. Anyway, they've finally decided to move it outside for more space; Professor Dumbledore said the stones of the hall are temperamental about being magically expanded."

"Fascinating," he murmured, remembering the strange practical exam his own Defence NEWT had incorporated. Similar to Hermione's description of last year's exam, the Great Hall had been filled with a series of small, box-like rooms, each one leading on to the next. Entering the first room, one encountered a creature, a trap, or a carefully disguised Ministry official casting a specific spell at them. As one succeeded in overcoming each obstacle – subduing the creature, navigating past the trap or blocking the spell - they moved on to the next room, and the next, until finally reaching the end. Not completing the whole course didn't guarantee a failing grade, and it was a good thing, too. He had been one of very few to make it to the end. Then again, he knew more about Dark magic than most of the other students, and had become adept at defending himself from untoward attacks whilst at school. It was only weeks after that exam that he had taken the Dark Mark.

He wondered what the students would have to face this year. It would be good practice for what was to come, though the Ministry never used spells that were more than temporarily debilitating.

"An early night seems to be in order, then," he said a while later, catching her eye after she failed to suppress a wide yawn. "I daresay you'll need all your strength for tomorrow."

She nodded and rose from the couch; instead of going to the fireplace as he expected her to, though, she gestured for him to stand with her, and when he complied, she embraced him in a tight but quick hug.

"What was that for?" he asked, bemused, as she pulled away again.

"I miss you," she said simply, her face flushing slightly at the declaration. "I wish I could stay, and I probably could, but…"

"No." He shook his head. "One more day, one more exam." He paused. "May I look forward to your company tomorrow night?"

"I'd say so." Looking up at him, she added shyly, "Where else do you think I would be on my first night of freedom?"

"I thought perhaps you might want to celebrate with your friends," he suggested. "It's not every day one finishes their schooling."

"Well, we can't go to Hogsmeade, and freedom probably isn't quite the right word just yet. I'll save the real celebration with them until the graduation ceremony, when we all know if we've actually passed or not."

He barked out a short laugh.

"You still doubt yourself," he mused, shaking his head.

She was silent, and he studied her for a moment.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"Not really," she said slowly, suddenly looking anything but certain. "I just… I've never really done that well in Defence exams. My marks have been good, just not…"

"Not top of the class?" he suggested. She frowned, and he added quickly, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be the best, Hermione, as long as you realise no single person can be the best at everything."

"One would hope Harry will be the best at Defence," she joked tiredly. "I'll just be content not to do something ridiculous like I did in my third year exam."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly, trying to recall what he may have heard in the staff room that year.

Shamefaced, she explained, "I got tricked by a Boggart, of all things."

"Ah." He didn't smile; many a great witch or wizard had been tricked by the horror of their worst fear materialising before their eyes. Once, many years ago, he recalled a fellow Death Eater saying they would rather face a Dementor than a Boggart. At least then their fears could only be as terrible as reality.

"And your Boggart was?" he prompted.

"Professor McGonagall," she said, her cheeks reddening again. "She told me I had failed everything."

He couldn't help but laughing then, and she smiled sheepishly at his amusement. It was so like the younger Hermione to have been concerned by such a thing… and so unlike the Hermione before him now, he realised with a trace of sadness. If only the worst she had to worry about now could be something as trivial as schoolwork. He wondered what form her Boggart would take tomorrow if she were faced with the creature again…


Around one the following afternoon, Draco stopped by Snape's quarters with a big smile on his face, heralding the end of exams. He was pleased to see the boy smiling; the Head Boy had far too little joy in his life lately.

"Finished, finally!" he exclaimed, and then glanced around the room. "Where's Hermione?"

"Celebrating with her friends, I would expect," Snape said. "I haven't seen her yet, although I believe she will be here later this evening."

The Slytherin looked confused and opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. Snape frowned.

"Draco?"

The blonde shook his head.

"I just thought she'd have come to see you. I think her exam was a bit rough."

"Rough, how?" Snape stood up, a niggle of worry creeping into his mind. In his time as a teacher, he'd heard of more than one student hurt during their Defence NEWT practical… not badly, but nevertheless…

"Oh, she wasn't hurt," Draco said, sensing Snape's worry. "I saw her afterwards, though, and she looked pretty shaken up." He shivered. "Not that I blame her."

"It was a difficult test, then?" Snape surmised, his mind still on Hermione, though he didn't fail to notice the slight dullness to the Head Boy's tone, either. Perhaps it was just fatigue; it had been a hard week for all the seventh-years.

Draco nodded, dropping down into the vacant armchair with a heavy sigh He was quiet for some time, and Snape waited with a patience that belied his desire to find out exactly what Draco – and Hermione – had faced in their exam.

"It was like an obstacle course, of sorts," he began. "Hardly anyone finished it, though. The first part was pretty straightforward; stuff from first, second, third year. You could hear the spells and block them as soon as they were cast, and the creatures were nothing more than a pond full of Kappa and Hinkypunks – you had to wade across it. It got harder, though. I guess the idea was to progress through the years and see how far you got compared to how much you should have learnt."

Snape nodded.

"Of course, as far as the creatures went, they were pretty tame the whole way through. There were Red Caps and one of those horrid Screwts we dealt with in third year, but the Ministry couldn't exactly bring in a Dementor or a vampire or something just for the exam, couldn't they?" He laughed shortly. "The spells got a bit nasty, though, once it got to the non-verbal ones. The rooms – if you could call them that – were pitch black, so you didn't know what was coming at you or where it was coming from, and near the end there wasn't even time to cast a Lumos before the spell came at you."

Snape simply nodded again, refraining from reminding Draco no one in the real world would give their opponent time to cast a light spell, either.

"I got knocked flat by some sort of blasting spell that came from nowhere," he continued, "but I got up and kept going. The last part was…"

He trailed off and as Snape watched he saw a shudder run through the boy.

"Was what?" he prompted.

"It was a Boggart," Draco said, his voice flat. "I knew it wasn't real, and I managed to get past it eventually, but…" He shivered a second time. "…I don't want to see that again."

Snape was loath to ask what Draco's Boggart has been. That it had rattled the Head Boy so much was enough for Snape to know it hadn't been pleasant. Thinking back to his musing on the same creature the previous night, he enquired, "Is that what caught Hermione unawares?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted, pausing thoughtfully. At last, he continued, "It could have been, though, now you mention it. She was in there a while, so she must have got almost all the way through when her time ran out. I wonder what she saw?"

"Any number of the worst outcomes Monday might bring, I would imagine," he muttered, his worry at not yet having seen Hermione increasing another notch.

Draco paled.

"She wouldn't be the only one," he said quietly.

As Snape tried to think of an appropriate response, Draco stood up, brushing down his robes with deliberate slowness.

"I should go and join my housemates for a while before the Leaving Feast, I think," he said. "We are going home tomorrow, after all, and seven years is a long time."

"That it is," Snape agreed. "I hope, by the time the graduation ceremony arrives, that I will be able to farewell your housemates in person."

Draco departed, and Snape stood staring at the empty fireplace, deliberating whether it would be worth the risk of Floo calling Hermione in her room. She might not be there… but what if she was there with someone else? Someone other than Potter and the two Weasleys, the only students aside from Draco with the knowledge he was still alive.

Perhaps he could just throw some powder down and call out for her room, hoping she would notice the brief flare and attribute it to him?

His hand was reaching for the jar of Floo powder when the door leading in from the hidden passageway opened and Hermione stepped into the room. She hadn't been crying, but there was a fearful look in her eyes, above the dark circles of exhaustion, as though she was on the verge of breaking down.

"Hermione?"

She crossed to him without a word, stepping into his arms and resting her head against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist and rested his other hand on the back of her head. The ribbon holding her hair back had come loose, and he worked it completely free, allowing the soft curls to fall freely down her back. They were tangled, and her whole person held a slightly dishevelled look.

After what Draco had said earlier, and seeing the look on Hermione's face now, Snape was almost positive it was the Boggart that had caused her trouble. Her expression as she had moved towards him had been frightening… haunted.

Not knowing what else to do, he stood with her for what seemed like an eternity. Although he couldn't see her face, buried against his chest, she didn't seem to be crying, but every so often a tremor ran through her body beneath his hands.

Eventually he pulled away, her murmur of protest stopping him from releasing her completely. Hands resting gently on her shoulders, he finally offered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head fiercely, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm just glad it's over," she whispered hoarsely. "Now I can just forget about it."

With a sigh, he led her over to the couch and guided her to sit in the corner, releasing his hold on her to conjure a pot of tea and press one of the steaming cups into her hands. She clutched it tightly as he sat beside her, far enough away to give her space if she needed it, yet close enough that he could still reach out for her if the need arose.

"Draco stopped by earlier," he said conversationally. "He said it was a very difficult exam and that not many students were able to complete it."

She shook her head.

"I think I got further than most," she said. "I know I was near the end when… when I… ran out of time."

He nodded encouragingly as she took a sip of her tea. Despite what she had said before, it seemed she was willing to speak about it at her own pace. He didn't press her for details, instead simply waiting for her to continue in her own time.

"Did Malfoy tell you about the course?" she asked at length, and he nodded again. Looking relieved, she continued, "Only he and Harry finished, I think."

Snape raised his eyebrows. That Potter had completed the course was no surprise, nor Malfoy, who had been taught well by his father before he even arrived at the school. That no one else had managed to finish, though, was a surprise.

"You did remarkably well, then," he commented, "if you came so close to the end. According to Draco, the Boggart was the last challenge to overcome."

She looked up sharply.

"How did you know it was the Boggart that stopped me?"

"I didn't," he said, thankful his suspicion had been right. "Draco mentioned how long you spent in the course and that he had trouble with the last part, the Boggart. Coupled with your worry last night over facing the creature, it seemed a logical conclusion."

Hermione didn't answer, biting her lower lip as she stared across the room into the empty fireplace. Her eyes took on a glazed look as she seemed to be recalling what had happened. After a time, she snapped out of her reverie, leant forwards to set her teacup on the table, then sat back and began to speak.

"I knew I was getting near the end," she said. "I'd been in there for ages, but I'd got on all right so far. I closed the door behind me, and the whole room was dark except for the far corner… there was a light… shining down on a body." Her eyes took on the staring, haunted look they had held when she'd arrived. "I walked closer – I had to – the door was on the other side…"

She trailed off and took a deep breath.

"I knew it was a Boggart. It had to be," she continued, the slightest tremble detectable in her voice. "It was Harry… dead… but that wasn't right, because he hadn't done his exam yet. I could have stepped over him to get to the door, but I couldn't bring myself to do that, so I tried to cast Riddikulus… obviously not well enough, because instead of disappearing, it changed into Ron."

Snape reached out and gripped her hand, knowing how much even the idea of losing another Weasley would have affected her.

"I kept telling myself it wasn't real, but I had to get rid of him… rid of it… before I could go on. I spoke the spell and it changed again. It was Ginny this time… so I tried it again. My mum… then my dad…" She trailed off and withdrew her hand from his, moving closer and burrowing into his side as he placed one arm securely about her shoulders. When she spoke again, the tremor in her voice was more evident than ever.

"It couldn't be them, though. They're well-hidden, and besides, I would have known if something had happened to them. I closed my eyes and kept telling myself over and over again that it was just a Boggart, it wasn't real. It calmed me a bit, not seeing them, I thought I'd finally be able to get rid of it."

Snape held his breath, knowing full well she wouldn't be so upset now if she'd succeeded in banishing the creature at that stage. After the Boggart already having turned into most of her friends and her parents, he had an unpleasant feeling what was to come next…

"At the instant I cast the spell," she went on in a barely audible whisper, "I thought of you. I don't know where the thought came from, but it sensed it… it knew."

Snape exhaled the breath he had been holding and closed his eyes. It pained him to see her so upset, but there was a tiny part of him which was glad – not that she had been forced to see her worst fears, but that his death, along with those of her friends and family, was one of them. It was horribly selfish, and he hated himself for thinking such a thing, but it was, in a way, another confirmation of how much she loved him.

Tilting his head sideways, he saw her staring across the room blankly, tears welling up and threatening to spill down her cheeks. Realising he had no idea what words of comfort to offer her, he settled for tightening his arm around her shoulders and remaining silent.

"I lost it," she continued, turning her face into his chest, her breath warm through his shirt as she spoke. "I couldn't… I had to touch you. You were on your back, robes spread out beneath you. You could have been asleep if it wasn't for your eyes… wide open and d- dull. I knelt down and touched your hand… and then your face. You were so cold… so cold."

"It was just… just so real," she finished in barely a whisper, her voice catching.

Stunned and disturbed by such a vivid description of his own demise, Snape swallowed thickly, wondering if his own voice would be any steadier than hers when he finally thought of an appropriate response. Taking her hand from where it lay limply in her lap, Snape brought it up and pressed her palm flat against his breastbone, allowing her to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

"More real than this?" he questioned softly.

She bit back another sob and closed her eyes, shaking her head. A solitary tear slipped past her lashes, and he raised his hand to carefully wipe it away.

"They are a product of your fears, Hermione," he said firmly. "Not premonitions. They are in no way indicative of the future, only what you fear may come to pass."

"I know that," she said softly, opening her eyes again and looking up at him. "I do, really, but… it's just hard to be logical when everyone you care about is lying dead in front of you."

He winced at the blunt description, but couldn't disagree, knowing even with his years of experience, he would find it hard to be logical upon seeing a corporeal form of her, dead… it was bad enough to see such a vision in his dreams.

"Try not to think on it anymore," he suggested eventually. At her dubious look, he added, "I know that's easy for me to say, but believe me - dwelling on them will not help you. You've seen your friends since then, alive and well, I'm here, and your parents…" He paused. "Have you written to them recently?"

She shook her head.

"I was going to wait until after the NEWTs to tell them how I thought I'd done, but I don't much feel like telling them about that."

"You should tell them about the other exams, then," he persisted. "They'll be anxious to hear from you. Have you told them anything of the war?"

"Not since Christmas," she said guiltily. "I know I should, but I don't want to worry them… they're still getting the Prophet, so they knew about… about Beltane. Mum sent me a letter the day after it happened, but I didn't read it for two more days after that. Mr Weasley used to bail dad up and ask him all these ridiculous questions about electricity and plugs and…"

She trailed off, shaking her head with a sad smile.

"I daren't tell them about Monday in case the owl is intercepted, and they'll know about it soon enough via the Prophet, anyway."

So they will, he thought grimly, hoping the news that reached them would be favourable.

"You should tell them something," he said. "Just a quick note to say your exams are over. There is parchment on my desk, if you wish," he offered.

"No, it's okay, I'll go and write it up in the Owlery and send it this afternoon. I need to get ready for tonight, too; Professor Dumbledore wants Malfoy and I to greet everyone as they arrive at the Leaving Feast."

"Ah, of course." Snape realised all of the students save for a select few – namely Hermione, Potter and the two Weasleys – would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express the following morning. Even Malfoy was going home, lest his father sense anything amiss in his continued absence.

Turning back to him as she stood up, she said, "Thank you. I feel better just having told someone about what I saw in there. I didn't want to worry Harry or Ron – God knows what either of them saw… I don't even know if Ron made it that far. It's still frightening to think about it, but I'm a bit more rational now."

He nodded understandingly. She looked more rational than when she had first arrived, too. Her hair was still a mess, though, and her robes slightly askew. Stopping her before she returned to the door, he set her robes straight on her shoulders and brushed her hair back from her face.

"That's better, he said with a smirk.

"Thanks." She smiled sheepishly. "I'll see you after the feast, although I don't know how late it will be."

He chuckled, squeezing her shoulders as he led her to the door and opened it.

"I'm sure I'll be here."


The Leaving Feast was a sombre occasion, considering the seventh-years should have been overjoyed to finish their schooling.

Joining Harry and Ron at the top end of the Gryffindor table after welcoming the students into the Great Hall with Malfoy, Hermione reflected that the Leaving Feast had seldom held the joy they should have… for her, at least. At the end of third year, Peter Pettigrew had escaped, forcing Sirius into hiding. Fourth year, the school had been mourning the loss of one of their own and fearing for what the return of Voldemort would mean. Fifth year saw Sirius' death in the Department of Mysteries, and sixth year, more students were lost in the attack on Hogsmeade.

Indeed, Hermione realised, they had little cause in the past to celebrate the end of the school year.

The murmur of chatter in the Hall died down as Dumbledore stood and raised his arms in a call for silence.

"Another year is over," he began, his voice carrying the length of the Hall without magical enhancement. "It has been a year of change, and of growth. For too many of us, however, it has also been a year of sorrow and grief. I ask you to pause a moment to remember all those who are no longer with us."

The sympathetic eyes of many at the Gryffindor table turned towards Ron or Ginny, and the silence in the Hall was absolute for a full minute until the Headmaster spoke again.

"Times have been hard, and such times are not yet over. Despite the trials we have faced, we have still managed to smile, to continue living and learning, and defy those who would seek to deprive us of such liberties."

Dumbledore glanced around the room, his eyes coming to rest on the Slytherin table; many of its older occupants appeared discomfited.

"The time is near at hand," he continued, his face solemn, "when many of you will be asked to make a choice. For some, it will be easy; for others, not. It will be a choice between what you have been told and what you have learnt; what you know and what you believe. I only ask, when that time comes, that you think carefully about any commitment you make, for once your choice is made, few chances will you have to change your mind."

Glancing around, Hermione saw many of the youngest students looking confused. The fourth and fifth-years appeared thoughtful, and the older students displayed a mixture of outward emotions, from confused to fearful, and from defiant to appreciative.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"On a happier note, I would like to congratulate all our seventh-years, who have completed their NEWTs and will be leaving us tomorrow. I hope I may look forward to seeing all of you here for the graduation ceremony in approximately three weeks, and I trust that what you have learnt here within these walls will serve you well in yours lives from this day forward."

The Hall broke into applause for the graduating students, and over the furore, Dumbledore called, "Now, let us all eat together one last time. Enjoy!"

The tables were suddenly loaded with food, and the Hall was filled with chatter and the clanging of cutlery as everyone began the sumptuous feast. Hermione, Harry and Ron were quieter than the other seventh-year Gryffindors; Dean and Seamus were especially raucous in their excitement over finally finishing school, and Hermione managed to half-heartedly laugh along with them most of the time.

When the feast concluded, Hermione returned to the common room with the other Gryffindors. Mindful of the thought she had promised Severus she would return that night, she still felt she should spent at least some of the evening with her classmates; they would all be going their separate ways in the next few weeks… who knew when or if she would see some of them again.

It was almost midnight when the others finally started heading up to their dormitories, either to sleep or pack the last of their belongings in preparation for the train journey tomorrow. Returning to her own room, Hermione realised with a jolt of panic she hadn't even thought about packing yet. Granted, she had a few extra days at Hogwarts than most of the others, but would Gryffindor tower allow her into the Head Girl's room after the year was officially over and the position was no longer hers?

That thought in mind, she decided to pack most of her belongings tonight anyway, just in case. Crookshanks, curled up in the middle of her bed, watched interestedly as she tried to fit everything into the box she had transfigured into a trunk. Her own had been lost at her parents' home over Christmas. Even shrinking things magically, she still had trouble squeezing it all in. It never ceased to amaze her how much she managed to accumulate over the course of a school year, especially this year, as there hadn't been any trips to Hogsmeade to purchase anything.

Satisfied the last few things could wait until morning, she gathered the pile of Severus' books that seemed to have migrated to her room over the last few months, and Flooed through to his quarters.

Despite the late hour, she knew he would still be awake, and as she stepped from the hearth, she saw him at his desk, quill in hand and parchment laid out before him. He glanced up at her, then down at the books piled in her arms, and he frowned.

"What are they?"

"I, uh, seem to have borrowed them," she said sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't realise I had so many."

Severus set his quill aside and stood up, crossing the room to take the top half of the pile, which was threatening to topple.

"I was looking for this the other day," he commented, shelving a brown, leather-bound tome in an empty space on one of the upper shelves. "How was the feast?"

"All right," she admitted, telling him a little of Dumbledore's speech as they put the rest of the books away. "I don't think it's really sunk in yet that I won't be back here next year. I suppose it will only really become real when I'm not on the train come the first of September."

"It is a strange feeling, leaving this place after so long," he agreed, looking around the room pensively. "Though, I wasn't away for particularly long. I suppose I shall leave again, one of these days."

Hermione perched on the armrest of one of the chairs, watching the thoughtful expression on his face.

"Are you going to teach again?" she asked.

His gaze shifted to meet hers, and he considered her silently for some time.

"I've been thinking about that lately," he said finally, coming to sit in the armchair. Hermione twisted around and lowered herself down from where she sat so she was instead sitting partly beside him and partly in his lap, her back against the armrest.

"And?" she prompted.

He sighed, toying with the hem of her dress robes where they lay near his hand.

"I honestly don't know," he admitted. "It's what I've always done, and I do enjoy it… sometimes… but that's not to say there aren't other things I would rather do if the chance ever came."

"Such as?" she asked.

"Research," he said without delay, and Hermione realised he had actually given it quite a bit of thought. "But one cannot make a living from that."

"Some people can," she argued. "If the Ministry or a- a research company knew what you'd done already, they'd fall over themselves to offer you a job."

"If the Ministry knew all the things I've done in the field of potions, they'd offer me a one-way ticket to Azkaban, Hermione," he reminded her darkly. "You forget that many of the concoctions I made for Voldemort had no antidote such as the Cruciatus potion did."

"You've still done more good than harm," she argued stubbornly, "and don't say people won't see that, because they will. Dumbledore will make sure of it, if they're too dense to realise it themselves."

And so will I, she added silently. Hermione wondered what would happen if he gave up teaching and their respective careers took them in different directions. Thinking about it, she supposed working long distances apart – even as far away as another country – wasn't such a problem in the wizarding world as in the Muggle one. Apparition made covering long distances across the country simple, and the international Floo network was well-organised and easily accessible.

"What's happening from now until Monday?" she asked suddenly, turning her attention to the immediate future.

"I believe most of the Order is arriving late tomorrow afternoon," Severus said. "No doubt there will be some sort of meeting over dinner. I believe Albus plans to explain my situation at that time."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised.

"It's about time, too," she said. "We've been wondering when he's going to tell everyone the truth for weeks."

"Who's we?" he queried, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Malfoy and I," she said quickly, knowing he wouldn't be impressed to think she had been 'discussing' him with Harry and Ron.

"Hmm." He frowned, but didn't say anymore on the subject, instead continuing, "Sunday will be the time for final plans and preparation, I would imagine; everyone will be on edge, no doubt, so it will be wise of Albus to give us all some time to ourselves. I don't know what is to happen on Monday, yet, though chances are Albus will want everyone ready and waiting at Godric's Hollow long before Potter arrives."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip worriedly as she thought about what Dumbledore might have planned for the rest of them."

As if sensing her trepidation, Severus leant forwards and kissed her on the cheek, then again on the lips as she turned her face to his.

"Let's not think about that tonight, hmm?" In one swift movement, he hooked one arm around her back, the other under her knees, and stood up, lifting her with him.

In the bedroom, they undressed one another slowly, exploring every inch of each other's bodies. Her fingers traced every contour of his skin, every bone, joint, blemish and scar. He squirmed slightly as she brushed over the knife scar below his ribs, and then again as her fingers followed a light path along each row of the clawed werewolf scar. He explored the smoothness of her stomach, the firm roundness of her breasts, and ran his lips over the lone, faded scar over her collarbone. Hardly a word passed between them – no words were needed – and then, finally, they were together again.

In the hazy languor after their love-making, Hermione almost fell asleep listening to his breathing quieten, rousing only when he moved beside her. Gesturing for her to roll onto her side, he pulled her against him, back to chest, and draped an arm loosely about her waist. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm and soft, and hear an occasional sniff as her unruly hair tickled his face.

"'Night, Severus," she mumbled sleepily, clasping her hand over his on her waist and entwining their fingers together.

"Goodnight, love," he returned with a contented sigh. "And congratulations."

Hermione laughed softly, and it wasn't long before her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.


At around ten the following morning, Hermione, Harry and Ron went to Hogsmeade Station to farewell their housemates and friends going home on the Hogwarts Express. If any of the other students thought it strange the trio wasn't joining them, nothing was said on the matter.

As one of her last official duties as Head Girl, Hermione strode through the train, making sure that students' luggage was in their compartments, not spilling out into the corridor, and that the youngest students were all settled for their first journey home. As she reached the end of the last carriage, Malfoy stepped from one of the compartment and, upon seeing her, turned and gestured for her to follow him back inside.

Glancing behind her, Hermione saw the corridor of the carriage was empty, so she stepped into the compartment and closed the door. Malfoy looked at her for a moment, his face unusually pale, and Hermione realised with a start this was likely the last time she would see him until they potentially came face-to-face at Godric's Hollow.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say thanks," he began awkwardly, "for… well, for everything you've done… for trusting me, or giving me the chance to prove myself trustworthy. Severus has been great, of course, but it was nice to see a friendly face in class… even if we had to pretend we still hated each other."

Hermione smiled. "I think by this year we were well practiced at glaring at one another."

"Yeah," he said, a trace of regret colouring his tone.

"Did you talk to Severus this morning?" she asked suddenly. Hermione had left his quarters just before breakfast, promising she would return later that day, but she wondered if Malfoy had considered bidding his former Head of House farewell.

"I did," he said. "It was strange… I'll be seeing him in two days, but it almost felt like I was saying goodbye for good."

"Goodbye to the school for good, maybe," she said reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll be seeing more of Severus."

He nodded uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "I suppose you better go, if you're not catching the train."

Hermione glanced at her watch and realised it was almost eleven. Looking back at Malfoy again, she was lost for words or actions. Finally, she extended her hand to him, saying, "Good luck on Monday."

He hesitated a moment, then clasped her hand firmly in one of his.

"And you," he replied. "I'm sure I'll see you there."

Hermione slipped out of the compartment unnoticed by students further down the corridor, and hopped off the train just as the high-pitched whistle signalled its departure. She spotted Harry and Ron further down the platform, waving to Dean and Seamus, who were yelling something out of the window of their compartment.

Hermione waved to them as well, fixing a smile on her face which, from a distance, would have appeared genuine enough. As the train pulled out of the station, though, and she caught a glimpse of Malfoy staring out the window, it seemed to her, too, that she had said goodbye for good.


To be continued

Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review! I love reading all your comments. This chapter has a heavily-edited scene which was probably too graphic for this site in its original form. The uncut version is over at OWL. As I said the last time I posted an edited chapter here, better to be safe than sorry.

On the graduation ceremony, I don't know if there is such a thing, but it seems fitting there would be some sort of official ceremony/celebration once the results are known.

Many thanks to Potion Mistress, the best beta I could ever hope for, who stayed up way past her bedtime so I could post this chapter so soon.