Chapter Twenty

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The following morning dawned, much more quickly than Hermione would have wished it. She awoke to birds chirping, sunlight shining through the window, and a sickening feeling in her gut, as though her stomach was performing backflips.

Severus slept on, but although a quick tempus charm showed it was just past five, Hermione knew she would sleep no longer. There were too many preparations to make for the day ahead. Spells to be revised, incantations revisited, and escape routes finalised. This wasn't the sort of deception that could be arranged offhand; it required a veritable army of resources.

For two hours Hermione worked solidly at her desk, hunched over her notebook and scribbling furiously, with a steaming coffee by her left hand. She wrote until her hand ached and cramped, and her cursive handwriting was becoming so slapdash that it looked like something Harry or Ron might have written.

Presently there came the sounds of a scuffle, and a tapping from the window. Hermione, who had been stretching out her fingers, glanced up and did a double take.

To her surprise, several owls were lined up on the ledge outside the window. They puffed out feathers and jostled for space, peering toward Hermione with their heads cocked, as though wondering how long it was going to take her to see them.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she said.

Hermione unlatched the window, and the owls hopped in one at a time, each extending a leg in her direction. They bore a curious assortment of envelopes and packages, each addressed to 'Miss Hermione Black'. Hermione detached the mail quickly from the leg of each bird. She recognised Regulus' eagle owl, and Alecto's small tufty, but not the other couple of birds.

The final bird was not an owl at all - it was a dark, vicious-looking raven, and it snapped maliciously at her fingers when she reached for the package tied to its leg.

Hermione hissed at the bird, and twitched her fingers to freeze it in place. The birds eyes blazed at her, scorching her with their fury, and she shook her head.

"You've only got yourself to blame," she told it.

The package bound to the ravens leg was wrapped in thick, expensive vellum. It took only a moment to detach. Then Hermione released the bird from the spell and it took off for the window with a furious squawk, pausing only to defecate on the windowsill.

Hermione ignored it, and checked over her shoulder. In the single bed by the window Severus was still asleep, his face buried deeply in the white pillow, and his chest rising and falling. Setting the raven's package aside, Hermione checked for spells and curses on the letters. Nearly all of them had basic repelling charms, but nothing that would cause her harm.

Hermione took out a plain silver knife to slit open the first letter, and unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was small, cursive and elegant. Pureblood handwriting, and one that she recognised.

Good luck tonight...can't wait until it's our turn. Make sure you wear these, it's your big night! Arabel.

Beneath the envelope was a small box tied closed with a black velvet ribbon, which bore a wax seal in deep red, with the image of a castle on it. The Selwyn family crest. Hermione carefully broke the seal, and then opened the box.

Inside lay a pair of silver teardrop earrings, inlaid with clear jewels that sparkled and flashed in the sudden light. They had to be diamonds, Hermione thought, lifting one into her hand and admiring how the little stone refracted into rainbows as she turned it over between her fingers. Nothing but diamonds would shine so brightly. There was something innocuous about the colourless jewels, neither emeralds or rubies, and Hermione admired them for some time. To stand before the Dark Lord wearing these would be its own form of defiance, and that was a pleasing thought.

Eventually Hermione placed the earrings carefully back in their box, and reached for the final pair of letters, opening them hastily. They were from Regulus and Rabastan, and both messages said almost the same thing.

Watch your back. Good luck. Bellatrix will look out for you.

Hermione's lip gave an involuntary curl, and she shook her head. Finally she turned to the final package, the one delivered by the raven.

While the others had been protected by nothing more than a few harmless safety charms, Hermione knew this package was different. She recognised the spell laid upon it the instant she touched it with her bare hands. There was a sharp sting to her palm, as a spell pierced her flesh, and just as quickly the vellum absorbed her blood. Instead of turning red, the blood soaked into the package leaving it creamy and unmarked. Then with the blood magic complete, with a small rustle, it unfolded in Hermione's hands.

Something fell to her desk with a clatter, the noise startling her so much that she whipped her wand out. It was a tiny silver spoon, gleaming innocuously against the wooden desk. A portkey. Hermione pushed the spoon to the side, and turned over the parchment it had been wrapped in. Sure enough there was small, tight black script. Just a time.

8PM.

There was no need to perform further tests on the portkey or the letter. Even the air felt thicker and weightier when she moved her fingers too close to the letter or spoon, the taint of dark magic hanging heavy in the air. This was from Lord Voldemort.

Hermione's gaze was drawn back to the note, and something occurred to her. The portkey was set to activate at 8PM. That was going to pose a problem.

Hermione folders the letters carefully away, then then pulled out her notes. She looked at the graphs and diagrams she had carefully created, and opened her bag to check the brown, squirming package containing the flesh-eater was still inside. It was, but the problem remained. The marking was to take place at midnight; Hermione had expected to be summoned shortly beforehand. Not at 8PM. She wasn't going to have time to brew the potion she needed.

Quietly she stood, and padded over to the bed.

"Severus?"

He awoke almost instantly, still and wary, only relaxing when he saw who it was.

Hermione chose her words carefully.

"How confident are you in your occlumency?"

Severus was startled by her words, and pulled the covers back abruptly, struggling to his feet and pulling his robes over his head. Hermione caught a brief glimpse of his pale, slender chest before he twisted away from her, the bruises already almost faded from his skin.

"It's good enough," he said.

"Enough for anyone?"

Severus's eyes narrowed at her.

"Like who? Dumbledore?"

"Bigger."

A beat. Then -

"Oh shit. No."

"Yes."

"You can't have secrets from him."

"Well, I do."

Hermione grimaced, as Severus gaped at her. Was she foolish for coming to him like this? But she had no choice. There was no way she could do everything alone with the time she had available to her, not without risking making serious mistakes. The potion needed to brew for half a day, and the flesh-eater would leave her incapacitated for hours.

Severus groaned and flopped back onto the bed. He stifled a yawn with his hand.

"What time is it anyway?" He asked. "You can't ask me a question like that when I'm hardly awake."

"I know it's early but this is important Severus. Please."

Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed as Severus pulled his socks on. He shook his head at her.

"But Hermione -" this, pained. "Why would you need to have secrets from him?"

"I thought you said you trusted me? That you'd follow me anywhere," Hermione repeated back to him.

A pale pink crept up Severus's cheeks, and as he turned away abruptly. Hermione realised too late that she had embarrassed him.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, reaching a hand to rest on his arm.

"Well it sounded like it."

"Severus. I wasn't mocking you."

Severus nodded, but his face was unnaturally set and his arm muscles were hard and tense under her hand. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I'm having to trust you too, you know."

Severus stared at her for a long moment. Hermione looked back, fighting down the urge to say something more, to try and persuade him or to negotiate his agreement. Severus always made decisions in his own time, and would refuse to be rushed. His dark eyes studied her, so intense that Hermione felt a blush rise to her own cheeks under the scrutiny. Then finally, he spoke.

"What do you need me to do?" Severus asked gruffly.

Hermione let out a breath that she didn't even realise she'd been holding.

"I need you to brew me a potion."

"A potion?" Severus said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Hermione nodded.

"A potion. It's important. I thought I was going to have the time to brew it myself, but things have changed."

"What kind of potion?" Severus asked.

Hermione didn't answer, but stood and headed for her desk.

"When you've made it, I need to you bring it to a certain place for me. Leave here, don't let anybody see you. I don't think anybody would be following you, but apparate around a bit to make sure. Get there a few hours before sundown and wait for me."

"Hermione -" Severus began, but then he caught her eye and something in her desperate expression seemed to make him pause.

"Please," she said.

Severus let out a heavy sigh.

"What place do you need me to bring the potion to?"

Hermione opened her drawer, and scrabbled around for a piece of parchment and a quill, and then began to sketch out a quick map. Severus watched from over her shoulder, close enough that she could feel his breath against the shell of her ear. The memory of their closeness from the night before last before made Hermione shiver, with fear and also with something she wasn't quite sure how to describe.

"That's in Scotland," Severus commented.

"I need you to be there, two hours before sundown so I can take it. Then I need you to wait until after the marking, because I'll need to take the potion twice. The marking is at midnight, and I don't think they'll keep us for too long afterwards."

"But what are you -"

Hermione laid a hand on his arm, and saw Severus swallow.

"I mean, I'll be there," he said.

"Good. Here's the ingredients and the recipe."

Hermione began to write another list, her handwriting becoming a scrawl as she ran out of paper. Severus was following the list with his eyes, and she knew he understood better than anybody who wasn't a potions master what this selection of ingredients was used for. His eyebrows raised so high they almost vanished into his hairline, but all he said was:

"I won't be able to get all this from Diagon Alley."

"You're creative," Hermione said.

"And -"

"Here."

Hermione passed Severus a bag of gold, which he tucked away with the list and a nod.

"You know," he said, almost conversationally, "some of these ingredients have been illegal in Britain for three hundred years."

Hermione took another sheet of parchment and began to scrawl down a recipe. Severus watched so closely that she slowed down, knowing that even a simple mistake could be fatal. A part of her knew it was hopeless to try and hide the nature of the brew from him, but she still prayed he wouldn't be able to work it out. She knew that hope had proved fruitless when she heard his intake of breath.

"You're going to regrow your flesh," Severus said.

Under the desk Hermione clutched her wand. She could still obliviate him if she needed to. But all Severus did was sigh deeply.

"I should have known that a witch like you wouldn't have been willing to have a Mark on your arm for the rest of your life. You're too pragmatic for that."

Hermione tried not to let her relief show, until Severus spoke again.

"What I can't understand is why you're doing it twice."

"I'm not -"

"This recipe is for two batches. That's why I need to meet you earlier. You need to regrow your flesh before the Marking, don't you? What's wrong with your arm Hermione? Why do you need to alter it?" Severus said.

Hermione stood, and took down her cloak from where it hung by the door. She had a day ahead of her that would make Severus's task seem like a simple errand, and she felt nauseous at the thought of what was coming.

"Hermione!"

"Please Severus. I can't tell you."

"You're going to use the flesh-eater to take off your arm, aren't you? And then you want me to regrow it," Severus said, his voice beginning to rise.

"Severus!"

The words, when they were said out loud, were so terrible that Hermione grabbed the doorframe to steady herself. Her fear at the ordeal ahead was toxic and all-consuming.

"What's on your arm that you're so afraid of the Dark Lord seeing that you'd rather cut it off?" Severus demanded.

"It's not all of it! Just some old scars. I need you to trust me," Hermione said.

"Fucking hell Hermione, there's trust and then there's trust. This is barbaric. Where are you going to do it?"

"Don't question me," Hermione hissed between her teeth.

"I don't know anyone who wouldn't question this."

"Do you want to help me?"

"Of course I do!"

"I hope you know someone who can source the ingredients then. Otherwise, I'd suggest trying France. Meet me before sundown, at the spot on the map," Hermione said.

Severus opened his mouth several times with all the things she knew he wanted to say to her, and when he finally subsided, it was reluctantly. He nodded.

"I trust you," he said, defeated. "But for god's sake don't kill yourself."

Severus gathered his things as Hermione sat on the bed to lace up her heeled boots, and then paused by the mirror to apply red lipstick.

"Will I see you again before I need to meet you?" Severus asked.

Hermione shook her head, pushing down the pang it caused her. She turned around to find Severus had moved closer, and stood only a few feet away from her. His scent was fresh and crisp, like a pine forest after the rain, and she breathed it in deeply without meaning to. Severus's face was grave and serious, but he had never looked more beautiful to Hermione.

"There won't be time," she said.

"Then -"

Severus stepped closer, and took Hermione's hand. He lifted it and pressed it to his lips without breaking eye contact.

"Good luck," he said.

Severus held Hermione's hand for a beat too long, as though he was waiting for something. When he let go there was a sense of disappointment, and Hermione hesitated.

Severus was gentle, and warm, and right in front of her, but she felt haunted.

The spectres were so close. Ron, whom she had loved desperately right up until they murdered him in front of her. A potions master with a hooked nose, who had tormented her for so many years. The world mudblood was carved into her arm; the mission she had dedicated everything to; the person she had been, and the person she intended to become.

With more effort than it had cost her in her life, Hermione forced herself to sweep those ghosts away, to banish them into the depths of her mind, lock them away in the furthest and darkest corner, until all she could see in front of her was the living and breathing Severus. She was twenty one years old, and had spent most of the last decade in open warfare. She'd killed, tortured, commanded armies, seen cities burn to the ground and pulled the bodies of her friends from the ashes.

Severus was just sixteen. Barely more than a child.

But he looked at her as though he understood what it was like.

As though he knew what pain did to a person.

Hermione reached out, and caught Severus by the shoulder, and his eyes widened with surprise.

"Hermione?" He said, uncertainly.

Severus looked at her hand and at first he didn't understand, but then he did. Hermione pulled him closer, saw his lips part slightly, and then pressed hers against his. They were soft together, warm and gentle. Neither of them pushed, neither fought for control, there was just the tender insistent pressure of his mouth against hers and his hands burying themselves in her wild hair.

"Severus," she whispered against his mouth.

"Hermione."

The kiss seemed to last an eternity, and Severus's cheek were stained red, and he trembled as she drew back at last, cupping his face in her hands.

"I -"

"Don't. We have too much to do today. I have to go," Hermione said.

"Don't leave," Severus said. "Not now."

"I have to."

"Not after this," he said.

"I'll be there tonight, afterwards. Be safe."

Severus lifted a hand as if to stop her from leaving.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

Hermione wanted to believe that it was true. But there were too many lives that didn't ever need to be destroyed this time around, if only she could get this right.

"I do have to," she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Look after yourself Severus."

"I will. Please - please be careful Hermione," he said.

"I will," she said.

And then Hermione was walking away, closing the door, and leaving Severus behind her standing in the middle of the room with his lips reddened from her lipstick, and his face alight with the shock and wonder of it all. She was down the stairs, out of the inn, and gone.

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Lots of slightly revolting romance going on at the moment, but our sassy badass will be back soon, never fear.

Thanks for reading,

Cas