End of October, Monday
Hogwarts
Hermione kept thinking about what the previous Headmistresses had been telling her over the next few days. They were right; she did need support. She had Regulus already, but she didn't really know him well enough to trust him fully or to know what he could bring to the table. It was more or less the same with Madam Bones. Hermione didn't know how far the Ministry official's powers reached, and although she expected the oath Heliotrope Wilkins had set up would hold she didn't know the extent of it. Unfortunately, Severus was not yet ready. She didn't exactly think he was fully committed as a Death Eater but nonetheless at this point in time he was one, still. She didn't want to force his hand. In her past future… future past… he'd had to carry too many oaths, and she didn't want to be yet another anchor, forcing his hand.
Her own private Arithmancy calculations had given her at least one likely candidate, however. The following Monday Professor Vector asked her to stay behind after class to discuss what she wanted to focus on for the rest of the school year.
Hermione smiled. "Oh, I already know what I want to study." At the Professor's inquiring eyebrow, she continued. "I want to set up a full temporal probabilistic tensor for the war against Voldemort, to work out the best plan of attack."
Professor Vector looked stunned. After some time she took a deep breath. "I see."
"It's something I will have to do anyway but I would hope for your support, Professor."
Professor Vector was quiet, looking at her. "I think this warrants further discussion, Miss Granger. Are you available this evening? I have office hours and would like to go through this in more detail with you."
Hermione nodded again and went to collect her notes. "Professor? Please don't mention any of this to the Headmaster. I know he's on the right side here but this needs to be kept away from him at this point. And from everyone else. It's really important."
The stern dark-haired witch frowned but nodded slowly. "I will keep your secrets, Miss Granger, at least until I have run my own calculations. I sense you have some personal interest in this conflict?"
"You could say that," Hermione admitted before escaping, hoping she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her new life.
Later that evening Hermione knocked on Professor Vector's classroom office door, armed with her beaded bag and all her notes. The Professor rose to meet her and ushered her through a side door. They ended up in a semi-circular chamber with tall windows along the curved wall, and several magical writing boards on the other. In the middle there was a large oblong table that could have seated eight comfortably, but which was currently completely covered by parchment, books, and newspapers.
The Professor waved her hand and two chairs swept over the floor, and as Professor Vector cleared a section from notes they both took a seat. The older witch looked at Hermione with a slight frown, as if trying to work something out.
"I did some calculations," Professor Vector said, tapping her notes with her wand. "None of them match up with your story. However, just as I was getting ready to go to Albus I was intercepted by a certain portrait, requesting that I talk to you first."
Hermione sighed in relief. She pulled out her notebooks while the Professor called for a house-elf, requesting a pot of tea for two. "Can I trust you, Professor? I know you know nothing about me but I have a lot more to lose than it appears."
An elf popped in with tea, milk, sugar and an assortment of biscuits. It nodded at the Professor before winking out of view again.
Professor Vector poured the tea and gestured for Hermione to help herself with the rest. She turned her brown eyes back to Hermione. "True, I don't know you but you're right, you don't know me either. Not very many would speak that name openly, and there aren't many people at all who would admit to opposing him." She stirred in some sugar and took a sip. "I don't like him, Miss Granger. I've done the calculations on where our society is headed with him loose in the world, and it is nothing good."
"But you haven't joined Professor Dumbledore? Madam."
Professor Vector snorted. "Nay, I'm Slytherin, and he's never liked those. No, I keep my own counsel."
That surprised her. Hermione would have pegged her Professor as a Ravenclaw, maybe. "Really? I didn't know…"
The older witch shook her head and took a sip of her tea. "No, he mainly chooses his allies among the Gryffindors, our esteemed Headmaster. Plus, I did put him into my calculations as well and I can't say I like where that takes us, either."
Hermione nodded slowly and nibbled a biscuit. "But you said you were intercepted by a portrait, Professor? Headmistress Wilkins, I guess?"
"There would be others?" Professor Vector raised her eyebrow. "Yes, Heliotrope and I have had long discussions about Arithmantic principles. It also works as a way to get rid of eavesdroppers, they can't stand it when we start talking about probability vectors."
Hermione grinned. A thought struck her. "Does she have a portrait here? Could you see if she would talk to us?"
The Professor nodded and rose to open a door Hermione hadn't noticed, set in the middle of the straight wall. With a wave at Hermione to follow she opened the door and called for the painted Headmistress while lighting the room's lights with a flick of her wand.
When Hermione followed she found herself in a small sitting room, also semi-circular but with one part cut off by a wall, with a fire, a couch and another table also laden with parchment. A spiral stone staircase right next to the door probably led to the Professor's bedroom, she guessed, but Professor Vector was talking to a portrait on the short wall between the window and the long wall shared with the private office. Hermione saw an unknown witch leave the frame, allowing Heliotrope Wilkins to sit down in the wooden chair instead.
"Hermione," Heliotrope said. "You needed reassurance?"
Hermione approached cautiously and nodded. "Thank you for talking with us. Yes, considering our discussion the other day I want to bring Professor Vector in. Would you agree?"
The stern former Headmistress smiled almost warmly. "About time, I say. Yes, yes you should. Septima? I want you to look after this young lady, you hear?"
The dark-haired Professor nodded. "Certainly, Heliotrope. If you're involved somehow I'm sure it's worth the effort."
"Oh, it will be. Septima? Make an Oath, if you would. This is important."
Professor Vector looked surprised at the request but nodded slowly and raised her wand. "On my magic, I vow to guard your secrets as if they were my own, and let no one know about them unless you allow it."
Hermione sighed in relief and nodded. "Thank you, Professor. That helps." Hopefully the oath would hold up against basic Legilimency as well.
They went back to the Professor's private office and over a pot of tea Hermione explained some of her history. She stuck to the basics, mentioning the time travel, the second war and the final battle, and what she was now setting out to do. She mentioned her friends but omitted most identifying details and didn't talk about Professor Snape at all. Somehow all her notes had also ended up over the Professor's table, and Hermione had visualised certain parts of the matrix as they became important to the discussion.
The Professor went over the notes, silently, and made her own annotations on another sheet of parchment. She had asked some clarifying questions but otherwise let Hermione speak freely.
After a while she nodded decisively. "This… this is important. I will do what I can to assist you, and we'll make up a suitably boring cover story to tell the others in class and if anyone should pry. You need space to work. I can give you access to this office if you are comfortable with that, and set up a table and some boards for you."
Hermione was a bit hesitant. "I don't want to impose on you…"
"Nonsense," Professor Vector interrupted briskly. "Don't worry about intruders either, we can put your work in a corner with good wards. No one ever comes here apart from the elves and I."
Hoping she wasn't about to make a huge mistake, Hermione took a deep breath. "In that case, I'd gladly accept. Thank you."
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
Saturday, early November
Malfoy Manor
Severus wiped the sweat off his brow and glared at Jugson, his third opponent for the evening. They were in Malfoy Manor again, in a large almost cavern-like room in the dungeons protected by strong wards woven into the very stone. The room was designed for duelling. Some sections were raised higher, and there were pillars and steps and large slabs of stone scattered in the room to hide behind, and there were several spots for audience including a balcony high up on one wall which allowed for a better view of the combatants. The Dark Lord had Summoned them early in the afternoon, and requested that the younger Death Eaters duel for his favour while the older guard, the Knights of Walpurgis, plotted and schemed.
He'd felt angry and jittery ever since he got the note that she left for Hogwarts. Arriving back at Spinner's End to an empty house had been oddly disconcerting. When he heard about her plans to take her NEWTs at Hogwarts he had assumed that he would appreciate reclaiming his solitude, not having someone occupying his house, singing in the shower, filling his cupboards with odd things she claimed were edible, asking him if he wanted a cup of tea in the evenings when making one for herself. Her ending up in Hufflepuff had amused him for a short while but he'd soon resorted to brooding, feeling at odds with everyone including himself.
The gong sounded again and he was off without even thinking about it, flinging a hex at Jugson while diving behind the nearby pillar. The older man swore in surprise and flicked his wand to parry the hex before retaliating. He was faster than he looked. The rest of the crowd faded into the background as the rhythm of the fight took him over. It wasn't exactly a duel, not by any of the standard duelling rules, although truly irreversible hexes were banned. Jugson flung a Bombarda at the column, taking out a large chunk of the stonework, but Severus had already moved away from it. He cast an Entrail-Expelling hex, not expecting it to hit, rolled left and cast a silent Nox that took out all the light in the room. The audience gasped. He cloaked himself in a Disillusion, cast another silent spell towards a corner, and then shut his eyes briefly while casting a powerful Solaris to the centre of the room. It lit up everything brighter than the sun, most certainly blinding everyone who wasn't prepared. In the moments that followed, he heard Jugson swear and cast a nasty hex to the corner where Severus had created an illusion of himself, and at the same time Severus managed to cast a strong Incarcerous followed by Expelliarmus. Jugson fell with a thud, his arms bound behind him and pulled towards his feet that arched towards his arse, making him look like an odd-shaped wheel.
The audience looked stunned, some still blinking from the flash of light, and a few clapped hesitantly. He'd expected some kind of recognition after such a decisive win but instead most looked uneasy, some were openly sneering at him, and others were obviously ignoring him even though they were in the room to watch the duels. Severus snarled and went off to the side of the room where the elves had prepared a tray of drinks, and picked up a glass of some undoubtedly expensive liquid. It might have been a cognac. It burned nicely in his throat on the way down, anyway. Feeling thirsty and hot he rinsed the glass with a quick Aguamenti and drank some water instead.
Lucius came up to him. "Our Lord wants to speak to you. He's in the small parlour." The older wizard looked worried, if only slightly. "Be careful, Severus."
He nodded at Lucius and took a deep breath to collect himself, pulling his Occlumency walls up tighter. He let everything related to Hermione and Regulus sink down into the depths, hiding it all under layers of dull schoolwork, general resentment, Death Eater discussions and potion brewing.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
The Dark Lord was alone, sitting in an elaborate armchair by the fire with a glass of cognac on the small table next to the chair. His robes were black and green with gold lining, made from a very expensive-looking fabric, going nicely with his dark, wavy hair. He was almost classically handsome, illuminated by the fire, and it was very hard to guess his true age. The wizard seemed timeless, beyond time even. Severus went over to kiss the hem of his robes, as was customary, but the Dark Lord stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder when he was kneeling.
"Severus, my boy, thank you for coming." The Dark Lord gestured for him to take a seat in the low couch next to the armchair, and waited for him to be seated before continuing. "You did well today, but you always do well in duels, don't you? You're one of the few who have bested Bellatrix in a duel, after all."
"Yes, my Lord." He hadn't seen the Dark Lord watching the duels but he must have kept watch or had someone report to him.
The Dark Lord fell silent and Severus felt no need to fill the void with idle chatter. It wasn't his place. He focused on his breathing, keeping it even and steady and nearly completely silent. In, out. The feeling of his ribcage expanding with each breath, pushing slightly against the white shirt. His Death Eater robes felt heavy around his shoulders, and the snake in the Dark Mark felt agitated this close to its master.
"Tell me, what motivates you?" The older man leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into Severus'. "Some of my followers are easy. They want power, or money, or witches. They enjoy the raids, the hunt, the violence, the indulgence. They want someone else to tell them what to do. Where to go, whom to beat up. They don't much care for the reasons. But you're different, aren't you?"
Severus cleared his throat. "My Lord, I — "
The Dark Lord raised a hand to stop him. He shook his head and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in front of him. "No, my boy. You're different. I hear from Thaddeus Pyrites that your innovations and improvements are better than anything he's seen before. He's tried to break you, you know, but no matter what impossible task he's set you, you still manage to complete it. You seem almost bored on raids lately, you're excellent with strategy, planning and ward breaking but your heart isn't in it when it comes to burning cars, is it?"
He felt a light whisper in his mind, the Dark Lord still keeping eye contact. He wouldn't have felt the intrusion if he hadn't practised with Reg; it was that subtle. Severus fought to stay calm and still even as part of him screamed in panic. He buried that voice deep, deep down, together with all memories of his private conversations with Regulus and everything that had happened with Hermione.
After reviewing their latest raid to Belfast, the Dark Lord withdrew. Inwardly Severus breathed a sigh of relief, but he kept his Occlumency shields up nonetheless.
"You're friends with young Malfoy, aren't you?"
Severus shrugged. "Passably friendly at least, my Lord."
The Dark Lord fell silent, sipping his cognac. After a while he nodded, as if he'd finally decided on something. "You are mine now, Severus, and as such I have pledged to take care of you. I gave you the Apprenticeship which obviously was the right thing to do, considering your success in Potions. You have great potential to become someone they will all respect, despite your unfortunate heritage. In return, I ask for your devotion. Your loyalty. Your skill, your bravery, your cunning."
Severus held his breath. Recognition was something he'd always yearned for. That more than anything was what motivated him, more than money or fame or glory. Just acknowledgement of his skills and talents. And here it was offered to him by the wizard he'd pledged to follow, but why did it feel so wrong? His mouth felt dry, there was something stuck in his throat, and his chest felt heavy. He tamped it all down and hid it behind his Occlumency walls, leaving only devotion and interest.
The Dark Lord didn't appear to notice, however. He looked at the glass he held, watching the flames from the fireplace through the amber liquid. "I request a brew from you, Severus. It should be simple enough for you to make, but it requires some alterations. It is called Draught of Despair, have you heard of it?"
Severus nodded. He had; it was written in a very Dark, very old tome that the Malfoys had in their library. He'd first seen it when hiding from a party the Malfoys had thrown, and ever since then he'd taken every opportunity to revisit that section of their library.
"I want you to try to improve the brew by making it induce extreme thirst in addition to the usual effects. Do this well and I will make sure you are amply rewarded. Do not fail, Severus. You would not like the consequences. Lucius will help you procure the ingredients, and you are not to let Thaddeus know what you are doing. I expect the result within a fortnight."
With that clear dismissal, Severus rose, bowed and left, eager to put some distance between himself and the man seated in the Malfoys' armchair watching the fire.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
Tuesday afternoon, early November
Hogwarts
The class Hermione dreaded the most was, still, DADA. It used to be due to the profound incompetence shown by half the teachers she'd had in the subject, but this time around it was mainly due to her experiences during what was to her the previous year. Another aspect which contributed to her apprehension was Professor Dearborn. This time it wasn't due to incompetence but rather the opposite. Although he was old, probably almost of an age with Professor Dumbledore, he was sharp as a tack and didn't miss much. A retired Auror, he had extensive knowledge on all things Dark and enough passion to make lessons interesting.
He'd been away for her first week at Hogwarts and Hermione suspected it had been on Order business. A look through Professor Snape's notebook had confirmed her nagging suspicion, that he was a member, and one who had gone missing in the year to follow. Shaking her head she tried to make sense of the tenses, between her future past and past future, but failed.
She'd tried to keep a low profile but he had of course asked her to demonstrate silent casting of Protego in class, as a way to test her. When he flung a showy Stunner at her she immediately cast a silent shield and dove behind the nearest bench, terror and fear rising up like a wave. At least she'd been able to stop herself from retaliating with a jinx, but it had been close. The Professor had laughed and congratulated her on good reflexes but she hadn't liked the way he kept looking at her for the rest of the class, as if evaluating her skills. Luckily the curriculum mainly dealt with Dark creatures until the holidays, covering vampires, hags and Manticores. She fervently hoped they had already covered Boggarts, as that was something she really didn't want to face in her current state. At least there was no way her current Boggart would be the same as it had been in her third year, she thought wryly and shook her head. Seeing Professor McGonagall telling her she had failed in her exams? She'd just end up hugging the poor Boggart.
"Hermione?" Evie said from across the table they were seated at in the library, together with June, Martinus Doge and Ernest Goshawk, another Hufflepuff seventh-year. "Did you read up on this chapter already?" She pointed to the section on vampire management they had to read for an essay due the next week and Hermione nodded. Irma Pince hovered nearby but seemed a bit more relaxed than during Hermione's school years, allowing quiet discussions as long as the students were studying.
The Hufflepuffs seemed to favour doing things together. They had study groups almost every day in varying constellations, either organised by subject or by year. Their Head of House showed up in the dorms at least a couple of times per week, and the Prefects made sure all the first-years were included and knew whom to ask if they had questions. It was oddly nice, Hermione thought, if a bit strange sometimes.
Although Severus had stated he didn't want owls, she kept writing to him. Short notes and questions. Apparently these days the of-age students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade during weekends whenever they wished as long as they were back by curfew, and she did make the trek there a few times to send off a regular post owl, paying extra to have it linger a while if he wanted to send a reply. She treasured his short, brusque responses, always succinctly answering her questions and then a adding snarky comment on her other observations. Well, to be honest she did sneak out to Hogsmeade more often than just on the weekends, using Harry's cloak to make the trek to the gates and then Apparating to the Owl Post Office, or using the tunnels.
She'd written to Amelia as well, and the older witch had responded quickly with a proud-looking Ministry owl. On the whole, life wasn't so bad, she decided. Friends, an education, and no one was currently trying to kill her.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
Early November
The Workshop
He pushed himself even harder at the workshop in order to have more time to spend at Malfoy Manor in the evenings and weekends. The Draught of Despair was difficult. Several of the steps were wrong in the text, and the ingredients were rare and expensive. It was a true challenge, made worse by the time constraint and by the fact that Severus had to keep his actions hidden from Master Pyrites, while not giving the man any reason to be suspicious. His older self had made notes of the potion in the notebook but some of the steps were slashed out and at the end he'd written two words: Never Again. Severus didn't know what that might mean but took some strength from the fact that he must have succeeded with it once, at least, and so he could do it again for the first time. He'd worry about the comment by his older self later, after he'd finished.
Still, he relished in it. Pushing himself to create something not very many could do, finding that almost trance-like state where the ingredients and the cauldron told him what they needed in order to fuse, to achieve the goal he had in mind. He lost track of time completely when brewing and Lucius had had to fetch him several times when the hour grew late enough to be early again. He slept at the Manor a couple nights, in one of the small guest rooms, and also took the chance to brew some more batches of Narcissa's potion while he was at it. Lucius was careful to keep Severus away from his father, Lord Malfoy, and Severus was grateful for it. The little he'd seen of Abraxas Malfoy wasn't very positive. He was harsh and unyielding, used to ruling his household and most others around him with an iron fist, probably literally in some cases. Much like his own father had been, Tobias Snape, only with less alcohol and more money.
The one distraction he had was the letters from Hermione. It still astonished him that she'd write, and that she kept it up as the weeks passed. A couple of times a week an owl waited for him after his run, filled with chatter, questions and observations regarding the students and teachers. He even responded occasionally. The other Apprentices had ribbed him about having a secret girlfriend when he started receiving owls with letters written in a distinctly female hand. He'd sneered at them but something about it had pleased him, and he'd carefully stashed all her notes in his chest, adding a few new layers of wards on it. At least she'd used Hogsmeade post owls instead of Hogwarts owls.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
With three days to spare, he was finished. The potion was complete. Wiping the sweat off his forehead he half staggered up the stairs to Lucius' study, to inform him of the success. The study was empty, however, which perhaps wasn't so strange considering it was three o'clock in the morning. He called for one of the Malfoy elves and asked it to fetch Lucius, and paced the room impatiently while waiting for him to show up.
"It's done," he said without preamble when Lucius showed up, in his dressing robes over pale blue silk pyjamas. "Would you deliver it?" It was a bit of a gamble to ask, it most definitely wasn't the Slytherin way.
Lucius raised an eyebrow at him but nodded. "Very well. You have to go back to the workshop?"
"Yes, I'm behind on my other assignments and don't want him to start questioning where I've gone. I will answer any questions he has, of course, but it's brewed according to specifications." Severus felt a surge of relief over not having to present the potion himself, not having to meet with the Dark Lord alone again, and hoped Lucius would see the advantage in presenting the potion. All three involved knew who had brewed it, after all, so Lucius wouldn't steal all the glory for himself but perhaps a bit of it would fall his way.
"Shall I open the Floos for you?"
Already yawning, Severus nodded, relieved at not having to trudge all the way out to the Apparition point beyond the gates. He returned to the workshop, carefully swept up the Floo ashes, and crashed into bed.
A few days later, a black bird he didn't recognise delivered a package to him at the workshop. He took it up to his room to open it in private, and gasped when the wrapping paper gave way to an ancient-looking tome. Magick Most Evile was frayed and heavy, obviously antique, and clearly well used.
He smiled and opened it carefully. There was a dedication in it. To Severus, for services performed. Keep proving me right. — LV.
