Early August

Gringotts

August arrived with hot and humid weather, and it was quite a relief to work in a Goblin institution even if she was stuck on the upper levels. The Goblins had built in efficient ventilation by utilising the mined caves as a heat sink.

Things were still strange with Severus but he'd met her back at Spinner's End after his abrupt departure when they were neutralising the Horcruxes, and he had actually apologised for leaving. She had apologised as well for dragging him to destroy a Horcrux in the company of people who distrusted him, she should have realised it was a bit much to ask after that awful week. It still felt raw, unfinished between them. He had needed to go back to the workshop already on Sunday evening. She wondered if it was a requirement or if he just wanted to get away from her, from their unfinished business, but it didn't quite seem like it. He'd murmured her name before he left, raising a hand to her hair and almost — almost — reaching down to kiss her, so he clearly wanted her still.

Her equations were getting more and more difficult to manage, with all the new input. Her old information wasn't as useful any longer, when things started to diverge from what used to be. At least Gargnak had made it clear to her, several times, that they wanted her to work on them. She was beginning to feel the need for a deeper understanding of Arithmancy, but hadn't figured out yet how Gringotts worked. Perhaps they did have senior Arithmancers employed, but asking for someone to mentor her felt like a big thing. The goblins brought her information collected from their various sources, of business deals and transactions and other things that came to their knowledge, which she combined with what she heard from other sources. Phineas' portrait occasionally relayed information from Dilys and Heliotrope who had heard things from their other portraits, but there wasn't much to report from Hogwarts now that the students and most Professors were home for the summer.

A few days into the new month an owl arrived with a note, or rather the note arrived via a disgruntled young goblin who had apparently been the one on call in the mail room.

You were right. I've informed the others.— RL was all it said. It took her a moment to work out the context. RL must be Remus Lupin, and that meant the births of Harry and Neville had happened as she predicted. It still remained to be seen how she could leverage this with the Order, but now that the ring Horcrux had been neutralised she would have an easier time approaching the Headmaster.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Hermione had spent way too much time going through Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly archives, for research purposes. She had also been in touch with both Narcissa Black Malfoy and Regulus before being able to arrange a meeting with one person she wasn't too keen on ever seeing again even for the first time. Thus she was seated at a booth in the Leaky Cauldron again after leaving work at Gringotts the following Thursday afternoon, waiting impatiently with a pint of Butterbeer in front of her.

A witch in bright fuchsia coloured robes approached the table. "Granger, was it?"

She looked much the same as Hermione recalled, her hair just as blonde but perhaps a tad longer than it had been, her glasses probably an earlier model and the robes maybe a bit simpler, if still garish.

Hermione smiled politely and gestured at the seat. "Thank you for meeting me, Ms Skeeter. Yes, Hermione Granger."

"Call me Rita, dear." The reporter flashed a smile at Hermione, all teeth. "You said you had something for me?"

Hermione flicked up a Notice-Me-Not and Muffliato, for good measure. "I have a suggestion and a job that could bring you real recognition, if you're up for it."

The smile didn't falter. "Yes?"

This was a gamble, but one she felt rather certain of. Rita Skeeter was ambitious, that much was obvious. She leaned forward in her seat, elbows on the table. "You write about the latest gossip today, who was seen flirting with whose wife, what happened at the latest party. Is that as far as your ambitions go, or do you actually want to write something important?"

The reporter raised her chin, giving the appearance of looking down at Hermione. "And you would provide that? What do you know, anyway?"

Hermione smiled. It was rather nice, for once, to have the upper hand. "I know… shall we say, what you are?" Pulling out a pen she drew a black splotch on her napkin, six little legs sticking out and two antennae at one end.

Rita paled when she noticed the little picture. "Are you threatening me?" The smile had finally dropped.

Hermione shook her head and drew more legs on the beetle, making it look like an abstract drawing before Vanishing the napkin with a flick of her hand. "No, not this time. I merely think that your other form might be very useful if you want to write about what those Pure-bloods actually get up to when they meet at night, outside of those parties. I have a way of letting you in on that. But this has to be your choice, I won't try to force you. This is a dangerous assignment. You would be ideal for it, but I could find someone else."

"How can I trust you, anyway? What if you're setting me up?" Rita leaned forward, anyway, clearly still interested.

Hermione shrugged. "For what end? I want this silly conflict to end, and to have those bigots and haters exposed. The public needs to know what they're actually doing. I don't have any grudge against you, personally." Not yet, this time, her mind supplied. "If you write an article about what the Death Eaters are actually up to during their raids, I'm sure the public support for them will drop dramatically."

"The Prophet won't publish anything negative," Rita said slowly, tapping the end of her wand against the table.

Hermione had thought about that. It would be a problem, to actually get an article in print. "The Quibbler has a printing press, don't they? Or Witch Weekly?"

"I'm not writing anything for the Quibbler!" Rita glared at her, crossing her arms over her ample chest.

Hermione sighed. "Fine, we'll find a way to get it published in the Prophet. This is a unique chance to get in on the real action, Rita. The reason I'm asking you is that I know what you're capable of, and this is a chance to use those skills as a real journalist. I think you can do it."

Rita tapped her cheek with her wand in a manner that seemed rather unsafe as she appeared to think about it. "Fine. Let's try it. If you can guarantee me access to someone on the… other side, I'll write the article."

"Good. Don't try to work out who your contact is. I'm sure you understand they're risking a lot by allowing this." Hermione dug around in her bag for the items she had prepared, finally succeeding with a non-verbal Accio. "Here. This coin will alert you when it's time to go. You won't get much warning so please be ready. It seems they're often Summoned on weekends, late in the evening."

Rita took the false Galleon and inspected it carefully. Hermione took out her own Galleon and sent a message, to show how it worked. Rita quickly caught on and sent a message in return.

Hermione pushed the parchment across the table. "This is a contract. You won't try to figure out who your contact persons are. You will write a truthful and accurate statement, and you will not draw attention to yourself or your contact persons. They're taking a big risk too by allowing this."

Rita scanned the document and frowned. "What about the risks to myself, then? You're asking me to go out there and write about people that are dangerous for real. What's to stop them from hurting me?"

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't actually considered that, thinking that Rita deserved whatever would come her way, but that was a bit unfair. "I'll look into that. You could write under a pseudonym? For extra anonymity."

In the end they parted with a tentative understanding and a list of tasks. Hermione would work on security and how to set up the printing, while Rita had actually said she was interested in trying. It was a good starting point, at least.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Early August

Spinner's End

He threw himself back into work to make up for the lost week but his thoughts kept straying back to her, wondering what she was doing, if she was at home — his home, their home — or if she was thinking about him. They hadn't resumed the activities that were so abruptly interrupted by his memories, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. She'd been looking at him whenever they were in the same room, looking away as soon as he looked up, blushing and biting her lower lip in a way that made him want to liberate it with a finger, with his tongue.

After working almost day and night for a week he was finally back at Spinner's End for the weekend, even if he'd had to stay at the workshop until it was late enough to be early Saturday morning. Hermione was asleep when he made it back, and he barely managed to pull off his clothes before falling asleep. He had nearly everything sorted for his Mastery but Pyrites was definitely not happy about it. He'd had to drop the Dark Lord's name a couple of times to get his Master to contact the Guild for a date, and he was still tasked with brewing nearly everything Pyrites wanted to sell. Nott and Martin were at least sensible enough to keep their heads down and listen when Severus told them what they did wrong, but Warrington was as useless as ever. Severus suspected that part of Pyrites' dislike of the plans was that he was beginning to realise that his business would hurt from losing Severus and having to rely on Warrington, but Severus definitely couldn't care less.

It was still a bit raw, that whole mess with the memories. He hadn't bothered to remove them again from his mind and yet they seemed to hurt a bit less than before. It didn't quite make sense, he thought, but the edges were a bit less sharp, less inflamed than before. Perhaps removing them from his head for a while had helped, or maybe even being forced to discuss the events with Lucius and Hermione. He hoped it wasn't that, though: that method was way too painful to consider as a viable option. What was important was that she had stayed. She'd even apologised for looking where she shouldn't have, and he could tell she was serious. He wasn't sure he would be able to trust her fully again but as long as she didn't come to her senses and leave him he wouldn't be the one to jeopardise it.

When he made it downstairs late in the morning it was to a kitchen in disarray. Hermione had for some reason seen fit to rearrange his kitchen cupboards and was busy wiping shelves and moving everything around. There was a pot of tea and even a plate of scrambled eggs with toast in stasis, waiting for him. He settled down to eat while watching her work, feeling oddly warm inside. She'd thought of him, leaving food for him like that, and her arse looked great in those jeans.

She finished wiping the shelves and sat down opposite him to pour herself more tea.

"One day you'll have to tell me about your mum, Severus."

He raked a hand through his hair. "You seem to know it all already."

"I don't know what happened to you. You don't seem to like this place much."

He took a deep breath. "I hate it."

Too many memories in the walls, in the floorboards, in the poor excuse for a garden and in the neighbourhood. It stuck to him like tar, like a bad smell.

She sipped her tea, looking at the shelves in the kitchen. "Why don't we revamp it, then? I think I have some books on household renovations."

Slowly the idea took hold. Why had he never thought about that? Probably because he never spent longer than he had to at the place, until she turned up at least.

"We'd need stronger anti-Muggle and anti-magic detection wards first," he said slowly.

"We're both good at wards. I think you could build a basement and put in a potions lab. Maybe expand the rooms a bit. Did your mum already do that for the bathroom? It doesn't look to be original to the house and the dimensions are slightly off."

That made him think. Was the bathroom actually enhanced by magic? He'd never noticed anything, which was odd in itself. On a whim he went up to the attic and pulled down the old trunk his ma had used for trinkets and keepsakes, thinking she may have kept some notes on whatever she'd done to the house. Hermione immediately descended on the photo album.

"Is that… your mother?"

He looked over her shoulder. They were standing on a train platform, on the way to Blackpool for the first and only time as a family. It had been the only holiday travel they'd done, in July when he was eight after his father actually got a small promotion at work, before the factory closed.

She looked between him and the photo, back and forth, wide-eyed.

"Severus… your mum is at Hogwarts. She's Irma Pince, the librarian."

He frowned. "Who? No, her name is Eileen." He had to think for a moment to recall Madam Catterick, the plump grey-haired witch who kept a disinterested eye on the students while her enchanted knitting needles clicked and whirred away beside her, creating yet another endless shawl or mismatched pair of socks.

"I did notice her in the memories I shouldn't have watched, but I guess I didn't think too much about it then. She left that night? Have you seen her since then?"

Severus shook his head slowly. "No, she just up and left, haven't heard from her at all since then. Are you sure it's her?"

She nodded and left the room. When she returned, it was with the Pensieve she'd kept upstairs. She put it on the sofa table and deposited a few strands of memories in it.

"Come?"

He eyed the Pensieve warily. "What is it?"

"Nothing bad, promise. Just my memories of the Hogwarts librarian."

He relented and joined her, diving into her memories.

They were in the Hogwarts library, Hermione in her Hufflepuff robes with a gaggle of followers, discussing Charms homework by the looks of it. The Hermione beside him nudged him to look behind student-Hermione, where a black-clad witch was approaching.

"Quiet in the library!" the librarian snapped.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," the students chorused.

He moved closer and gasped. The stringy black hair, the too-large nose, the narrow face. Eileen Snape, née Prince.

"It's her?" Hermione asked him.

He nodded, not taking his eyes off Eileen. She looked reasonably well, certainly a lot better off than when he'd last seen her. She'd just left, handing him the keys to the house and a notice about bills to pay. It had been a struggle to figure out how to live in the Muggle world along the Wizarding one, managing not only laundry and feeding himself but also such mundane Muggle issues as the gas bill and electricity.

"She didn't even try to get in touch with me."

"Oh, Severus…"

The library scene faded and another memory came into focus. They were still in the library, but this time Hermione was in Gryffindor robes, sitting by herself at a table in the Transfiguration section. She was writing an essay and had apparently been at it for a while considering the stacks of books and rolls of parchment surrounding her.

"I just received the two books you requested from Beauxbatons library, Miss Granger."

The librarian showed up again with two old tomes. She looked older than in the last memory, but otherwise she was just the same. Pinched frown, hair in a too tight bun, now with more streaks of grey.

"Oh! Thank you, Madam Pince." Hermione smiled at the older woman who carefully made room for the two books and put them on the table.

"Don't forget to put all of these back when you're done with them, Miss Granger."

"Of course, Madam Pince. Thanks again."

Hermione the student didn't see the small smile the librarian directed at her before she left, already immersed in her essay again, but Severus did.

The memory ended and they were back in the sitting room again. He stared at Hermione but it was his mother's face that kept appearing in his mind. She was at Hogwarts, she was safe.

"Severus?"

He caught her in a hug, without warning. She squeaked in surprise but he felt her arms come up around his back.

Taking slow steps backwards, he manoeuvred them to sit down in his armchair, with her across his lap.

Pulling her closer to him he felt her relax, resting her bushy head against his collarbone and wrapping her arms around his lower back.

"Thank you." Something warm swelled in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

So close, so near. Her face tilted up towards his and he couldn't resist dipping his head down to kiss her. She hummed against his mouth and responded eagerly, kissing him back. One of his hands tangled in her hair and the other sneaked in under her t-shirt, feeling her smooth skin against his rough palm. His world shrank to this, to her and her mouth and her scent and the way her hands pulled up his own t-shirt and pressed him closer. His cock was swelling rapidly and the urge to get rid of all barriers between them was overwhelming.

He broke the kiss, needing to refocus, to not scare her off. "Hermione. Gods, witch, I want you." With his eyes closed her scent filled his nostrils, as did her bushy hair.

She nodded against his chin and pulled him closer for another kiss with a firm grip in his hair. Bliss. Her soft lips and hot mouth felt just right against his own and she tasted sweet, of tea and something uniquely her.

"Upstairs," she announced. She rose from the chair and started trying to pull him along to the stairs.

"Are you a witch or aren't you?" He spun her around into a tight circle of Apparition, and managed to deposit them both next to his bed.

"Oh!" She pulled him along until she fell backwards on the bed, her hands forcing him to follow.

He kissed everything he could reach, trying to catalogue her reactions. Her face, her nose, her lips. Her earlobes were apparently rather sensitive, causing her to writhe and moan in a very distracting way. She managed to almost pull his t-shirt off, despite his efforts to distract her.

"You want this?" His voice sounded gritty even to himself but Hermione moaned and jerked her hips up towards him.

"You would stop, right? If I didn't want? 'Cause I do, but I haven't…"

He nodded against her cheek while she managed to pull his shirt off. A hand very gently, slowly traced a path across his chest, palming a nipple and causing goosebumps all the way down to his thigh. His heart was about to burst, as was his cock. The need for more skin contact was intense, so he pulled himself together just enough to Banish her t-shirt wandlessly, hoping it would end up in the other bedroom as intended.

She was warm and soft and perfect. He dipped his head to taste her, to nibble and trail kisses down her neck to her shoulder. There was barely any trace of the wound she'd had on her neck when she first arrived, a faint scar that looked years old was all that remained after the unicorn had healed it. There was another scar on her chest, from her shoulder and down between her breasts, still a bit lumpy but mostly faded. He kissed that too, tracing its path with his lips, hoping she would understand. His heart swelled even more, almost painfully so.

She was wearing a very Muggle bra, white with blue flowers and some sort of lace, and her breast fit perfectly in his hand, bra and all.

"Perfect. You're perfect."

He let his lips trace the lacy edge of her bra down to the middle, and up the other side. She arched her back to let him access the clasp but it took him a fair amount of fumbling to get it loose. Both of them groaned when he finally put his lips on her breast again, licking her nipple to a hard pebble and then sucking it into his mouth.

She fisted a hand in his hair, keeping him in place. The other hand was grasping at the blankets and the way her chest heaved with her breathing was very distracting.

He let his hand wander further down her flat stomach, down to her jeans. The ache was constant, the ache to touch her, to bury himself inside, to finally reach that state of bliss with her.

"Off?"

She rose on her elbow and stopped him, her hand over his. "Wait… can I touch you?"

Sharp disappointment abruptly gave way to astonishment, that she wanted to, that she asked. He nodded and simply had to kiss her again.

Her hands on his chest, his arm, his face. She kissed him again, and then he felt a hand on his cock through the jeans, mapping the contours. More, he needed more. He fumbled with the buttons to at least alleviate some of the pressure from the tight confinement, hoping it wouldn't scare her off.

She slipped a hand down to touch him. Someone else's hand on him, the whole situation so alien and strange he thought his chest would burst. Her touch was too light, only stroking the skin, but it didn't matter. He yanked down the jeans past his arse to give her room, now that she was actually touching him like that, of her own free will.

"Harder, you can grip it harder."

"Show me?" Her hand stilled just under the waistband of his boxers, loosely grasping the shaft.

The underwear got yanked down too, with absolutely no finesse. He put his own hand over hers and started moving in the rhythm he liked. She quickly picked up on it. He fell back on the bed, eyes closed, focusing on just feeling as he soared higher and higher and her touch, her body pressed against his, her hand moving just so until he shattered, spilling cum all over her hand and his stomach.

It took him a while to come back to himself. She was still pressed against his side, his arm under her head and around her shoulders, and her hand was still loosely holding his deflating dick. At least he could focus enough again to clean them both up with a wandless burst of magic.

He kissed her again, trying to pour everything into the kiss. His chest felt as if it would overflow with emotion, something warm swelling inside him, wanting to engulf her. He wanted to make her reach the same heights, if she let him.

"May I?"

She nodded and shimmied out of her jeans. He cast his trousers aside too but pulled up his boxers again, feeling a bit too self conscious. The feeling of her smooth legs against his was worth it, though.

She writhed against his hand and gasped when he touched her knickers, wetness seeping out already. He coaxed them aside, hoping she wouldn't stop him, relieved when she spread her legs for him.

"Relax, just feel. Show me what you like."

She bit her lip and held her breath for a moment before apparently making up her mind, putting her own hand down her knickers. He pulled them off for better access and put his hand over hers. She showed him the rhythm she wanted and then let him take over. The position was a bit awkward since he could only use one hand, but she definitely approved if the way she groaned and tilted her hips up to meet him was any indication. He dipped a finger just inside her opening, feeling the slick wetness that had pooled there, and then smelled his fingers. Her scent was both sweet and musky in a rather intriguing combination, and the taste wasn't bad either when he popped it in his mouth.

Keeping a close eye on her reactions he put his hand back where she wanted it, finding the rhythm again. She moaned and clenched the bedsheets which he hoped was a good sign. It took a bit longer but soon she arced her back and groaned, muffled by an arm over her mouth, her whole body shaking.

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"My pleasure, most definitely."

She hummed, pulling him close. Her scent filled his nostrils and her soft curves seemed made for his hand, all of them.

"Is there something else I can do to help you? I mean, with everything else."

She was quiet for a while, apparently thinking about it. "I'd like to see my parents some day. They don't know I exist, they're dentists. I was thinking of booking an appointment at their clinic."

That wasn't quite what he had expected. "Oh. Of course. Should I go with you?"

"You would? You'd do that for me?"

He nodded, causing her to squeak and kiss him again. If that was the outcome he'd go visit a hundred dentists for her.

They settled in for the night and this time it felt natural to pull her close, to bury his nose in her hair and let the rhythm of her breathing guide his own.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Sunday afternoon

The Black summer residence

They'd spent most of Sunday morning in bed, making out like teenagers. She couldn't get enough of him, his touch, his warmth, his eyes, but then Severus had left for the workshop again as soon as they finished breakfast, saying he really needed to focus on his apprenticeship. He had kissed her again at the door, looking as forlorn as she felt over being parted.

She was trying to focus on her tasks but her thoughts kept drifting back to Severus at completely inopportune moments. She wanted to tell everyone about it, about him. She wanted to crawl back into bed with him and never let him go. She wanted to repeat everything they'd done, to practice and experiment until both of them were spent, sweaty and breathless. Finally it made sense, the things Lavender and Parvati would whisper in their dorm in the evenings, the couples she'd had to break up in dark alcoves when patrolling as a Prefect.

Instead, she spent the Sunday afternoon in the Black summer residence, meeting with the Augurey Association to discuss plans and strategies for the upcoming autumn. Amelia was there, as was Regulus, Kingsley, Hestia and Septima, and they had been discussing strategies for how to manage the Ministry. They'd come up with some ideas for tracking Death Eaters and how to sabotage their plans for Muggle-born registration, something Hermione felt important in light of the events during the other war.

"So now we just need to align with the Order," Amelia was saying.

Whatever Hestia was about to say was interrupted when a door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps approaching. Kreacher said something, muffled by the doors.

"What is the meaning of this?" The voice belonged to an older male person and sounded vaguely familiar.

Hermione held her breath and readied her wand. She'd risen from her chair, as had Amelia and Kingsley.

Orion Black stepped into the room, scowling at all of them, wand out. To Hermione's surprise, Fidelma stood behind him, staring at all of them from behind his voluminous dark blue robes. The grey-haired wizard was clearly used to getting his way, his whole being radiating power and confidence.

Hermione didn't hesitate. "Stupefy!" The spell hit Lord Black square in the chest. He fell like a log, barely missing the corner of the table.

Another spell froze Fidelma in place, propped against the wall, and a third collected all their notes and put them back in her bag.

Regulus threw his hands up, looking at her. "What are you doing? You can't just attack Father!"

"He can't see us here. Is there anyone else who is good at Obliviates or should I do it? And what was Fidelma doing here?" Her mind was whirring with what-ifs, trying to find a way forward.

Amelia frowned. "Obliviation isn't something you cast just like that, Hermione. What are you planning?" She walked closer to where Lord Black had fallen, wand out.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "Let's check what Fidelma had told him, first. Do you have any Veritaserum?"

Amelia spun around to face her, both eyebrows raised. "Veritaserum! Pardon me, Hermione, but why would I have a highly controlled and illegal substance on my person just in case I needed to interrogate a teenager?"

Hermione shrugged. There was no time for sensitivity. The younger witch was revived and placed in a chair in front of Hermione. Kingsley stood behind her, wand discreetly pointed at her back. Hestia stood with Septima by the window, both of them looking slightly shocked. Hermione felt slightly guilty for having neglected her young friend, but this was more important.

"Did you tell Lord Black about us?"

Fidelma looked up at her, arms crossed. "Yes, I told Lord Black you were here. You're clearly up to something and he has the right to know. Hermione, I don't know what you're up to but you can't just take over someone's place without asking."

"Did you say anything else? Have you heard what we've been talking about, or read our notes?"

"No! I'm not a sneak, I just don't think it's right, what you do."

With a murmured Legilimens Hermione slipped into Fidelma's mind. She appeared to be telling the truth, but Hermione was not at all used to Legilimency and wasn't sure how to find what she needed to look for. The memory of Fidelma talking to Lord Black was clear, though. She'd sent him a note with Kreacher and he'd asked what she was doing there and what Regulus was up to.

Hermione Stunned her former dormmate without any further thought after pulling out of her mind.

"They talked about why she was there and who Regulus has been seeing."

Regulus looked pale, bracing against the wall. He raked a hand through his messy brown hair. "If he's told the Dark Lord already…"

Hermione didn't hesitate. There was no time, not with Lord Black soon stirring from the spell. "Please leave, everyone. I'll be in touch but he can't see you here when he wakes up." Taking a deep breath the next steps solidified in her mind. "Sorry in advance, Regulus. I don't see any better options."

She concentrated, wand pointed at Fidelma's head. Luckily she had some experience with memory manipulation, after all. The combination of an Obliviate and a Confundus meant their secrets should be safe, but Fidelma would instead think Regulus had been courting her. Luckily they hadn't been at the country house that often so there weren't a lot of memories to pull out, and it also seemed Fidelma was a bit interested in Regulus to start with. She'd definitely noticed him, at least, even if they didn't seem to have talked much.

"What do you mean? Hermione?" Regulus moved closer, looking down at them both.

"I've made her believe you've been courting her. Now we just have to make sure Lord Black thinks so too."

Regulus froze, mouth gaping and his hand halfway through his hair. "Are you mad? He'll have me married off within a fortnight!"

She looked up at him, not feeling very charitable. It was his mess, his father, his house. Of course Hermione should have looked after Fidelma better, but so should he. "Got any better ideas? She's Pure-blood after all."

He looked intensely serious all of a sudden. "I never got the chance to ask you out."

Hermione sagged against the wall and shot another Stunner at Lord Black who was starting to stir. Lucius had insinuated that Regulus was interested in her but she'd never thought it was true. After all, wizards simply didn't get interested in someone like her.

"I'm sorry, Regulus. It wouldn't have happened anyway, I'm not interested in you like that. I don't want to lose your friendship but I wouldn't have gone out with you."

Regulus nodded sharply, looking down at the floor as if the floorboards held the secret to everything. He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Are you and Severus…"

It was her turn to look away, feeling a blush heat her cheeks. "Yes."

"Good… Good." He exhaled sharply and rubbed his hands together. "Okay, let's do this. I need to check Father's memories. Can you do the Confundus after? You seem to have some experience with it. Shall we say you were the chaperone and that's why you were here? I think we can leave the bit about her not wanting to be married off to Yaxley."

Between the two of them it didn't take long for Regulus to revive his father and use Legilimency to check for any reports to the Dark Lord. Hermione took over with another set of Obliviates and Confundus charms.

Checking that she had everything, she stepped back and let Regulus wake him up. The yelling commenced right away but at least the topics were more around Regulus not telling his father about having met someone, and less about the political opposition meeting in secret in one of the Black residences. After some summary introductions Hermione was quickly forgotten, and she took the chance to leave as soon as she could. Relief warred with more guilt over trapping Regulus in a sticky situation with his own father, but relief won in the end.