Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.


Ch 23: Changes

"More, Mudblood?" Kreacher asked, but at Harry's pointed look, corrected, "I mean Master's friend?"

"You really shouldn't have him call you Master, Harry," Hermione scolded, pursing her lips. She'd said the same nearly every day for the last three weeks. Possibly twice a day since their learning of Regulus's role with the locket and Kreacher's new outlook on Harry.

"He likes 'oo," Ron responded for Harry, talking around a mouth full of food. "Here, I'll take more, mate," Ron added, nodding towards his newly cleared plate. Obediently, Kreacher added three more fluffy, golden pancakes before Ron and topped them with a waterfall of thick syrup.

"Today I think we should officially decide which people we are going to impersonate," Harry suggested tentatively, looking to her and Ron for approval. "Then tomorrow decide how we'll delay them. I don't want to wait too much longer in case Umbridge stops wearing it or disappears or something else unexpected."

He had a valid point. People had been disappearing left and right for over a year now. The majority of which were never seen again.

"I like the list we've got going of who reliably arrives at the same time each day," Hermione agreed, but vehemently added, "but I will not use Polyjuice to become a wizard again. It's got to be a witch or I'll be too uncomfortable to be convincing."

"Great. Thanks," Harry mumbled uncomfortably. Ron snickered, which was enough to spur Harry into running through everything they'd learned up to that point again – despite having just gone through it all.

The first week at Grimmauld place had been rather aimless. Far more so than Hermione was comfortable with. She hated not having a goal or a plan or something productive to do. They hadn't though, and Harry hadn't been very inclined to discuss things. Mostly, he'd holed himself up in Sirius's room or brooded over his discovery that Dumbledore may have once been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. He'd not handled discovering his mentor might have been less than perfect – only human, in truth – well at all.

The fact the room had been ransacked didn't sit well with her, though Harry hardly paid it any mind. At least not beyond suggesting that Snape was the one to do it. She could think of no legitimate reason he'd have for tossing the contents about, aside from pointless, lingering hatred, and she'd not gathered the courage yet to ask him if he had done so. Somehow that felt like a conversation best had in person.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been under the impression that there was a bit of a time constraint on their mission. Knowing they were wasting precious days doing literally nothing left her feeling extremely anxious. She'd taken to repacking her bag at least twice a day and combing through Grimmauld Place's library in between, fruitlessly searching for a clue. A clue that didn't result in them taking the unnecessary risk of traveling to Godric's Hollow that is.

Harry's desire to visit the town was nearly tangible, but Hermione knew it was simply too reckless. She could feel it in her gut. She didn't even need to ask Snape if Voldemort had a trap waiting for them there to know what a bad idea attempting a visit would be.

Ron didn't seem to care one way or another where they went or what they did. He simply seemed thrilled that they were having an adventure, and that he wasn't preparing to return to Hogwarts this fall. Hermione wondered how much longer it would be until the excitement wore off. Though she had been grateful when he'd helped her in the library and even located a volume on Concealment Spells Hermione thought might come in handy if they left Grimmauld Place.

Of course all of that had been before they learned where Slytherin's locket was and came up with a plan to retrieve it. For the last two weeks they'd been taking turns following Ministry workers around and coming up with a plan to break in once they'd determined it was the only time they could reliably gain access to Umbridge.

The only other distraction they'd had had been the excitement of Lupin wanting to join them. Hermione was equal parts sad and relieved that Harry had sent him home to Tonks. Sad because of the harsh words exchanged between the wizards when there was no guarantee they'd ever have the opportunity to mend things. And relief because Snape would have had an apoplectic fit if she was off alone with both Harry and Lupin.

Merlin, she missed Snape. Exchanging a few lines a day wasn't the same, and it wasn't nearly enough to make up for not spending the evening reading or brewing together. And it certainly didn't come close to compensating for the way her skin craved his touch.

Even thinking of the ghost of his velvet lips along her collarbone had her stomach warming. Soft and slick as melted butter. Shivers skated down her spine leaving gooseflesh in their wake despite the warmth of the fire Kreacher had going to heat the kettle for their tea. If anything, the warmth was originating within her.

Her stomach flipped, and for a second, Hermione worried Kreacher had finally poisoned her tea as he'd made clear he longed to do. It happened again, the churning too persistent to ignore, except this time her core clenched around nothing, spasming and weeping with need as it happened.

Harry was still droning on about the wizards he and Ron could choose from, his voice registering as nothing more than a monotone blah blah blah, when Hermione finally recognized the signals her body was sending her.

The spell. It had activated.

Bloody hell. It had been so long she'd nearly forgotten what it felt like!

"Be right back," Hermione announced, interrupting Harry mid sentence. He opened his mouth to say something, but she left the room before he could.

It wasn't as though she needed to listen to him. Their plan to break into the Ministry was the same now as it had been before he'd tried to distract Ron. It was the same discussion they'd been having every morning for more than a week. It all boiled down to the same thing – disguise themselves as Ministry workers, enter the building, and take the locket Mundungus had given to Umbridge.

Just like that. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Except right now, the only thing Hermione could focus on was shagging Snape. As soon as possible, preferably.

The fluttering and throbbing in her center was in full swing by the time she reached the room she'd been using and found the potion she'd been taking to negate the spell. Downing the bitter contents, and shaking her head to dispel the lingering taste of dandelion greens and newt tails, Hermione waited for it to nullify the electric tingling.

Nothing happened.

If anything, her muscles were beginning to cramp from having gone so long without the spell activating. Desire slicked her entrance, readying her for a man that she wasn't even sure she could get ahold of.

Groaning, she collapsed on the bed, clutching her aching middle and willing the pain to subside long enough for her to think rationally.

"Why not just message your husband?" a condescending voice suggested. More like sneered.

"Excuse me?" Hermione gasped, spinning around to see the snide image of Phineas Black watching her, arms crossed and pointed beard upturned as he looked down his nose at her.

"Aren't you supposed to be the intelligent one? Of course, what should I expect from a Gryffindor Mudblood," he drawled, sounding so much like Snape that a wave of yearning racked her entire frame.

"Don't call me that, and how do you know about –"

"Did you forget that I was there when the previous headmaster performed the ceremony?"

"I was a little too preoccupied to notice you," Hermione replied tartly, annoyed with the arrogant man.

A punch with the strength of a two-by-four struck her side and she grit her teeth, letting a little whine escape her lips as she tried to mask the pain. There had been times she'd actually missed the spell during the spring, because of the freedom it allowed her to be with Snape. But things were different now. It was inconvenient in the extreme, and she resented how little control she possessed.

"Well, I was. And I know you can't do anything about your little problem by yourself. It's a rather clever spell in that regard, if I do say so myself…and knowing that, it appears your only option is Severus, so why don't you go ahead and message him already," he said smugly.

"I was just about to," she grumbled.

Resigned, she messaged Snape. She was tired of being with him out of necessity. It was so much better when they were simply because.

'Can you meet? The spell started this morning.'

Hermione braced herself, mentally preparing a lie for the boys that would allow her to hide herself away all day. Menstruation cramps perhaps? They weren't too likely to pester her with questions if she went with that. Though hopefully Snape could get away before the pain became too debilitating that she was unable to conceal the cause any longer.

How would they react? Had she made a mistake not confiding in them sooner? Would it have gone over better if she'd had Dumbledore's support and endorsement when Harry first found out? Somehow she doubted it would have made much of a difference. Harry and Ron both liked to hold a grudge when you went against them. It had happened often enough over the years for her to be intimately familiar with the fact. It wasn't something she could afford to have happen this year. Not when –

'Yes. Can you get away now?' he replied a few minutes later, interrupting her worrying.

Thank Merlin. She was once again reminded of how awful this year was going to be trying to keep things secret.

Returning to the kitchen, Hermione interrupted whatever Harry was saying to Ron. "Actually, Harry, I'm feeling a little stir-crazy the closer we get to actually attempting this. Would you mind terribly if I staked out the Ministry instead of you today? I have a few questions and notes I've made that I need to verify…unless you'd rather go over it all," she finished, gesturing at the large pile of notes she'd been taking since they'd first come up with the idea.

"Go for it," he said a little too enthusiastically.

Probably, he dreaded having to read through all she'd written, or he was merely relieved to have the day off. She'd bet he intended to spend some of it discussing Quidditch with Ron, and the rest searching Sirius's room for more momentos like the picture he'd found of his mum watching him fly on his first broom while his dad chased after him. Or obsessing over what he'd read in his mum's letter about Dumbledore.

Hermione wasn't sure she believed the letter herself. It seemed much more likely that Bathilda Bagshot was simply gossiping or spinning tales to amuse the home-bound Lily. Then again, what did she know? Sometimes the people we are as children aren't at all who we grow up to be. It might have been the same for Grindelwald or Dumbledore, possibly both of them. And, of course, there was the more obvious fact that Dumbledore was manipulative in the extreme at times. Knowing how he used Snape for years, and now her, she could picture him plotting and scheming, even if he did wise up before acting on any of it.

"Thanks," Hermione said quickly, accepting Harry's cloak and quickly leaving the room.

'Yes. Where can you meet me?' she replied once alone in the hallway, waiting to see where she should go.

'Come to our house.'

As soon as the words appeared, she stepped onto the porch and Disapparated.

Hermione flung herself into Snape's arms the instant he opened the door, rubbing her body provocatively against his own and savoring the groan he released in response.

It really was like coming home after a long trip.

"Upstairs," he ordered.

"Severus," she whined, having half hoped he'd take her against the bookcase again when he'd told her to meet him there.

"Now," he growled, unrelenting even as he claimed her mouth once again, snagging her waist and stepping backwards, not releasing her as he navigated them to his bedroom.

They were both entirely naked by the time they reached their destination, having shed items haphazardly along the way as hands stroked and teased while lips sought every inch of newly exposed flesh.

Snape sank onto the bed, laying back and guiding her to climb atop him. "Kneel over me. Turn around, yes, like that," he instructed, helping her to reposition the way he wanted her until she was straddling his shoulders. "Perfect."

Hermione hesitated, feeling the freedom of the spell urging her to press her core against his mouth, but not sure if that was what Snape had intended with the new arrangement.

"Put your mouth on me. Suck me," he ordered, leaning up to lick her slick folds as he did.

His tongue traced her seam, stopping with a teasing flick against her clit that had her back bowing and arms quivering. When he did it again, lifting his hips to remind her of his own need, Hermione blinked, trying to focus on his words.

"Oh, umm, yes," she gasped, dipping her head to wrap her lips around the head of his impressive erection.

"Hmm," he groaned, the sound muffled against her sex as his clever tongue worked her over.

Hermione found it difficult to do more than suck on the tip of his cock, wrapping her tongue around the crown as her mind spun. Snape apparently didn't have any complaints though, humming lightly in approval, despite how distracted she was by the pleasure he was giving her.

His musky aroma filled her nose and the coarse hair on his legs scraped lightly against her forearms where she braced herself. She tried to bring one hand up to grip the base of his shaft, but his attention to her center left her too unsteady.

Then his hands joined his mouth to pleasure her, his arms looping around her thighs to anchor her to him as he used two fingers to stroke her channel, and she felt her body turn to putty. He pressed her g-spot and scraped his teeth across her bundle of nerves.

Her whole body shook and her hips rolled, grinding against his mouth as she sought just a bit more pressure. Snape's hips rocked, driving his length deeper into her mouth and she swallowed as much of him as she could take, wanting to make him feel the ecstasy she was experiencing as well.

"Oh, uh, I'm close," Hermione groaned, releasing him with a wet pop when he rubbed the tender spot again.

His cock bobbed, brushing her cheek, and Hermione ran her tongue along the underside then exhaled, letting him feel the contrast of her cool breath. "Hhhm," he grunted, lashing her clit faster with his tongue.

"Sev!" she cried, shattering abruptly.

The orgasm rocked her, seizing her in a vice grip before dropping her. Her whole body shook as she fell against the mussed sheets, the fall endless as the universe.

Rational thought was just returning enough for her to realize Snape was no longer beneath her, having somehow extracted himself without her notice, when she felt him yanking her hips back and urging her up onto her wobbly knees.

Then he was inside her, pounding into her from behind. His thrusts were rough. Hard. His grip on her hips as unrelenting and indelible as brands.

It was a rush to feel him filling her so fully and hitting all of the sensitive places inside her. She savored the sensation of him sliding in so easily, aided by her recent orgasm. Snape alleviated the emptiness his absence had left in her these last weeks with each powerful rock of his hips.

"The taste of you drives me insane. I dream of it," he said, voice thick and guttural. Hermione shivered, unbalanced by the idea of him desiring her on such a primitive level.

"Don't stop," she begged, unsure if she meant his movements or his words. Both pushed her closer to the edge.

One of his hands reached around her to play with her clit, frantically rubbing the tiny pearl. "It's been too long. I missed this – missed you," he said softly.

"Yes," she agreed, though she knew he hadn't meant for her to hear him.

When he came shortly after, he took her over the edge with him, an explosion of stars and lights that eclipsed her. Dots floated behind her eyelids, the brightness filling even that space. Both collapsed onto the bed, so spent she was barely even able to roll to the side to gasp and catch her breath.

Hermione's eyes popped open when she felt his fingers brushing her sweat dampened hair back behind her ear. His fingers lingered and she was amazed to see the tender smile he wore as he gazed at her.

All too soon the moment passed and reality intruded once again.

"We can't stay here. Anyone could show up, and I'm sure you'll be missed by your friends," he warned, regret a sword looming over their necks, waiting to fall.

"They think I'm out scouting, so I have a little time."

"Always too little," he said softly, stealing a kiss. "But we should still leave soon."

"Do you know why Regulus Black was killed?" she asked abruptly, making use of the few minutes they had.

"I fail to see the relevance of mentioning any Black in our bed," he said cooly, lips twisting as he referenced the family. "We're well rid of the lot of them."

"Do you though?" she persisted stubbornly, ignoring his biased opinion.

"He wanted out," Snape replied flatly, shaking his head and sighing at the unexpected question and disliked topic. "The Dark Lord does not take kindly to such cowardice or dissension."

"He tried to take You-Know-Who out with him," Hermione informed Snape, accepting the hand he offered to help her up. She hadn't been going anywhere without the assist, every joint in her body had turned to so much cooked spaghetti.

"Did he? Considering what a spineless fool the boy was, I find that difficult to believe," Snape said derogatorily, bending to collect his discarded pants and giving Hermione a spectacular view in the process. She wanted to run her hands all over him and squeeze the tight globes briefly on display.

"You think everyone is a fool, but we found evidence of it," she stated drolly, rolling her eyes as she searched for her own pants. "You really had no idea?"

"None," he admitted, holding her jeans out. She snatched the dangling pants from his fingertip and shimmied into the tight denim, enjoying the way he eyed her hungrily as she did.

"Guess you're not the only Slytherin to discover a noble streak," Hermione suggested.

"First, I don't appreciate being lumped in with the likes of a Black – even a Slytherin one. Second, there's no need to put a positive spin on my actions. That I'm trying to atone for my mistakes speaks for itself," he said dismissively, exiting the room as he added, "and you've yet to learn the worst of my actions."

"I think I've proven I won't ever think less of you," Hermione insisted, following him and rolling her eyes again. She'd be dizzy by the time she left if he didn't stop being so onerous. As though he was capable of worse than becoming a Death Eater or sharing the prophecy – a topic she still wished to know more about, yet hesitated to ask. There was no point, really. He'd refuse to share even if she did.

"We shall see," he said enigmatically.

Sighing, Hermione retrieved her bra from the top step, fastening it as she challenged, "Well go on then, shock me. Tell me what other dastardly thing you've done that has you convinced it will sway my opinion of you."

"I doubt even you will find it possible to forgive what I will do," he stated darkly, ducking his head so his tangled dark hair fell forward to shield his face from her as he fastened up his black shirt.

"We're in the middle of a war, Severus. All of us will likely do terrible things before the end. It doesn't mean they aren't necessary or unforgivable," Hermione huffed, recalling Harry mentioning that Lupin had been upset he hadn't used the Killing Curse when fighting their attackers on the way to the safe houses. Hermione might not personally agree with that mindset, but she trusted Snape wouldn't resort to such measures if he had any other choice.

"I suppose we shall just have to wait and see," he replied, turning and striding to descend the stairs two at a time.

Why did he insist on constantly playing these verbal games? He'd say something mysterious, knowing it would make her want to know all about it, then refuse to tell her. Did he enjoy provoking her curiosity? Or was it his way of ensuring she was forever trying to puzzle him out?

If it was the latter, he'd certainly succeeded in keeping himself at the forefront of her mind.

Part of her also suspected he was fishing for confirmation that she cared about him enough to forgive any mistakes he made. Hermione had the impression not many had been willing to do that for him in his life. Nor did many look further than the sum of his misdeeds to see the man he was today.

He said he didn't want her to love him, but he did want her to care, even if he'd not said as much. So if it was reassurance he needed, then she'd continue offering it until he learned her feelings for him were unconditional.

Giving up, she decided to bring up the other topic that had been weighing on her this month. "I have a question for you."

"When don't you?"

"Severus!" she hissed, planting her hands on her hips as she stared down at him from her higher perch.

Annoyance buzzed in her ears like a swarm of angry bees when his lips twitched in obvious amusement. To be fair, she was still only an inch taller than him, and probably far from intimidating while wearing only her pants and a lacy bra.

"This should be good," he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the banister.

"Sirius's room was torn apart. Harry thinks it was you or Mundungus," she informed him brusquely.

"That isn't a question," he countered, raising a single inky brow in challenge.

"What were you looking for?" she demanded, recognizing that was the only confirmation he intended to give that it had been him to search the room.

Snape surprised her by stepping up, moving onto the bottom step so their faces were level. Gently, he reached to cup her cheek and kiss her softly.

Against her mouth, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, he answered, "Something no longer there."

What could he possibly have been looking for? Evidence that Sirius plotted against him in school to justify his hatred? Surely he didn't –

His lips teased hers apart, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam before dipping inside to tangle with her own. Hermione moaned, clutching at his shoulders then threading her fingers into his silky hair to anchor him to her. She was adrift in a storm and he was the lighthouse signaling her way home.

By the time they broke apart, she was panting. Hermione dropped her face against his neck, breathing him in as he held her close and wishing they could stay like that forever.

"Severus?"

"Hermione," he returned, snaking a hand around her waist then lower to cup her bum. The possessive hold shot a thrill through her.

"I'm yours – your partner, I mean. Please don't shut me out," she requested.

"The school year is about to start. I've been named headmaster," he informed her. "It'll be announced in a couple days. September first, actually."

That had been the goal, and one of the reasons they'd planned to have him be the one to kill Dumbledore. They'd hoped Voldemort would reward him with that placement. Apparently the plan had been successful.

She knew he was trying, but it wasn't enough. She wanted him to share how he was feeling. "It'll be a challenge for you in many ways. Are you worried about how the staff will react?"

"I'm certain they will continue to loath me as they always have. That doesn't matter. If anything, it plays perfectly into Albus's plans for me. I'll be perfectly positioned to help Potter."

"How does it help Harry?" Hermione asked, not following as she straightened to search his face for clues. She should have known there'd be no point. The man was a sphinx when he wanted to be, not a hint of his thoughts or emotions betrayed by even a slip in his neutral expression.

She'd thought they wanted Snape at the school to look after the students. Harry wasn't even going to be there. So what could Dumbledore have possibly needed Snape to do?

Snape was silent for nearly a minute, but Hermione felt the tension radiating off of him. Then he spoke, confessing, "It's of little concern to you."

"Little concern? Why do I find that hard to believe?" she snorted, then demanded, "I'll be with Harry. Wouldn't it make more sense to involve me? You're not exactly his favorite person, and he's liable to attack before he has a chance to hear you out if you try anything."

"It doesn't involve you. If it did, I'm positive Albus would have instructed me to tell you," Snape answered smoothly.

"He ordered you specifically not to tell me," Hermione reasoned, sensing the headmaster had done precisely that. Anger at the man for his meddling and manipulation had her fuming, smoke practically billowing from her ears. "Why?"

"Sometimes secrets can be a burden. Other times they are a distraction. You can ill afford either this year. The headmaster enjoys – enjoyed – dividing things out. We each have our roles to play, and this one is mine," he said carefully, lips thinning as he refused her. "In this, I actually agree with him."

"You agree with him? You're all right keeping secrets from me – after everything else? Don't you think I can make those sorts of decisions for myself?" she retorted hotly, disliking Snape's habit of making decisions for her. Though truthfully she despised it whenever anyone did that to her. It rankled and felt so condescending.

"I know you. You'd never be able to concentrate on what needs to be done, and what you're doing is too important to mess up. Knowing would divide your focus. You'd try to solve this, and there is no solution. Albus tried for years and came up with no alternative," Snape argued, though his words alerted her to the gravity of the situation. Icy dread gripped her.

"Severus," Hermione whispered, denying the reality of what he seemed to be suggesting.

How had she never stopped to wonder at the long game Dumbledore was playing? What did he intend for Harry, and why couldn't he just know now?

Friends with Gellert Grindelwald? At times like this, Hermione could easily believe it.

But what was the game?

All the answers were right there. She knew she had the pieces, but they refused to fit together.

"The answer is no. I am not telling you," Snape said with no small measure of finality.

"You're infuriating," she accused, gritting her teeth and pushing him lightly when he chuckled in response.

"And what difficulties are you facing?" he countered, tipping her chin up to look her in the eye. "You've skillfully avoided the question each time I ask."

"Because you never try to change the subject when I talk to you," she mumbled, accusing, "case in point."

"Tell me what you're up to," he coaxed, running his thumb along the crest of her cheek.

"We're breaking into the Ministry," Hermione said briskly, announcing it with the subtlety of roughly ripping off a bandaid.

"No," he ordered sharply.

"No?" she repeated, infusing the word with so much warning that he should have immediately dropped to his knees and begun apologizing. He didn't. Of course not. He was still Snape, after all.

"No. It's too dangerous. Nothing is worth being so foolish," he insisted angrily, staring at her like she planned to do this on a lark, and not because it was necessary.

"It's not up to you," she huffed, truly pushing against his chest to make him release her. He did at once, allowing her to brush past him and shift the bookcase aside so she could exit the hidden alcove and finally retrieve her shirt. She wanted the armor being fully dressed provided if they were about to have a true argument.

"It is if you're risking your life when there must be another way, wife," Snape informed her crisply, stepping right on her heels.

"There isn't. What we need is there."

"At the Ministry? What could possibly…a Horcrux," he said, resignation morphing his rigid stance in the blink of an eye.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"You're positive it's there?"

"Yes."

"And you've already tried alternative means of obtaining it?"

"Umbridge has it. We tried going to her house first. Took us nearly four days to find it too, and for nothing. There are Blood Wards up," Hermione explained wearily, the fight going out of her now that Snape was behaving rationally once again and willing to discuss it rather than order her about like a subordinate.

"Don't get caught, Hermione," he said fiercely.

"I won't," she promised.

"Hermione, I'm serious," he said, hauling her back into his arms and gripping her tightly, as though trying to shield her within himself or squeeze the importance of his words into her skin. "Don't take any foolish risks. Don't be a hero. Get what you need, and get out. You're a Muggle-born. Most of the Death Eaters don't know about the spell between us. They'd not know to inform me. I wouldn't find out in time to help you. They'd think nothing of torturing and killing you. Best case scenario, you end up in Azkaban –"

"Azkaban?"

"You don't know what's been happening?"

"We've been pretty isolated," Hermione admitted. Lupin had shared some, but not that Azkaban was the destination for those deemed Muggle-born. She should have guessed though. They'd spoken of punishment and legality.

"They're imprisoning Muggle-borns for 'stealing magic' and cleansing Britain of their tainted blood," Snape explained, disgust contorting his features.

"But that's absurd! You can't steal magic. It doesn't work like that," Hermione declared, shaking her head in denial.

"That's not the point. Don't interrupt, I know perfectly well that it doesn't without you telling me so, but as I was saying, Azkaban is the best you could hope for. But given your reputation and association with Potter," he paused to grab her face, holding it gently between his hands before insisting, "just don't get caught."

"I won't," Hermione vowed, determination coursing through her.

Snape exhaled raggedly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. She reached to clasp his forearms, holding onto him as well.

"If you do, I'll –"

"You can't risk helping me," Hermione interrupted, scared for him and recognizing what he'd likely been feeling since she'd first informed him of her plans. "Not again. You shouldn't have before at Malfoy Manor. You can't afford to blow your cover. If I get caught –"

"I won't just leave you," he said thickly.

"You can't keep saving me either – not if it means not being there for Harry when he needs you," Hermione argued, knowing if it came down to her or Harry, he'd have to pick Harry. Too much depended on it being that way. Her life wasn't worth Voldemort's victory. "You just pointed out that you need to be in place to help him. That was the whole point of last year. My role is to help you with that, not ruin it."

Snape was quiet a long time.

"Who would have guessed you'd be the one reminding me of my responsibilities?" Snape said, regret and resignation weighing him down. "The greater good as Albus was fond of reminding me."

"It's war. We can't afford to be selfish," Hermione said plainly, hating the truth.

"No, I guess we can't," Snape said, retreating both physically and emotionally. Hermione watched as he withdrew, almost able to see as he rebuilt the walls. His far off look told her he was troubled by something, but after a second his stoic mask was back in place.

Did he regret letting her see the extent of his concern for her?

"Speaking of…." he said pointedly, adjusting his robes and smoothing his long hair, mussed from her fingers, back into place.

"I know. We both need to be getting back. It's already been longer than we should have risked, and I still have to stake out the Ministry before returning to Grimmauld Place. Time to pop our little bubble," Hermione rambled, patting her own tangled curled. No doubt it looked like she'd spent some time rolling around under the sheets, which she had. Hopefully the boys would think it was from the invisibility cloak.

"The reprieve was much needed and appreciated," Snape admitted, surprising her with his candor considering how quickly he'd shut down just before. "You will inform me once you've successfully left the Ministry?"

"I will," she promised, shifting from foot to foot. Reluctantly, she headed for the front door, acknowledging, "I can't believe how lucky we were today, what with both of us able to get away like this. If only we could guarantee it would always work out so nicely."

"Lucky…."

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Hermione watched him. Slowly, he slid his hand down to her waist, urging her closer to him. His other hand gripped the back of her head, cradling her as though she were little more than a delicate bird's egg. Yet when their lips finally met, they were cold, sharp as ice and as painful as ripping a tongue off a frozen pole in winter.

Hermione gasped, shocked by the difference in this kiss as he straightened abruptly, releasing her entirely.

"Goodbye," he said blankly, utterly unphased.

She stumbled out the door, rattled by that last encounter.

There was something so final in their farewell. It unsettled Hermione. Left her standing on ground shaking during a devastating earthquake. She thought of little else while she watched the Ministry that afternoon, barely aware of what she saw. It was all a blur. Her footing finally faltered, and as Grimmauld Place came into view, Hermione suddenly understood that Snape had come to some vital decision regarding her. The only thing was, she had no idea what he'd decided or how it would impact them.

"Severus Snape?" Mad-eye asked.

The name hung in the air, taunting her. The name of her husband, spoken by a man whose death Hermione felt complicit in.

Cold air enveloped Hermione, her tongue freezing in the process. After a moment her jaw relaxed, but almost immediately, Albus Dumbledore's ghostly image materialized in the hall, soaring straight at her with frightening speed.

"I didn't kill you," she stated calmly, watching as the figure erupted into a cloud of dust raining to settle back on the floor, ready to be summoned the next time someone entered.

The reminder always did a number on her, but it was worse this time in light of her odd parting with Snape.

Snape would be in the castle this year. Snape would be headmaster. Headmaster…

Phineas Nigellus, former headmaster, had a portrait there.

"Anything new?" Harry asked, appearing at the end of the hallway.

"What? Oh, no," Hermione answered distractedly.

"Hermione? Did something happen?"

She glanced up to see his worried frown as he watched her.

"I've just had a thought," she gasped, racing up the stairs and into the library. Phineas was lounging in his portrait, as though waiting for her.

Tugging her beaded purse from her pocket with one hand, she leveraged the painting off the wall with her other, awkwardly trying to stuff the ostentatious, gilt frame inside.

"Here now! What do you think you're doing? Stop that at once! This is my ancestral home," he cried.

"You serve the current headmaster, correct?" she whispered, hearing Ron and Harry approaching the door she'd left hanging open in her haste.

"Most nobly, I assure you," he stated, clearly affronted that she'd dare question his intent.

"Then consider this my way of ensuring you are in a position to continue doing that very thing!" she growled, finally managing to fit it inside.

"See here!" his voice called from the dark depths of the enlarged space.

"Shut it, or I'll gag you," she threatened meaningfully, seeing both boys gaping at her.

"What's that about?" Ron tried since Harry seemed incapable of speaking right then.

"I just remembered he's got a portrait at Hogwarts. He might come in handy if we need to find anything out about what's happening there this year," she explained. Really, she wanted a means to check on Snape in case she couldn't get ahold of him any other way.

"Right. Smart thinking," Ron said, clapping Harry on the back and whispering something she didn't quite get. Probably that she was going mental like Sirius had after being cooped up in the house.

If Harry's expression was anything to go by, she'd guessed right.