A/N: My thanks to Luna305 and TimeTurnerForSale for reading this chapter at the busiest time of their respective work years. A special thanks to Hypnobarb and Tobert for recommending AWS in various fora. Wishing you all the best of times... Ariadne


Falling

They had Apparated – they'd felt it. But they were still standing some distance outside the Burrow's wards, with the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole twinkling in the distance.

And every breath they drew…

"Hermione," he murmured, running his hand up her arm as he rose from the chair, keeping his face bowed to hers.

"Severus," she whispered, turning her face up as he stood, her arm encircling his waist, drawing him closer.

… every breath was…

A brush of lips – swift, soft – brushing, light, a touch, a gesture…

… the backs of her fingers smooth down his cheek…

- sudden stillness, then – into her hands –

… until neither was aware of breathing at all.

… her hands a gentle choreography under his hair…

- lost, baffled, broken, lost, seeking -

… her hands on the back of his neck, trailing down…

- in darkness, up, toward the surface, up, almost, strong, almost, proof, almost, arranging -

… fingers listening she heard, fading in from darkness, yes, something like music, rippling, shaping, movement, lips, skin…

- he, overthrown, commanding -

… and she fell, long, far from somewhere, sharp, a drop of falling water falling, sudden, blackness, an edge, sharp …

… and into his skin she drew -

- and from his lips… "Glorious."

It was a long time before either remembered that they were breathing.

Or that at some point they had somehow climbed two flights of stairs.

Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus could have told them when, and how, but neither Hermione nor Severus thought to ask.

/x/

"Did you see that?" Ron, eyes wild, demanded of Harry.

"See what?" Harry had taken off his glasses and was rubbing them on his shirttail.

"Before we… bounced – or whatever we bloody well did – did you see…"

"Ron," Harry insisted in a harsh whisper. "Did I see what?"

"I thought I saw…"

Harry waited, but Ron didn't finish. Harry put his glasses back on glared at him.

The night noises around the Burrow had never seemed so loud.

"Saw what, Ron," Harry said, something akin to anger overwhelming his initial surprise.

"I'm not sure, Harry." Ron's lips twisted in disgust. "Something like a…" Ron caught Harry's warning look and swallowed. "Give me a minute, all right? I'm still a bit wonky after... " He jerked his head vaguely, then suddenly dropped to all fours.

Harry soon realized why. The world seemed to tilt sharply, and his ears buzzed. He sat down hard, just outside the wards, and tried to breathe evenly.

Ron sounded like he might be ill, but he choked out, "Get back inside the wards, Harry. Now."

They half-crawled and half-collapsed back inside the perimeter around the Burrow.

Slowly, things stopped their unnatural spinning, and their breathing returned to normal.

"That hurt," Ron muttered darkly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Rather a lot, actually." Ron sounded unusually reflective, and Harry shot a look at him.

"You saw something, before we bounced?" Harry swallowed.

"More… more felt something, really. I can't place it. Dunno why I said that." Ron shrugged, but frowned. "Something moving. Sort of… rippling?"

Harry had never heard Ron sound quite this confused. "Rippling?" he repeated blankly.

"Yeah. Funny," Ron said pensively.

Harry concentrated but couldn't remember feeling anything like what Ron was describing. "Side-effect of Apparition, maybe? Not splinching, exactly, but… ?"

Ron shook his head, and winced. "Still hurts, a bit. No. Never heard of anything like that. Charlie would have said something; took him forever to get the hang of Apparating. He made every mistake at least twice."

They sat at the end of the lane for a while.

"'Sides," Ron continued. "I might botch an Apparition still, but both of us?"

Finally, Harry stood and unfurled the Invisibility Cloak.

As they started down the lane, Ron said, "Harry, it's almost as though we weren't supposed to be there."

Startled, Harry almost tripped. "That can't be right. They had to have my wand to set the wards for the Order."

Ron shrugged, and they walked on.

They made slow progress for a while, during which Ron was unusually silent. They were almost to the house when he stopped suddenly. "Harry," he said quietly – the windows were still open – "this is bad."

Harry adjusted the Invisibility Cloak, which had pulled slightly askew.

"Harry, I'm serious. There's something that doesn't want us there."

"You sure you're not just foggy from the bounce or something?"

"No, Harry. I'm not," Ron's voice was grave, and Harry was reminded somehow of Mr. Weasley. "I've never been more certain about anything."

Harry did not know what to say.

Ron cracked a worried smile. "Well, except spiders. I'm pretty clear on spiders."

/x/

"I… I fell," she whispered, wonderingly, finally leaning back into softness.

"Yes…" his palm against her neck, cheekbone on collarbone, leaning, maybe, relaxing, into her, the first time, her arm around him, hand, light, on his shoulder.

His hair fallen on chest, her stomach – she traced it, slipping, circling, silk, around, against…

"I fell…" she breathed.

He pressed his lips to her, and chuckled darkly. "You are surprised?"

"Yes… no… Why?"

A tattoo of lips on skin, tracing upward, a change of angle, until she could see his eyes.

His palm smoothing up to join her hand, covering hers, cupping, holding, turning her hand palm up, pressing a kiss there, closing her fist, his hand over hers. "Your questions are becoming incoherent."

Her lips twisted wryly, tired. "You noticed."

Shadows under her eyes – his finger, tracing, gentle bruises. "There is very little that I don't notice, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, still distracted by the feeling of falling.

He merely closed his eyes and nodded against the curve of her shoulder, her neck.

"For catching me."

"I will always catch you."

"Kind of you, considering," she said.

"Considering?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She could feel it on her neck, and smiled again.

"You're the one who pushes me. So yes, considering."

"Would you have flown or fallen if I hadn't pushed you, Hermione?"

She shook her head, covering his face in the sudden cloud of her hair. He blew it out of his eyes, lips quirking as his hand came up to brush the loose strands off of his face. "No."

"And?" He seemed to expect an answer.

"Now whose questions are vague?"

"Yours are incoherent. Mine was not."

She laughed, in a chuckle that was eerily reminiscent of his own.

He twisted a finger in her hair and tugged. "That's disturbing, Hermione."

She chuckled again. "Good."

Sitting, angling an elbow over a cocked knee, he continued to play with the hair. He tugged again.

She drew her knees up to her chin and her eyes sparkled wickedly at him. "That's not very nice," she said, "pulling my hair like that."

"No," he agreed conversationally, twisting a curl around his finger. And around.

And around again.

The tug was constant, insistent, and she allowed herself to be drawn closer to him, looking at him from half-lidded eyes that might have been sleepy, might have been amused, and might have been anticipating…

And around again.

Her hand flew out for balance as she had to lean forward, catching her breath, expecting…

No tug came, just a gentle brush of lips. He untangled his fingers and smoothed her curl down her arm, finger trailing down her arm to trace her knuckles where her hand rested flat.

"Bastard," she said. "Seems I'm always falling, one way or another."

"Very good," he said, sounding pleased.

"What new game is this, Severus?" she looked at him, her tone confirming that she knew something was happening.

"An old one, Hermione," he began seriously.

"And?" she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That's very disturbing, when you do that."

"I doubt that." She waited, expectantly.

"Falling is a simple metaphor."

"Obviously. But it's more than that," she countered.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"It's part of flight, Hermione."

"Landing?"

"Yes."

"Without crashing."

"Exactly."

She sighed. "You are too obscure for words."

"For words, perhaps. But not, I think - " he tilted his head back as if reading her face " – for comprehension."

She looked at him carefully, and nodded.

"There is much about my past you know nothing of, Hermione."

"I know what happened to you, and why you - "

A finger on her lips.

Startled, her eyes flashed, angry.

"Please, Hermione. Just listen."

She blinked, and the anger banked. Slightly.

"You know some of what I endured." Running his hand up under her hair, smoothing it away from her neck, a strong, slow smile curving on his face as she leaned her head into his palm. Drawing her toward him, breath, warm, hot, on her neck, he murmured, "Not what I enjoyed."

She froze.

He waited.

She forced herself to relax, and he felt the effort it cost her.

Finally, she whispered, "Don't tell me tonight, okay?"

His eyes softened. "Of course." He drew her into his arms and held her in the shadows.

/x/

Tayet's talons clicked on the hearth. One might have thought she was pacing.

She tilted her head, considering her feathers.

Her talons clicked on the hearth for a while longer, and then she flew, a short flight to the other side of the sofa. Gripping a parchment envelope in her talons, she executed a graceful curve and angled through the archway and up the stairs.

"Whirp," she said, softly, to Hermione, who opened one eye.

Severus' arm was flung over her stomach, and she knew that if she moved she would awaken him. As much as she was dreading the Order meeting, the conversation he would have with Voldemort would be worse.

Hermione took the letter, stroked Tayet's neck. Tayet made a soft whirring noise, and perched on the headboard.

Hermione reached for her wand and used it to light a candle and to unseal the envelope.

Severus opened his eyes but didn't move.

The letter was short.

My dear Miss Granger,

I believe you will understand what this once meant to me, and why I am giving it to you.

Had things gone differently, I would shortly have been sending you your own, a moment I confess I have been looking forward to, with pride, for several years.

That I cannot do. But this small token of my esteem, my regard, and, yes, my affection is yours, with gratitude.

This is not the one you should have had. I remain hopeful that you may yet have your own.

Sincerely yours,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Hermione tilted the envelope, and a very old dull silver badge fell onto the sheet.

In very old-fashioned, old school letters, it read, "Head Girl."

It was hers. As Hermione closed her hand around it, as Severus' arm tightened around her, as he drew her closer to him, as he curved around her, as he nestled his face into her hair…

… and even as she leaned into his warmth, the metal clasp of Minerva McGonagall's badge pricked her thumb.

Enough to draw blood.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, hard.

She did not unclench her hand. She had earned this. All of it. The badge. The pain. The blood. And the lean, smooth comfort of Severus against her back, his breath warm on her neck, his hair, hers to braid, and his eyes – so many shades of empty, black, and burning.

And she wanted it.

All of it.

Minerva's respect, her affection.

To resume her rightful place at Hogwarts.

And the man. This man.

If the chance cost her a moment of pain, a few drops of blood, a scar – well, others had paid more dearly than she, and for far less.

So far.

Their pain was worse, their blood was more, and their scars were visible – deeply engraved, and permanent.

So far.

Tayet whirred wistfully from the headboard.

Severus' eyes were still open. He didn't know what had happened.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

When after several minutes Hermione spoke, her voice carried with it a cool, salty wind of unshed tears, but her tone was steady. "Severus?"

Remarkable, he thought, even as he drew her closer and smoothed her hair off of her forehead. "I'm right here."

"What are you going to tell Voldemort?"

He didn't know what had just happened. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He knew it was important.

And when, despite whatever it was that had happened, she asked him what he was going to tell the Dark Lord, Severus knew what it was to fall.

He wouldn't have time to tell her later. "I'm falling, Hermione."

"I'm right here," she said.

He reached for her hand.

Her thumb moved slowly, stroking gently on the back of his hand, a smudged, bloody thumbprint blurring on his skin.

Desperation, passion, and sacrifice.

Timing, will, and fury.

And Tayet watched, and waited.