A/N: Luna is still in absentia. My thanks, as always, to Anastasia, whose long-distance partner-in-crime-ness freed a muse who got seriously stuck.


Watching, Waiting

They both smiled.

Definitely not nice.

So far beyond "not nice," in fact, that - had they but seen it - every Gringotts goblin would instantly have deserted his post and caught the first flying carpet out of the country.

And goblins never leave their gold.

As one, Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black reappeared in her frame, nearly slamming into each other in their haste. They exchanged a brief, affronted glare, during which Mrs. Black readjusted the lace at her throat, and then they turned as one to Severus and Hermione.

"Well?" they demanded.

Still smiling, Hermione turned to them and said, "Manners slipping a little, are they?"

"Restraint is a quality devoutly to be admired in Slytherins," Severus drawled pleasantly, still kicked back in his chair. He laced his fingers behind his head.

Phineas Nigellus scowled at him and muttered something about "whippersnappers."

Mrs. Black elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "If you would be so kind as to share," she began, with only a hint of sarcasm.

Hermione's smile deepened, and, out of the corner of his eye, Severus noticed that she had a small dimple.

He arched his eyebrow appreciatively.

As if she felt his gaze – and perhaps she did – she shot him a knowing look and turned back to the portraits.

Mrs. Black continued, "What did you learn from Dumbledore?"

"He barely made it back in time," Phineas Nigellus grumbled, still massaging his ribs. "It was all the old cat could do to keep that great oaf of an - "

The triumphant gleam fled Hermione's eyes as her heart sank. Hagrid. She closed her eyes.

Phineas Nigellus didn't notice. " – over-promoted gamekeeper out of her office until he returned. Absolutely raging, he was, howling on about something – sounded like 'grappling' – couldn't make it out. Demanded entrance. Very nearly thought he'd break the door down."

"Grawp," Hermione said softly. "He was talking about Grawp." Oh, Hagrid. "His half-brother. He's a… well… he doesn't speak English very well," she finished lamely.

Severus caught her mood and brought his hands to his lap, sitting straighter. He glanced at her, apprehension clouding his eyes.

She met his look, and he saw that her fear and worry were back. "There's no workaround yet. Not for Hagrid."

Severus nodded, and then the wizard who had embraced his own decades of bondage was nearly overwhelmed with resentment at how much this week had asked of her – how she had marshaled her strengths to nearly invisible service, how she had been attacked for it – and how she had brought them so swiftly near the endgame without a single casualty on their side. He knew she would not want to rest until she found a workaround for the Indemnity required by the Horcrux in Nagini.

Severus also knew that she was exhausted, and that she hadn't the slightest idea where to begin.

"I sort of skipped that one, didn't I," she said, the dark circles under her eyes making her look suddenly older. Ages older – and as though the years had not been kind.

"We both did," Severus said quietly, with a fleeting wish that, however her face might change, she would live long enough to be as old as she looked at that moment.

He very pointedly decided not to think about whether or not he would be there to see it.

There was silence in the hall for a moment. Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black waited, watching them, until Mrs. Black could contain herself no longer. "Well? What was it that had Dumbledore so addled he risked exposing his secret?"

Phineas Nigellus nodded, turning a questioning face to Severus.

"He and I had a longstanding debate, and I've just conceded a point – one point," he said, smirking slightly for the portraits' benefit. Daft, Snape. "Nothing more." His smirk widened into a smile that was the opposite of innocent.

"Oooh!" Frustrated, Mrs. Black sputtered, then threw her reticule at him – a bit of a miscalculation, as it hit the barrier of the canvas – at least Hermione supposed it did – and ricocheted to hit Phineas Nigellus' shoulder.

"Calm yourself, you sodding bint!" Phineas Nigellus thundered.

She turned to him and, in an astonishing display of vocabulary that left no doubt where Kreacher had learned his limited but offensive lexicon, she let fly with a flourish of opinion that started with her sons and traced a rapid, explosive line backward through the Black family tree.

Hermione and Severus did not know how many generations were between Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus; nor did they have any wish to find out.

She was still in full cry – "Don't - !" and "You will not - !" "Go bugger yourself, and - " and had exchanged English for Anglo-Saxon by the time Severus and Hermione made it through the kitchen, heading for the garden.

"The imperative does seem to be a mood, doesn't it," Severus remarked dryly, as they closed the back door behind them.

"Rather a tense one," Hermione agreed, and they shared a low laugh in the darkness before the hole in their thinking where Hagrid's workaround should have been, but wasn't, gaped wide before them.

"Hermione," Severus began.

She turned to him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck. "I don't even know where to start, Severus."

The anguish in her tone deepened the shadows on his face as he held her.

"I don't even know where to start," she repeated, softly, some of the tension easing out of her body as she leaned more closely against his chest.

There was nothing to say, so he said nothing.

Overhead, perched in the leafy branches of a tree, Tayet was watching rainclouds swirl away, taking with them the light they reflected from the city below.

The night was moonless; the stars, somehow, indifferent.

This didn't matter to Tayet. She just didn't think they'd be good to eat.

Lulled by Severus' silence below, she tucked her head under her wing and fell asleep.

/x/

"I can't get him to understan', Minerva, I can't." Hagrid was pacing the headmistress' office, his steps so agitated and heavy that several of the older portraits were clutching the insides of their frames as they rattled against the wall.

"Hagrid - "

"'E's smart, Minerva, 'e is, honest, but 'e jes' keeps shakin' 'is 'ead, and sayin' 'No.'"

"Hagrid, plea - "

"'E won't listen ter me!" Hagrid turned to the headmistress, eyes blazing with unshed tears. "I have ter make 'im understan'!"

"Hagrid," Minerva said, sternly, with a look that could stop a misbehaving student at twenty paces – from behind.

Hagrid gulped, and was silent.

Several portraits relaxed their holds on their frames.

Minerva stoically ignored the headache that centred behind her eyes. Hagrid had been growing louder, and his accent increasingly thicker, for a full five minutes, and it was of no small wonder to Minerva that the windows hadn't broken from the force of his voice alone.

Never mind his feet.

"He doesn't want to understand, Hagrid," she sighed, holding up a hand before Hagrid could do more than inhale to let out another despairing bellow. She wished Dumbledore would stop pretending to be asleep; comforting the half-giant was proving nearly impossible.

Hagrid sighed, and a stack of parchments fluttered from her desk to the floor. She closed her eyes, thought briefly but longingly of Flooing for Molly, and tried to ignore the steady pounding in her head, which felt like being hexed from inside her own skull.

She had waited too long to continue speaking. Hagrid was pacing again; the portraits grabbing once more at their frames. His shouts echoed in the office, slamming into her as they bounced off the stone walls.

Even the Sorting Hat, which usually slept all summer, woke up enough to grimace and turn its face to the wall.

Long after she had run out of reasonable ways to word "He doesn't understand" and "Give him time" and had resorted to repeating herself insensibly, Hagrid finally stayed calm for a few minutes.

Which stretched into a few minutes more.

Minerva waited, watching him. The portraits didn't dare move.

Finally, Hagrid looked at his feet, mumbled, "Thanks, Minerva," and stumped out of the office.

She rested her forehead against the cool skin of her palm for a moment, then stood and crossed to the locked cabinet where Dumbledore had kept potions that were rather too strong to be given to students without parental permission – the side effects being decidedly pleasurable – but were not worth bothering Madam Pomfrey for, should the staff have need.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you take one, Minerva," Dumbledore said softly, from his frame.

"Albus," said Minerva irritably, "is there no way to manage him?"

"I often found that happening upon him outside at regular intervals proved tolerable, acoustically," Dumbledore offered, then smiled wistfully as he saw Minerva add "Schedule accidental meetings with Hagrid" to her mental calendar.

Her hand paused on the way to the cabinet, and Dumbledore saw her remember that such meetings might not be necessary several days hence.

"Will she – will Miss Granger find a workaround for… for this one, Albus?" Minerva asked, failing to keep her voice as steady as she'd hoped.

"I do not know, Minerva."

Something about the quality of the silence that followed prickled the hairs on her neck.

Almost to himself, Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid that I do not see how."

"So you've known about the others, then?" she turned sharply toward him.

"No, Minerva," he shook his head gently, the movement seeming to gather his thoughts back to their normal patterns. "I knew merely that workarounds were theoretically possible - with the correct information and guidance, even probable. But this one… " he said, and again lapsed into silence.

Minerva stood for a moment, then turned again to the cabinet to peer over her spectacles at the rows of neatly-labeled bottles. Best not ingest the wrong one of these, to be sure. Her hand closed around the correct bottle, the last in its row. I'll have to ask Severu -

An instant later, she was looking at Dumbledore's portrait in horror.

/x/

Hearing a door open and a floorboard creak in the hallway, Molly Weasley woke up, listening.

She waited for another sound.

Then, in between Arthur's snores, she heard footsteps moving carefully down the hall.

Molly smiled. "Good girl," she thought. Whispering, "Muffliato," she nestled closer to her husband and went back to sleep.

/x/

Minerva reached weakly for the desk. "Albus." She stared at the portrait. "No."

Albus regarded her calmly, but behind his serene demeanor he was watching her sharply.

She needed no more confirmation that the look on his face. The potion in her hand forgotten, she turned decisively toward the door, heading for the Floo.

"No." The former headmaster's voice was soft, but she nonetheless responded reflexively to his command.

Then she wheeled back to face him. "But she's in danger, Albus!"

"Rather less, at the moment, than the rest of you, I should think," Dumbledore replied, his tone still carrying with it a whisper of warning.

"But – but she cannot be working with - "

Minerva reached for the nearest chair and collapsed gracelessly into it. "But Albus," she said, her mind amazed at how rapidly it had just reshuffled itself. "Albus, her Patronus… she - " Minerva passed a hand weakly over her face.

Albus waited for Minerva to stammer herself out, observing her warily lest she make any sudden move toward the Floo.

"That emerald that's stuck in the Slytherin hourglass. That was you," she said finally, another piece falling into place.

"An excellent deduction. The emerald is, I confess, permanent," Albus said, unable to keep a note of self-congratulation from his voice despite the delicate balance of Minerva's mood and the inherent danger in her possible actions. "The other Houses will rise to the challenge, I am sure," he finished, his eyebrows lifting in wistful anticipation. He would only be able to witness the effect of this token advantage through the next generations by proxy.

Minerva finally found her voice. "You gave him House points for killing you?" Much as she wanted – even needed – to Floo Grimmauld Place and sequester Miss Granger safely back at Hogwarts, she found herself far too amazed even to consider standing.

"Only the one," Albus chuckled. "It seemed nicely symbolic."

Minerva drew herself straight in the chair. "It seems you owe me another explanation, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and, lest you think you have endless time to talk me 'round the loch with your maddening riddles inside enigmas wrapped in mysteries, tongue-twisters and… and twinkling - " Her inflection lent that word a particularly unpleasant connotation. " - I am giving you five minutes to explain yourself – to my satisfaction – before I Floo Miss Granger and order her back to Hogwarts."

"Ah, Minerva. That, I am afraid, you cannot do."

She smiled bitterly. "Why, Albus, I believe you'll find that I can. And be assured that I will, unless I find your explanation satisfactory." Her eyes snapped at him.

"Miss Granger has an appointment at an unspecified time, and must remain in Grimmauld Place at least until then."

"… an… appointment?" That Minerva remained unbeaten by the swift turns this conversation was testimony more to her heritage than to any particular quality of her own.

"With our man in Havana, Minerva," Albus looked at her seriously.

All of the blood ran from Minerva's face. If she had been standing, she would have fallen, Scot or no. In a shocked, toneless whisper, she asked, "Albus. What… what are those two children going to do?"

"They're going to divide by zero."

/x/

"Harry?"

The whisper came directly into his ear, and Harry bolted upright in bed, reaching automatically for his glasses, his hand encountering no one.

Ron was snoring on the other side of the room.

Leaning over to the nightstand, he found his hand entangled in what felt like a bit of rubbery string.

"Harry, tug the string if you can hear me."

He tugged.

Another whisper. Irritable. "Gently! I almost dropped it. It's Ginny. Meet me in the orchard, on the other side of the garden wall."

In a few minutes, Harry was swirling off the Invisibility Cloak behind the wall, where Ginny had her wand lit as a beacon.

"Can you lay that out?" Ginny said. "The ground's damp, and this could take a while. I don't feel like standing.

Harry complied without question, wishing he'd thought to stop for slippers.

"Thanks, Harry," Ginny said, settling on the cloak and drawing her knees up under her nightgown.

"How'd you do that?" he said, gesturing to her hands where she was coiling and uncoiling an Extendable Ear.

"This?" Ginny smiled up at him, a bit sadly. "I reversed the Charm so it would work for speaking. Hermione actually gave me the idea," she said. "I'm thinking of selling the idea to Fred and George. Funny that they haven't thought of it yet," she mused, but her tone was distracted.

Harry stood and watched the play of dim wandlight on her hair, which was moving slightly as she breathed.

"Harry," she said, quietly, "I think you're going to want to sit down."

Harry obeyed and sat facing her, his back against the garden wall. He was careful not to sit too close.

"Too far, Harry," she said.

"I – I'm sorry?"

Ginny laughed quietly. "You're too far away." She shifted around until she had worked her way under his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder, her arm across his waist.

"That's a little better," she conceded, still sounding as though she were thinking seriously about... something. Something else.

Harry let out the breath it felt like he'd been holding since he'd heard her whisper in his ear. In his opinion, this position was a lot better. His fingers finally touched the lock of hair he'd been staring at for weeks. Maybe years.

"But - " Ginny said, pensively, but with a hint of the wicked mischief people had, to their peril, often overlooked in the twins' little sister, " - it's a little chilly out here." She drew the edges of the Invisibility Cloak around them, over them, and settled in against him.

"Now listen to me, Harry Potter," she began sternly, ignoring the fact that his fingers were trailing up her arms, sending cool shivers all along her skin. "There is a right way and a wrong way to do things, and you've had your way for long enough to know that, unless you get very lucky, your way is the wrong way. Do you understand me?"

He didn't, but he nodded, marveling at the feel of her skin.

She knew he didn't, but she continued, "Good. My way," she breathed, raising her face to his, "depends more on decision than luck. It's much more reliable."

"All right, let's try it your way," he said, wanting but not daring to lean closer for a kiss, not when her eyes were still blazing out a warning.

"So decide, Harry Potter."

He drew in his breath, hoping to hear -

"Who do you hate?"

"Snape." It was a reflex.

"Why?"

"He's a git."

"So's Ron. Try again."

"Because… because he killed Dumbledore."

Ginny waited for a minute, listening, waiting for Harry's breathing to even, playing his hand with her own until some of his tension drained away, defeated.

"That's not why you hate him. You've hated him for years."

"But he deserves it!" Harry's voice raised.

Ginny's dropped, in equal measure. "I'm not arguing with you. I'm asking you why you hate him." Her gaze did not move from his eyes. "Why, Harry?"

Harry racked his memory for the first moment he'd hated Snape.

Ginny waited patiently.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Because he hated me first."

It sounded stupid, even to him.

"Which makes no sense, Harry. Why should he hate you when he'd never met you?"

"I – I don't know, Ginny." Harry hoped they would stop talking soon, but from the look in her eyes he didn't think that was likely.

Still. He had his arms around her, and she was toying with the placket of his pyjama top. He could, he decided, endure a little more.

"Which means there's one thing you don't know. Which means there may be more that you don't know."

"You sound a little like Hermione."

"She's worth listening to, Harry."

They were quiet for a while.

"Who else?"

"What?" He'd been lost in the feel of her hair, too wary, too certain that the talking wasn't over, to allow his hands greater freedom.

"Who else do you hate, Harry?" she said, very softly.

"Oh… well, Voldemort, of course."

Another silence.

Very carefully, her muscles coiled in case she needed to move quickly, Ginny said, "Don't you think his name should have come first?"

Harry's mind went very still.

Molly Weasley's youngest child and only daughter held her breath. Without knowing why, or even how she knew, she knew, instinctively, that what Harry did or said next might very well contain the answer to a much larger question.

For several heartbeats, Harry did not move.

Ginny watched him, waiting. Then she saw his eyes narrow, slightly, and had just enough time to see something deep within them come to life before his arms tightened strong around her and drew her into a fierce kiss.

For a long time neither one of them thought to breathe.

When he did, his first words were, "Thanks, Gin."

Not much. Not fancy.

But if the wizarding world slept a little more soundly that night, the reason was probably contained in those two words.