Translation by Jessinthedungeons.


Chapter 9 - Where Will We Go From Now?


― Do you want to watch a movie later? ― Dean asked as he leaf through the book he read.

― Perhaps. ― I answered, with my eyes nailed to my own reading. ― I was thinking of calling our night of pizza and wine.

He laughed. ― What happened?

Of course, Dean knows there was something forcing me to drink. We always dine on pizza and drink cheap wine when we're feeling like garbage.

― I spoke to Ron on the phone last night and he called me a nosy know-it-all, after I said he needed to relax and stop bothering Harry. Every time I talk to Ron, he's always screaming for one thing or another. I don't know what the hell is going on with him.

It wasn't just that. I woke up worried, because of my conversations with Hannah and Daphne; anxious for the very royal visit to the founders' tomb and annoyed by the way Robards had treated me the previous morning. Also, I still felt a little out of orbit by the truce with Severus. It was too much to deal with, I barely slept last night. Yesterday was really one of those days.

Dean pulled me into a side hug and kissed the top of my head.

― I'm sure he will mature eventually.

That's what I thought years ago when Ron and I broke up and he did a circus about it. Then he started going through these phases where sometimes we were best friends again, and then suddenly he thought I was the worst person in the universe, as well as a usurper of magic.

― I hope so. I have already said a hundred times to him that there is no explanation why I continued a witch, while he did not, except for our blood status. He knows it never crossed my mind to be a witch until my Hogwarts letter arrived, but he acts as if every Muggle-born is the cause of his misfortune. ― I roll my eyes. Ron loved a drama. I wasn't like that when I was younger. Were you?

Dean denied it with his head.

― No, that was Seamus.

We made eye contact with each other and then started laughing together.

― You won, Dean. ― I answered between smiles and he made a small bow in recognition. ― Your breakup with Seamus managed to be more dramatic than mine with Ron.

I sat in my chair and closed my book sharply when I realized that I could not get the answers I was looking for in that volume.

Dean frowned.

― What is it?

― Nothing. ― I murmured.

Why have these family trees been modified? And how were these traces lost? And, more importantly, why had no one in their own family heard of any missing Abbott or Greengrass before? In addition to Hannah Abbott, I also visited Daphne Greengrass and she assured me that all her family stories are passed down from generation to generation, but that she has never heard of any banned members.

― If it's nothing, stop getting angry and upset. ― Dean quarreled, looking at the title of my book. ― Remind me of what you are reading.

― Nothing useful. ― I answered again, covering the book with my arms. But his eyebrows frowned and I sighed. ― They're about the family trees of the pure bloods. Viktor sent me a few books on the subject, so I started researching more about them. ― I answered in frustration.

― And? Why the frustration? ― Dean asked, flipping through another page of his book.

I looked at the ceiling, almost irritated by Dean's disinterest.

― I visited Daphne Greengrass yesterday. No one in her family ever knew anything about a missing member. Apart from these records that Viktor sent me, it seems that these wizards disappeared in smoke. Why?

― Hannah hasn't heard about anything in her family either. ― Dean remembered what I had told him yesterday. He raised his eyes from the book itself and fixed them on me. ― Have you ever thought that these records sent by Viktor could be wrong?

― Yeah, I thought that. But it is the same letters as the Original Directory, and has the Nott family seal. Who would bother to make a fake copy of this purist manifesto and send it to a purebred stronghold like Durmstrang? Nobody would have that much work for nothing.

Dean placed the book on his lap.

― Is there any other reason you're insisting on this, besides Ron calling you a magic usurper? Are you so bored like that?

I'm more worried about my safety! But until then, I had not told Dean, nor anyone else, about my journey to the Founder's Tomb. So, I couldn't tell him that I felt the events were related and wanted to investigate both.

― No. I mean, it's interesting! Some theories suggest that pure bloods burned from the tapestry do not lose their powers. This is the case with Tonks.

― She is the only living witch we know with such an example. But all the healers, including you, testified that she kept her magic by being a metamorphmagus. Those are the dominant genes, not the magic. ― Dean Recalled.

Yeah, I know that. But I insisted on the matter, as I needed to unload the contents of my mind, in case all the pieces, for some reason, fell into place after saying them out loud.

― Have you heard anything about "the first two"? ― I decided to change the topic and revisited the expression that Regulus used to express who needed to be distracted by the founders. That was hammering into my head, but I was definitely still in the dark about it.

Dean put his feet on the ground and supported the book on the table.

― You look like a lunatic.

I made a noise of disgust and turned my attention to my book again, snorting.

― Excuse me if I have any interest in the story of pure-blood Wizards! ― I growled at him.

― I don't know why Ron affects you so much with his radical and exaggerated theories. ― Dean began to read again and spoke, not looking at me: ― I will ask Ivan that dinner be today. You definitely need to relax.

I rubbed my eyes.

― Dean... ― I answered, almost whining. ― I just want a direct answer about these wizards missing from the tapestries. What if they kept their powers?

― You should find another line of research. This one clearly won't lead to anything. The witches and wizards burned from tapestries died. Sirius Black was the last of them.

I almost screamed at Dean's mention of Sirius. I jumped out of my chair in excitement. Why didn't I remember before?

― You're a genius!

Smiling, I kissed each of his cheeks and gathered my things together with a wand wave, while Dean looked at me like I was really crazy.

My heart pounded inside my chest as I headed for the exit. Sirius was the last wizard burned from a pure-blood tapestry. I needed to talk to Regulus. Perhaps, even in the "beyond" where the ghosts lived, he knew whether a Black would keep his magic or not. It was unlikely, both Sirius and Regulus died years before the events that extinguished the magic. However, this was the only clue I could get, so I would follow it, before depressing myself if the answer was not satisfactory.


My plan to go to my room and summon the ghost of Regulus Black by the medallion was abolished as soon as Wink found me in the middle of the climb to the upper floor and told me that Minerva wanted to see me as soon as possible in her office. Which was never a good thing.

I veered off the path and headed to the headmistress's office with anxiety already eating away all my insides. Of all the castle sites, the headmistress's office was the one that unsettled me the most, except perhaps, the newly discovered tomb that I visited in my so vivid dream.

Perhaps because that office was the same place Harry was so often summoned by headmaster Dumbledore as he manipulated him into sacrificing himself for everyone, I couldn't feel comfortable there. Somehow, I was intimidated by those circular walls and hanging portraits.

The only comforting sight was that of the elderly woman now sitting across the table crammed with papers and books. I waited quietly until Minerva finished reading some message on the constantly messy table. Despite the best efforts of the house elves, the ancient table was always in chaos, covered with scrolls of correspondence or jars and jars fermenting some potion.

There were two such jars on the table at the time, purposely positioned to receive the sunlight entering through the tower window. Minerva took one of them, shook the pale blue contents, frowned and supported it back on the table.

― The refinement of this potion always takes twice as long as I plan. ― I said thoughtful. Then she casually asked me: ― Why do you think this happens?

I leaned forward and studied the potion. I lifted the jar, holding it against the golden light of the sunset as I examined the thick, blue liquid.

― What's its use?

― Ten-year-old muggle child developed a dry cough six weeks ago. Visited the doctors, who recommended traditional remedies, honey tea and rest. She even improved for a while, but returned a week later, and worse.

I tilted the jar to one side and then to the other.

― The potion may be reacting to heat. It's hotter than usual. You could put it in a lower chamber where it's cooler.

― But what about the necessary sunlight? ― Minerva inquired.

― The old ingredient depot in professor Snape's room has mirrors. They captured the sunlight through a tiny opening two floors above and concentrated it on the ingredients that needed sunlight. You can use the space, it's empty now. The cooler temperature of the dungeons and the more concentrated sunlight can speed up the preparation of the potion.

I received a subtle and satisfied nod from Minerva.

― Often insight saves more lives than magic. ― That was her answer.

She has told me this a thousand times before, generally by calming down someone who thought that being sick when Magic was so scarce was almost a death sentence. Nevertheless, I bowed my head in gratitude and returned the jar to the place where it had been before my analysis.

― So ... ― said Minerva, leaning one hand on the other on the table. — You are a level ten witch. The Minister informed me that he believes you are ready to "serve the Ministry".

I stiffened in the chair. "Serving the Ministry" meant leaving the Hogwarts staff, consequently also that of Saint Mungus, and doing some work that probably only Kingsley knew what it was about. I swallowed dry, trying unsuccessfully to interpret the expression on Minerva's face. I said a silent prayer to any higher entity that could hear me, before answering it.

― Yes, level ten.

― Are you ready to leave us? ― She asked, still with a neutral expression.

― You know I'm not, Minerva. ― My voice came out struggled. Despair automatically clogging my throat.

― If Kingsley demands, there is nothing that can be done.

A single sentence, spoken with the same calm and patient expression of the headmistress of Hogwarts. As if she hadn't given me one of the worst news of my life. I did not answer anything, I only looked at her with shallow eyes in unspent tears.

― It's been almost five years since the magic was gone. ― Minerva continued, as she glimpsed the castle gardens, visible through her window. ― The fanatics are pressing. The reporters continue like vultures at our gate and you are the first member of the team to reach the maximum magical level. I don't know how much I can hold you.

One of the tears I held, flowed down my cheek. I had no strength to clean it, too shocked by her words. Minerva went around the table, extending me a disposable handkerchief. I coughed, clearing my throat, before I started almost begging her.

— In fact, I'm a level ten witch, but I don't feel ready.

― You are. ― Minerva smiled at me, but I did not return it. — Although I wonder if ten is really the maximum for an exceptional witch like you.

I shuddered when the memory of my experience in the level chamber of the Department of Mysteries hit me. I had restrained myself. I know I could go further, I felt it to my bones. But how could Minerva imagine that there is some level beyond ten? There is no wizard with a power beyond that and no one was there inside the chamber with me. She has no way of knowing what happened inside that place. Has she?

I decided to divert her attention down another path, as interesting as this one.

― I think I got a new lead... but I need to be here to follow it.

Minerva analyzed me with the look.

― Does it have anything to do with Durmstrang's books?

I confirmed with my head, I do not know if I could omit from her the part about the founders, if I started talking about it while I was in such a shaken state.

— You can take them with you. ― She informed me.

My heart stopped beating for a few seconds. Take? Would I really need to leave?

― Take them with me? ― I asked trembly. ― Minerva?

At that instant, Minerva's attention shifted again to the darkening horizon.

— I can't keep you here. ― My advisor finally confessed.

Dread ran through my body, starting from the spine and ending nestled in my stomach.

― If I refuse to "serve the Ministry, " what do I become? A fugitive? ― I asked with the tearful voice of the beginning of this conversation.

Minerva got stuck.

― Don't despair yourself yet. I talked to Kingsley, and informed him that you are leaving for a mission.

I tilted my head, analyzing the posture of my advisor. I never went on a mission. By the way, no Muggle-born would go out on missions. We were few, our magic was essential here, our professions demanded everything from us. How did Minerva get me to go on a mission when I reached a magical level unique to England?

― What kind of mission? ― I asked with trepidation.

― You will do intensive magical training, to gain access to ancient magic.

My mind turned. Ancient Magic? Messing with it involved risks. Too many risks.

— I remember well you saying that ancient magic was unstable and in this new world we would not know how it would behave…

She cut me.

― I know what I said, Hermione. But you have that option or go to Ministry and do what Merlin knows Robards wants you to do. Are you sure you want to be a puppet in his hands? ― Irritation punctuated Minerva's words.

— I can't mess with ancient Minerva Magic, no Muggle-born can.

— That was before all pure blood were reduced to nothing. No one knows for sure what it is like now.

― And you want me to risk it? — My voice came out in a whisper.

— I want you to train to access it. Not that you access it without any knowledge. I trust that you are the only one who can do this.

Pride and guilt went up my chest with her words, but I couldn't answer anything. Too surprised to formulate an answer.

― When everyone lost their powers or half of them, and you were elevated to the rank of one of the most powerful witches in this world, I asked you what you wanted to do with that power, Hermione. ― Continued Minerva. ― Do you remember what you told me?

I remembered, I didn't forget for a moment.

― I said I wanted to use it to return magic to the world. That I would do the opposite of what Voldemort's fanatical followers did. They wanted Magic restricted to them. But I would not settle for being part of a small privileged portion of Wizards, while others suffer from her extinction. I said I'd look for a way to unleash the magic.

― And so, you will. ― Determined Minerva. ― One day you will return to Hogwarts and return the magic to everyone. But now I ask you to leave, I cannot hold you against a demand of the minister if he is pressured by the non-magical. And something tells me that you need to know Ancient Magic to free whatever is depriving us of using our magic fully.

I sighed trembly and tried one last time.

— Why can't you send another one?

I had never sounded so dumb, so ... selfish. My mentor gave me a small, sad smile.

— None of them would succeed, this is a training that, even before, only exceptional wizards did.

I swallowed dry as my throat tightened.

― You are our hope, Hermione. And let it be used by a ministry that will not give you the knowledge to heal what has plagued us for all these years... anyone would hold you accountable if they know that you could access an ancient knowledge and that can allow us to release that curse and that you chose not to do. I would forever regret if I heard someone say that you want magic only to your narrow group of Muggle-borns. They would be comparing you to Voldemort. I can't handle it.

My lips shuddered, but I closed them tightly, blinking to contain the burning in my eyes. Minerva was right.

― I'll go. — Accept. My voice failing only slightly. ― But I need you to get us a few days. I really need to follow a lead.

Minerva pondered.

― Fair enough. I'll get a few weeks deadline. ― She argued, in a low voice.

I exhaled, trembling.

― Where do we need to go?

― I won't go. — She answered and I raised my eyes to her, surprise.

― But I thought ... ― I let the words die in my mouth.

— I can't leave the Hogwarts program. You understand, I suppose. ― She answered me.

― If you can't ... who... who will? ― I shuddered while waiting for your answer.

She looked at me with understanding eyes, before sentencing what I might have imagined, had I not been so out of my own axis.

― Severus.


Ever since Minerva informed me that I would be leaving Hogwarts soon, my life seemed to lose meaning. I don't remember how I left her office, nor how I drove to my best friend's apartment.

All I remember is that dinner that night was a disaster. As Ivan cooked, I cried on Dean's lap. I couldn't eat or drink. I couldn't even talk.

Three hours later, Ivan had to call Neville and ask him to bring a calming potion and a Dreamless Sleep to Dean's apartment, where I slept that night. I woke up better the next morning and was able to finally tell both of them that I would need to leave. They did not insist on details, all too aware that if I needed to delve into the matter, I would bury myself in the same despair as the night before.

My psychological shock was bad in other ways as well. I could not summon Regulus by the medallion and the dread within me also did not let me make a new descent to the tomb, in search of answers that would carry me forward.

And as if that wasn't enough, for the next two weeks, my life became physical and emotional hell. Whatever kind of truce I had formed with Severus had been shaken by the imminence of our departure. I was not surprised that after my conversation with Minerva, he took the term 'train me' to a whole new level. It was almost as if he was punishing me for making him my private 'nanny'.

There were several absurdities said to me during training. But my favorite that came out of her mouth was "Is this how a level ten witch casts a spell?"

I've never had a teacher come on me with such revenge. Except, perhaps, Snape himself, in my third and fourth year of school. But compared to today, he was a Lord at that time. He embodied the motto "I'll break you because I can, Granger " and made it hell for me. Each day was worse than the previous one. Minerva said nothing. She patted me on the back and told me to stand firm. But it was hard to keep my head in place.

By the end of the first week, Dean was the one who gasped.

— What did you do with him? ― He asked after Severus yelled at me for casting a corporeal patron when he thought I should have cast only the silver mist from the tip of my wand.

I couldn't tell Dean that I was being punished because Minerva found a loophole to prevent me from becoming a ministry puppet and that Snape was the one cast to accompany me in this. Dean knew about my departure, but not about my "companion".

― I have no idea. ― I told him.

― Did you curse him behind his back again?

— No. ― Although I wish, I thought.

Dean frowned, wiping his neck with his shirt collar.

― Bring him a cookie then, Mione. Because this is getting out of control. I don't know how you haven't started crying again.

That's how bad it is. My body was all tense before the workout started and for hours after that. Neville had to reschedule two delicate surgeries at the hospital because my fingers were not flexible enough to hold my wand accurately. He gave me soothing potions to try to get me out of my exhausted mode, but it hardly helped.

Until I finally had enough.

― If you cast another of these your useless patrons…

I turned off Snape's voice from my head. He was being unfair and everyone knew. Did anyone say anything? Of course not. No one wanted to be the one to be kicked, and I couldn't exactly blame them.

I was quiet as Snape and Minerva said everything that could be improved for the upcoming exhibition with Castelobruxo. I didn't move when my co-advisor threw the weight of a possible loss in the next tournament on my shoulders and I just nodded as I was supposed to do. Deep down he was right. I was the most powerful witch, he could blame me for anything.

But Minerva never named anyone directly. Instead, it would pull the person apart and talk to them privately. But this bastard...

I swallowed the shit of his insults, making a poker face while inside I was furious and trying to convince myself not to do something that would take me straight to Azkaban.

― I'll do my best, guys. — I said in a deceptively calm voice, once Snape had finished his rant.

The faces of Cho and Dean shifted towards me from the semicircle we were in. Cho seemed about to have a burst of laughter, while Dean was thinking about how quickly he could hold me back in case I decided fifteen years in Azkaban wasn't that long. Neither of them said a word.

Our training ended soon after that, leaving a strange sticky feeling in the air, that if Hogwarts didn't do as well as Castelobruxo, I would be solely responsible.

As a sane and rational person, I took my things and casually prepared to leave. Cho shook my arm as she walked past me, saying nothing, but I felt like she was giving her blessing, her inner fearlessness. Dean crawled over me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

― Hermione, please don't make me visit you in Azkaban. And that striped uniform from there will look terrible with your skin tone. Gray is not your color, trust me, I date a fashion student.

Only Dean to make me lose focus. I laughed and ran an arm around his waist.

― I swear I won't do anything violent. ― I answered with laughter.

― Promise?

I confirmed it with my head. He didn't seem very convinced, but eventually dropped his arm.

― Please promise, Hermione

Dean looked me in the eye when he begged me. I smiled at him and waved again.

― I promise.

His eyes were still disbelieving but eventually he nodded.

― See you tomorrow?

I assured him so, and he said goodbye. The Quidditch field was already emptier, but the person I was looking for was still there. I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves and told myself that I was doing the right thing. I couldn't let us go back to our dumb fights from before and knew exactly what I needed to do to resolve it.

I spotted him as soon as I just texted Neville, letting him know that I would be late for duty. He was standing by the bleachers where I set fire to his robes once, clearly not expecting me to go after him.

— I can't do that with you anymore.

I said at once, too tired to act discreetly. I just stood there and stared at him. I needed to vent. I pointed to the field behind us.

― Come on.

Severus retreated, his face empty.

― What are you talking about?

I waved toward the field more insistently.

― Come on. I'm not going to be your punching bag the rest of the time. You and I, we will duel until someone wins seven times first.

His lower lip twitched and he blinked, confused.

― Come on, Snape.

― Absolutely not.

— Let's do it. — I repeated

— No.

― Snape. ― I waved to the center of the field again.

― You're being petulant. ― He growled.

Okay, time to be aggressive.

― And you're being a coward.

The next thing I saw was his shoulders stiffen, and his mouth became a thin line. Well, it was exactly the reaction I expected him to have.

― What did you say?

― I said you are being a coward. — I repeated. ― Come on. What are you afraid of? My magic level may be higher than yours, but we both know you were exceptional. I saw you deflect a spell when you didn't even use a wand, so let's put an end to it. Duel me, so you can get over this shit between the two of us.

— I'm not going to duel you, brat. ― He stated evenly, his jaw creaking.

Brat? Could I have left it be? Of course, I could. But I hadn't lied when I said I couldn't go on with it any longer. Anger repressed everything he was and the frustrations he took away from me, but regardless, we couldn't keep up this hateful dance.

― Yes, you will.

― No, I won't.

Pressing my hands together, I was two seconds away from pulling my wand and forcing a reaction from him. But I preferred to continue with my approach to words.

― I know I'm going to lose, Snape. And I hate to lose, but let's do it anyway, just to end it.

He raised both hands into the air and whispered a spell that held his hair in a bun at the back of his head. I hated him even more at that moment, for almost making me faint in a sigh. Merlin, Severus with a sidecut is absurdly sexy.

— No. ― He growled.

― Why?

― Because you're unbearable. ― He swore.

It was my turn to wink at him.

― You think I will win, don't you?

He rolled his eyes up as he sighed.

― There's not the slightest chance.

Based on his tone, I wasn't sure if he really thought so or not. But I knew I needed to let go of my ego and force him to do so. Some part of my instinct recognized that it was necessary, so I needed to do everything possible to make it happen. Even if it meant irritating him even more.

― No? So, stop acting like a loose man and duel me.

― I'm not loose. ― He took a step forward. ― I can and will kick you.

I raised my hands up and smiled.

— I said you were going to win, not that you were going to beat me.

That look that I recognized very well crossed his features, and I honestly was torn between trembling with fear or admitting the other emotion that passed through my body. He had that dark, piercing look, typical of when he was angry. Oh, my Merlin, he's going to clean the floor with my defeated body. Something burned inside my chest, and I let the fire of competition burn in my heart.

― Let's do this.

And we did. It's one thing to have seen him duel Minerva or kick Lockhart's ass in my second year, from the safety of where I watched. Dueling with him was quite another.

I was quick and he was just as fast, if not even more. His wand looked like an extension of his own arm, and his spells flowed so accurately, that it was almost impossible to dodge them. There was a reason why this man was an icon, he had been the best wizard, the best teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the best Master of Potions, the best spy. And he was by far the best Duelist I've ever battled.

Although I was fascinated, I wasn't going to let him win without a fight. I kept what I knew about him in the front of my brain, and cast my spells and shields as fast as I could. I tried to think of him and be smarter.

Later, I wish I had known earlier if we were dueling purely, or in a battle simulation, as he cornered me at one point and managed to pull the wand against my throat. He won that one.

― Did that become a battle simulation? — I asked when I rolled under his arm and stuck my wand into his right rib, indicating my victory.

As we did this, I noticed his short breath. Apparently, hiding in the obstacles would give me an advantage, after all, I was a brat nineteen years younger than him.

He turned his back on me, to walk the steps of the duel again.

― And are you already whining, level ten?

I huffed. Is that a new nickname for me? Idiot.

― No, but if it's how you want to duel, then that's how it's going to be.

We ran one after another for what seemed like an eternity. The obstacles of training allowed us to duel sometimes in the open field, sometimes casting spells and protecting ourselves. Sweat dripped on my face, arms and lower back. He was really breathing hard, but it was as if I felt that he was dueling sloppily. I didn't belittle myself, I knew I was good, but Snape, even though he was a half-blood wizard and that he should have at least three magical levels below mine, somehow was much better. He was notorious.

― You had eight opportunities to jinx me. — I sighed when we turned our backs for the tenth time.

― And you had three. If you knew what you were doing. ― He hissed at me as we started counting steps.

― I know what I'm doing. ― I growled when the count was over and I turned to face him with the wand up.

His spell hit my shield hard, but I managed to hold it. I ran to the nearest grandstand and rolled through the grass as another spell passed scraping through my right ear. I don't know how he moved so fast, but one second I rolled across the grass and the next I was standing, his breath in my ear and his body standing right behind me, wand again at my throat's pulse point. I lost again, but I could hear and feel the exhaustion radiating from his body. I smiled.

― Running out of breath?

He grunted, but did not answer. We reopened the step count and in a move that was Severus Snape at the height of his power, his spell hit my shield and shattered it in the blink of an eye, knocking me hard to the ground. A second spell flashed in the air in a powerful arc and purposefully hit the grass, a millimeter next to my head. A perfect sight.

I smiled, despite the fact that under normal circumstances, I would have been annoyed to have lost again. But that had been beautiful. And when Snape hovered over me with a triumphant, smug smile that I'd probably never see again, I softened even more. That smile went straight to my sternum because it was so different from the expressionless man I had seen so many times over the years.

― There's only one left, level ten. ― He said like I was an idiot and didn't know what the score was.

I managed to win the next two times, and even then, it was a miracle that we did not fall.

― It seems that you need a rest. ― I let go of him while he gasped. When was the last time I had breathed like this?

Severus was soaked in sweat, and his face was a little pale.

― I'm fine.

Well? It looked like he wanted to throw up.

― Well? ― I repeated and took a deep breath to calm down. Ugly, but it worked, and my lungs thanked me for it.

He rolled his eyes, but kept struggling to catch his breath. Did we really duel?

― Unless you want to stop. ― He sounded between breaths.

I wanted to. That was too much, and I had been stupid for submitting to it. But fuck if I would admit it.

― Yes, if you want. — I answered.

― You're the one losing. I don't mind. ― He sounded presumptuous now.

I shrugged to him and he raised his eyebrows in return, but none of us said anything for a while.

I forced my eyes closed and lay down on the grass to stretch. When I finished, I shook my shoulders and saw when he got up and began to stretch. I cleared my throat and looked up at the sky. There's no need to make this weird or give him a reason to rub your stupid victory in my face.

― Well, I'm leaving now. See you tomorrow.

I turned around and started making my way out of the field when I heard his voice scream.

― You're a good loser, Granger!

I started shaking my head as I left and a sigh escaped my lips when I realized he had used my last name.


― Someone finally got laid.

I frowned and looked around.

― Who? Filch?

― Hermione! That's disgusting. ― Cho shuddered. — No. You know who I'm talking about.

I crossed my eyes with her and focused on the overly aggressive man, walking around the field, helping Flitwick transfigure the obstacles. This was normal, except for the fact that he really had a kind of smile on his face. A smile that went straight to my chest.

― Look at him. He looks happy. It's weird and wrong, isn't it? ― She muttered under her breath.

It was weird. Tilting my head to the side, I sat in the stands as they finished the preparation of the field and watched him for a while longer. The smile did not last long, but there was something more different on his face, in his whole behavior. He looked like a smug son of a bitch. Oh God.

My gut said he could have taken off a fuck, although I couldn't say that sex had the power to make a big difference in him, it felt like something beyond that.

Those black eyes scanned the area around the field and he caught me looking at him. His eyelids lowered and one of the corners of his mouth showed a smile that was a quarter the size of a normal one. He turned into a full smile a second later. I knew what he was thinking: loser.

That smile said it all. Maybe he even had sex with someone, and I didn't really like the way it sounded weird to my ears, but I knew because he was smiling. Because he had kicked me the day before.

— No. He probably stayed up last night taking an inventory of his precious potion ingredients. ― I said smiling.

Cho choked on the water when she had a giggle. I nudged her and made a gesture towards where the other team members were and barely looked up as I passed Minerva, Severus and Flitwick, but I was polite.

― Good Morning. ― I said.

― Good Morning. ― Minerva answered.

Filius said something that was probably " morning " and Snape just grunted. His smug expression crossed his eyes, and I ignored him as I kept walking.

My sciatica hurt at the end of the first half an hour of practice. It got so bad that I began to dream of entering the pool in the Room of Requirement. The icing on my cake of pain happened when I passed by Snape's side and he shouted behind me "plan on running faster today, Granger?"

No, I didn't plan. I was sore and finished; my limitations were too tight, my shoulders a little sore and I was still absurdly tired. Yesterday was too much. But I had achieved what I had intended to do: I had made the idiot stop talking a lot of shit to me. I ended up losing the duel, but I had won the royal battle.

I shouldn't have been surprised when I heard a laugh of derision at the end of training.

― You seemed to be dragging today.

Slowly pushing to my feet from the crouching position I was in, I instantly rolled my eyes to the Severus's statement, who was a few feet away, turning one of the obstacles into a stone again.

― Oh, I'm perfect. It's the advantage of being young. ― And you? How do you feel?

His mouth went into a straight line that said exactly how dissatisfied he was with my mockery.

— Glorious

Arrogant asshole.

― Oh, really? I thought I saw you pulling your right leg a little, but I don't think so.

As if talking about it made it hurt more, his leg gave way at the same time as his eyes narrowed.

― My leg's fine. ― He answered with a flat, dry voice.

Purposefully, I glanced at his knee.

― It doesn't look like it. ― I said, before I face him again.

And Severus Snape had the most intense face I've ever seen. His gaze was solid and unshakable. It was a demanding look that in fighters seemed perfect. Why does he look at me as if I were his enemy? That look would scare anyone, but for me, the twinkling of those eyes was exciting. I smiled at him. I was really pleased with myself.

His nostrils widened in response, and he continued to look at me with his head held high. He was a proud idiot. And although I enjoyed standing there, being the object of the analysis of that look, I knew how important it was for me to do something about my body pain. I let my smile grow bigger and then took a few steps back.

― I'll see you tomorrow, Snape. ― I looked toward his right knee. ― Take care of your leg.

He would not let it lie my presumption in telling him what to do, after all, he was a master at being equally annoying.

― Be sure to dive into ice. I don't need you being useless again in the next workout, level ten.

I couldn't help but smile when I nodded. Maybe, and that was a huge maybe, we could get along.


Final Notes


A break in the mysteries, to bring news and interactions.

Next Wednesday we will have more surprises. What will it be? Bets?

Translation by Jessinthedungeons.