7.

Secret-Kept Location - 19 September 1997

Ron was watching her, eyes darkened and suspicious. She wanted to tell him the truth, but knew that would make things ten times worse.

Sitting him down with, "Yes, Ron, I'm the first witch to be born to the female line of Slytherin and a prophecy chose me to bring back balance to magic. Oh, and see this locket. The former horcrux holding one? My infamous ancestor chats to me when I wear it. And, oh yes, I have a notebook I share with the Headmaster —yes, the current one, yes Severus Snape— to keep me updated on horcruxes and—"

At that point, she'd be ducking dark hexes.

The staring was easier to live with.

"You've changed, Mione."

"Ron…"

Harry's low reprimand cut across her nerves. He flicked over a page and frowned at the faded print. "Rowena Ravenclaw had a hair comb. Not much use to old snake-face now though."

Old Ron would've joined in the ribbing…but New Ron cut into a potato, stuck it in his mouth and chewed methodically.

Salazar had said about him never wearing the locket when it held the horcrux…but had such a narrow brush with it changed him? Or was the change…was the change all in her? She had taken charge of the task Dumbledore set Harry, and she was keeping secrets from both boys. More secrets.

The soft chime of a reminder spell rang around the room. Eleven o'clock. They were trying to keep regular hours, stuck as they were in the increasingly cramped flat. Harry gratefully slammed the tome he was reading shut, releasing a fresh plume of dust. "I'm not getting much from it. Rowena wasn't that fussed about her things, but Merlin, can she chunter on about a spell."

Hermione grinned. She'd left the hunt for the Ravenclaw horcrux to Harry. Her hunt was more disturbing. And another secret. She could claim that they had to be sure the soul-fragment in Nagini could simply be solved by killing the snake…as she hunted for a way to remove the horcrux and leave the host alive. Each day, each old scroll or codex, even with Salazar and Snape's brilliance leant towards it as well…there seemed no way to remove it…safely.

She closed her own notebook. "Goodnight."

"Mione? Can I have a word?"

Ron put his cutlery down across his empty plate. Yes, the moaning about food had stopped. He now had six square meals a day.

Harry stopped, half risen from his chair but Hermione gave him a short smile and he wished them both goodnight, before disappearing from the little front room.

Hermione gathered her notebooks together as Ron seemed to need time to speak. There was a cut of red over his cheeks.

"Can you stop? Just leave them, for a minute." It was a demand and her lips pinched at it. Ron ran his fingers through his shaggy red hair and pulled in a breath. "Mum," he dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a gleaming, white-gold ring with a clawed sphere of polished lapis lazuli, "gave me this at Bill's wedding."

Hermione's stomach dropped. No… No, he could not be proposing. Not after nearly a fortnight of snide cold-shouldering. Salazar was silent, but there was a wariness to his thoughts. Something about this particular ring was…telling.

"She thought that we might…" He frowned. "This was before she knew we weren't going back to Hogwarts, before the Ministry fell…but I think, some part of her guessed. She knows that you're, well that you haven't…and said that sometimes, with a witch's first time," he rushed the words, his face mottled red, "that a bond forms. And that this would protect your reputation…just in case."

Dark thoughts moved through her mind. He was not suggesting…? "Ron—"

"Let me finish." Again something curt. Oh, he was simply digging a deeper hole for himself. "You've been…out of sorts for weeks, and I thought, maybe this could solve it." He gave a sure smile she wanted to smack from his face. "You are very tense, Mione."

Salazar's rising anger threaded through her own. "So, what you're saying is, if I have sex with you, I'll go back to being 'good old Mione'?"

Ron blinked. Drew in a breath. And nodded.

Salazar growled.

Hermione stood, pulled her books and materials and notebooks together with sharp efficiency and glared at the oblivious idiot that was one Ronald Bilius Weasley. "I will not sleep with you. I will never sleep with you. Any chance of anything happening between us is over, done with and finished."

She shook her head as he gaped at her. "I wish to be with a wizard who is not sulky and intimidated by me, by what I am and what I can do. So thank you, Ronald, but no, you can keep that ring —and other parts of yourself— quite separate from me."

"Now wait just a minute! We have an understanding."

"You have no understanding of anything. Goodnight."

"Mione!"

Hermione surged into her room and slashed up wards tight enough to make the door creak. She dropped to the single bed and let the armful of books and notes fall to the mattress. Tears bled. He'd had a ring…not asked for, but given solely for reputation's sake. No mention of love, liking…nor even friendship. He simply thought that sleeping with her would effectively…sort her out.

Git. Utter and complete git.

"He is a particularly fine specimen of an ignorant young wizard."

"He is. And I should be relieved he waited. I should. I am." She wiped at her wet cheeks, the pain and anger and mortification a wild churn through her body. "August. If he'd asked me in August, in Grimmauld Place, with a ring and a bright smile, I would've fallen for it, Salazar. Before I spent time with him under true pressure…and then I would've been stuck with him. Forever."

Hermione let out a long breath. "He's going to be worse now." She murmured the words aloud, needing the truth of them.

"Very likely."

The ache was there for tea. For the calming ritual and wrapping chilled hands around a heavy mug and letting a familiar warmth and taste banish the stress. But…she was warded into her rooms, and she didn't want to set eyes on Ron. Not then. And the way her gut roiled, not ever.

Instead, she picked up her notebooks with their loose sheafs and began to resort them, carefully and methodically. Her gaze flicked to the plain black cover —of course— of the notebook Snape had presented to her. The itch to talk to someone so disconnected from her…her teen-drama burned to the tips of her fingers.

He'd been sleeping better since he'd discovered her as the Augury and they'd destroyed a horcrux, or so he said. The need to fuss over him was one of those clicks within her. The rightness of them. One she couldn't fathom, and a fortnight in, and pages filled with wit and serious discussion the like of which she hadn't known…she didn't want to dwell on it. Not with her future with Ron now so much dust.

Even with their…covenant, she would never be anything more than an annoying student to him. Still, as a friend —a friend— he could be a welcome distraction.

A length of black silk —the wizard was predictability itself— marked her last page. She smiled down at his spiky script interwoven with hers as they pulled apart places where Tom Riddle would've hidden the Hufflepuff Cup.

—Are you lost in thought, Miss Granger?—

Hermione blinked at the words rising up to the surface of the creamy parchment. Naturally, he'd set a spell to tell him when the notebook was open. He was thorough. She picked up her quill. She had opened the notebook to be distracted, after all.

—Tired, I think. We're still no closer to pinning down the Ravenclaw relic—

—I believe I have a lead on that or the Cup—

—Excellent!—

The speed with which Severus Snape could uncover necessary information was…astounding. But then he was a spy. And Albus Dumbledore was an idiot for not bringing the wizard into the horcrux hunt. Would he have put on the Gaunt Ring at all if the Potions Master had been with him?

—I have suspected for some time that Bellatrix LeStrange has something of the Dark Lord's in her keeping. She was smug tonight. Taunting. My position…unsettles her. The favour I have at this point in time. The Dark Lord appears to be finding me…indispensable and that's scratching Bellatrix. Hard—

—Are you all right, sir? Unharmed?—

And there was one of his pauses. The stretch of time he needed when she displayed any sort of concern about his wellbeing. Especially after a Death Eater meeting. Salazar had admitted that Dumbledore never asked after his spy, just took the information and dismissed him, often bruised and bleeding back to the dungeons.

—I am fine—

Another pause.

—I wove neat lies through my conversation with her, nothing false, but enough to flare her insecurities into a boast. I am the Dark Lord's right hand, after all." She could almost see his wry, but bitter smile. "And was rewarded with, "I keep safe the like of which you could barely fathom". That sounds like a horcrux, don't you think? Bellatrix believes herself untouchable, that no one would dare steal from her—

Hermione frowned.

—It's in her Gringott's vault? Then she'd be right—

—Perhaps…—

Hermione shook her head. Did he plan to lie his way past a horde of goblins?

—Salazar says you're the best liar he's ever known, but even he will doubt your ability to lie your way into a bank vault—

Salazar laughed, something warm and rich and it cracked away a little bit more of the tension that still held her.

"I do not doubt him, Hermione."

—Ah, he doesn't doubt you—

—Then I thank him for the compliment and am honoured by his faith in me—

To lie so easily wasn't in her nature…or perhaps it was. When it had a purpose. She'd happily lied to Dolores Umbridge to draw her out into the Forbidden Forest. But something curled inside of her, the worry that he would twist his words around her…and that she would never know.

—Will you lie to me?—

—No. A Head of Slytherin cannot lie to his Augury—

—Is that a lie?—

A pen-pause and she could almost feel the pull of a dark smile over hundreds of miles of distance.

—No—

Hermione snorted, liking this Snape, so darkly witty, and so willing to…to indulge her curiosity. He was a haven in the tight and stuffy confines of the flat. A welcome relief to Ron. Especially this night.

She pushed on to safe topics.

—So…did you have proper meals today?—

—Fussing witch! Yes. I did. Even the house-elves are no longer trying to slip extra food onto every surface at which I'm sat—

—Good—

—I apologise, I must go. Albus is trying to read over my shoulder. He's also working to organise the other portraits to spy on me. He's aware something is…different. Phineas however is older…and wilier. There have been —unsubstantiated— threats that a portrait's most embarrassing secret could be splashed across their frame for all time if they fall into line with Dumbledore. Headmaster Black makes me quite proud—

—Wicked man!—

—As you say—

Hermione couldn't help the smile that broke from her.

—Goodnight, sir—

There was another pen-pause and she was just starting to frown as a single word rose through the parchment in rich black ink.

—Severus—

Hermione blinked and the nib of her pen stilled above the cream-coloured paper. Severus. It felt intimate…and again, that little click as if another tumbler had fallen into place to open a long-closed lock.

—Hermione—

—Then, goodnight…Hermione. And Happy Birthday—

She closed her eyes, her heart twisting. No one else had remembered.

And she stared at those six words far longer than she should.