For some reason it was the realisation that Bode had been killed by a potted plant at St Mungo's so he couldn't reveal what he'd been made to do while under the Imperius Curse that truly opened her eyes to the fact that there was a war on. An underground war. A secret war being played out right in front of the Ministry of Magic itself, which was happily turning a blind eye. There was something about the government failing so catastrophically that made her head hurt. It was the government. It was supposed to be run by the brightest minds in Britain. And it was letting the whole nation down. Hermione sighed. At what point does someone become a grown up? She felt like she'd done a lot of growing up this year. Or maybe it was years ago. She'd learned that adults weren't infallible in her First Year when it had been up to her and her best friends to save the Philosophers Stone. And then again in her Second year when it had been Harry and Ron who'd found the Chamber of Secrets and killed the "horror within". And in her Third year it had been the three of them who'd discovered the truth about Sirius Black and saved him from a fate worse than death. And then Harry had been made to compete in a deadly Tournament last year. Maybe she hadn't been a child for quite some time…

Harry's dreams about Voldemort were getting worse … or better, more vivid. Which was definitely bad. Occlumency was supposed to be helping. The dream he'd had about Rockwood unnerved her; what if he saw Snape through Voldemort's eyes one night? That felt like such an invasion of privacy.

*"But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry."

"What?" he said, taken aback.

"You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing," she said sternly.

"I know I am," said Harry. "But - "

"Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw," she said firmly. "And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on."*

Occlumency with Potter after dinner, wonderful.

Severus Snape sighed as he let the boy into his office.

"Let's begin." He snapped, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.

The boy was still useless. He could feel Potter's hatred for him when he was inside his head, he could feel the boy's resistance to his presence but it just didn't translate into his Occlumency skills.

*"Get up, Potter."

Another lesson, another string of pointless memories he'd rather not have to watch. This time most of them had concerned humiliations the Dursley child and his gang had inflicted upon Potter in primary school. Something stood out though…

"That last memory," he said, concerned. "What was it?"

"I don't know," Potter said, getting wearily to his feet. "You mean the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?"

"No," said Severus softly. "I mean the one with a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room ..."

He knew that room, that man and that position all too well.

"It's ... nothing," Potter said. The boy was a terrible liar.

"How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Potter?" he said.

"It -" said Potter, looking everywhere but at Severus, "it was - just a dream I had."

"A dream?" he repeated, feeling like someone had dropped a lead weight in his stomach.

There was a pause during which the boy stared fixedly at a large dead frog suspended in a jar of purple liquid.

"You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter?" he said, in a low, dangerous voice. "You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?"

"Yes," the boy said stiffly.

"Remind me why we are here, Potter."

"So I can learn Occlumency."

"Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be I would have thought that after over two months of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had?"

"Just that one," he lied again.

Severus felt his temper rise. Did the boy not know that this was for his own good? Dreams about the Dark Lord were bad news, they were dangerous. Potter already had sufficient knowledge of the Order, its members and its location to put everything at risk if the Dark Lord got far enough into his head.

"Perhaps," he said, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly, "perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special - important?'"

"No, they don't," Potter said, but he could see a shadow of truth in his face.

"That is just as well, Potter," he said coldly, "because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters."

"No - that's your job, isn't it?" Potter snapped at him.

His first reaction was one of anger. Then something dawned on him, something that had been nagging at the back of his mind for a long time. The boy had said something rash out of anger, he hadn't put any thought into what he'd said, he'd just reacted with something he thought would upset or anger Severus. But Potter had said nothing about that which had transpired between himself and Miss Granger. His Professor being drunk, or having a nightmare, or being injured or shaking or throwing up would surely be better tools to use against him in that moment… But Potter hadn't said anything along those lines… Miss Granger hadn't told him… That was the logical conclusion… A feeling of curiosity mingled with satisfaction overtook the anger.

"Yes, Potter," he said, his eyes glinting. "That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again."

He raised his wand: "One - two - three - Legilimens!"

A hundred Dementors were swooping towards Potter across the lake in the grounds ... they were coming closer ... Potter's expression was changing, something was wrong … Potter's face was becoming clearer and the image was growing fainter … it wasn't his doing …

The boy raised his wand.

"Protego!"

He didn't have time to react.

Severus staggered - his wand flew upwards, away from Potter - and suddenly Potter was in his mind. A hook-nosed man that should never have been a Father was shouting at a cowering woman who should never have been a Mother, - his mind was black from shock, his reflexes numb - a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ... a greasy-haired, lonely teenager sat in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies, being drawn further and further down a Dark path ... a beautiful girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick – his brain caught up, his defences kicked in -

"ENOUGH!"

Potter fell backwards, pushed away physically by the strength of his resistance, he hit some of the shelves covering Severus' walls and something cracked. Severus was shaking slightly, and felt cold and weak but was determined to show nothing in front of that bloody boy.

One of the jars behind Potter had broken when he fell against it.

"Reparo," he hissed, and the jar sealed itself at once, he felt a little more in control. "Well, Potter ... that was certainly an improvement ..." Panting slightly, he straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, to reassure himself that his deepest and darkest memories were still firmly out of the brats reach. "I don't remember telling you to use a Shield Charm ... but there is no doubt that it was effective ..."

That was all the praise he could give him. He felt violated and stupid. How could he have let someone as thick as Potter into his mind?

"Let's try again, shall we?" he said, focusing on keeping his voice steady. "On the count of three, then. One – two – Legilimens!"

He was hurtling along the corridor towards the Department of Mysteries, past the blank stone walls, past the torches - the plain black door was growing ever larger; he was moving so fast he was going to collide with it, he was feet from it and again he could see that chink of faint blue light – Potter should not be seeing this, what was happening? - The door had flown open! He was through it, inside a black-walled, black-floored circular room lit with blue-flamed candles, and there were more doors all around him, which door ought he to take – This had to stop -

"POTTER!"

The boy had fallen to the floor when he broke the connection, it had been strong, for a terrible moment he'd thought he might not be able to stop it… Oh this was very, very bad. The Dark Lord must have some sort of plan he wasn't sharing with his spy. Well he wasn't in favour, not now the Death Eaters from Azkaban were back … but these visions were incredibly dangerous, and the idiot wasn't trying to stop them.

"Explain yourself!" He demanded, feeling the flighty wings of panic inside his stomach, along with a hot and fiery fury that the damn boy could be so reckless.

"I ... dunno what happened," Potter said, standing up, looking slightly ill but almost excited. "I've never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I've dreamed about the door ... but it's never opened before."

"You are not working hard enough!"

How could the boy not realise how dangerous this was? For all of them?

"You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord -"

"Can you tell me something, sir?' He said insolently. "Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that."

He didn't know why it made him so furious to hear the boy spit 'Death Eater' at him like that when it was nothing but the truth, wherever his loyalties lay. He opened his mouth in a snarl - and a woman screamed from somewhere outside the room.

Severus' head jerked upwards; he gazed at the ceiling.

"What the - ?" he muttered.*

So Umbridge had finally sacked someone. They all knew it had been coming and it was no surprise to anyone it had been Trelawney, least of all Severus. That woman was getting far too full of herself though, he'd noticed a significant increase in the number of students with bleeding hands. And he could do nothing. Nothing except keep the store cupboard well stocked with Murtlap tentacles and hope Granger would spread the word. A trickle of unease ran down his spine.

He sank into his office chair and ran his hands up his face and through his hair. He needed to speak to the Headmaster. Potter's dreams, visions, whatever, were getting worse and Occlumency clearly wasn't working. He knew Potter wasn't trying hard enough but all the same, it felt like something else was wrong, something was stopping him from being able to block what he was seeing. The fact that he'd gone further down the corridor in the Department of Mysteries during an Occlumency lesson was very worrying indeed. The Dark Lord was up to something, he just didn't know what and he couldn't enquire when he wasn't supposed to know anything; he could hardly confess he'd been teaching that brat Occlumency, working against the very thing the Dark Lord was trying to achieve, whatever that may be. He sighed. So many lies it was getting harder to keep up.

And then there was Granger. He groaned. What on Earth was he supposed to do with her? She was getting worse and he was letting her. She was researching Healing. He was almost sure he knew why; when he'd told her there was nothing she nor Madam Pomfrey could do for him after his first Summons, she'd had that look in her eye, a silver glint amongst the amber she got whenever there was an answer she needed to find. Well she was wasting her time. Why should it concern him? She always wanted to know how he was, the thought made him feel hot and uncomfortable, but there was also a tiny part of him that was pleased and he hated it, but then how many other people wanted that same information? 'Fine. Don't tell me. Leave me here to worry.' She'd said when he'd refused her the information and the thought of her worrying over him had sent a jolt of pleasure through him, followed immediately by anger and humiliation. She was of no consequence to him. She couldn't be.

But then he'd watched Dumbledore tell the girl about the attack on Mr Weasley, he'd expected tears at the very least but she'd just stood there, pale and shaken but calm and determined just the same. She chose Potter over her parents. He's seen it in her face, he'd seen her defiance and it was just the sort of stupid, grand gesture that so defined her house. All the same he'd been impressed. She certainly wasn't a child anymore, and maybe she hadn't been for a long time. Miss Granger hadn't looked at him once the entire time she was in the office. He'd thought she would; she'd looked to him for reassurance on more than one occasion and he couldn't help but feel vaguely snubbed. So after he'd finished talking with Dumbledore, rowing with Dumbledore more like, he'd known from the offset that Potter would be resistant to learning anything from him, and Occlumency wasn't exactly easy, he'd gone to find her. Only to make sure she was stable and wasn't about to go blabbing about what had happened to the whole school of course. And he'd found her in the Owlery and again she'd avoided his eye and run off. It had made him feel angry and slighted. He chose not to analyse why. Then he'd later located her in the school grounds, all alone surrounded by freezing winds and snow. She'd made an oddly poetic figure from a distance, the Gryffindor that had been left behind. But then he'd been furious with her, it was so melodramatic and ridiculous for her to isolate herself like that in such volatile weather conditions; so bloody attention-seeking. And then when he'd told her so the little harridan had actually growled at him, grabbed him and manhandled him into her Warming Charms. That had been a little embarrassing. But she'd taken hold of his branded arm again, seemingly without even realising, and he'd found it incredibly disconcerting; he'd tried not to look or think about that thing as much as possible since Fudge had recoiled from it so whole-heartedly last year. It had been the reaction he'd been expecting of course, but it wasn't exactly pleasant to have something that was burnt onto your arm, something setting you apart from everyone else, forever, that made people react like that to him. Everyone except Granger.

He'd sat down next to her. The truth was that he was lonely and scared and she cared about him. It was rather hard to believe but all the same… She wasn't particularly bad company; she could be amusing at times, tolerable. It was rare for him to feel amused, particularly these days and the warm feeling it brought him was something he desperately needed, however much he tried to deny it. He'd made her laugh. Twice. The warm little sphere in his chest had spread outwards even as he'd tried to fight it. Then she'd smiled at him again. That warm, open, honest smile that made something ache under his ribs. And then they'd talked and she'd been worried about him getting hurt and it had felt so good to just talk to someone, someone who worried about him and smiled at him and laughed. Her laugh was loud and strong and slightly musical without being at all girlish. It wasn't nearly as insufferable as she was. As she could be. Sometimes. He'd let a whole afternoon slip by sitting with Granger. That was reckless and stupid and the girl was a bloody menace. A bloody menace with a nice laugh.

Of course he'd managed to almost get into a fight with Black over the holidays. He should have been above it, and he was most of the time, but there was just something about Black's arrogant face that took him right back to the days he was nothing but an resentful, lonely, bullied teenager. He was more than that now. He'd survived spending copious amounts of time with the Darkest wizard of all time. He'd survived lying to his face. Multiple times. But then Black had stood up and he was taller, and a shiver of fear had run straight through him, which had only made him more furious and he'd been determined to hex him into oblivion, whether Potter was in between or not, when all the Weasleys and Granger had burst in and the red and the pounding in his ears had slowly receded. Who'd have thought he'd ever see the day when a Potter was trying to stop Black…

And then he'd practically run out of the house. He'd stood on the top step with his head on the door wondering what they were all saying about him and trying to convince himself he didn't care anyway when the door had opened and he'd almost fallen. Granger. Again. She'd come to him rather than staying inside with everyone else. She'd chosen him…. Which was bad of course. Very bad. But the thought made him flush all the same. The relief he'd seen on her face…

'I really don't like Sirius.'

The memory made him chuckle. Again. Damn it what was that girl doing to him?

His slip back then had been worrying, but still he hadn't sent the girl running, he'd glared at her, but his glare didn't seem to have much of an effect on her anymore, especially judging by what she'd done after. She'd taken his hand, and squeezed it. Remembering it made him feel completely out of sorts, befuddled and bewildered. He honestly couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him so innocently.

Granger had waited for him after a Summons three times now. The first time he'd returned to the Dark Lord, after the breakout from Azkaban and after that bloody article in the Quibbler. He'd been grateful she'd been there after the return of the imprisoned Death Eaters and cursed himself for it. He hadn't been hurt, quite the opposite really, he'd been part of a huge celebration. But then a celebration among some of the most evil and cruel wizards of the age was hardly going to be enjoyable. And the newly released Death Eaters, the truly loyal ones could do no wrong. So they were allowed to question his loyalties. He'd been something of a spectacle that night. They'd taken it in turns to question him, including the Dark Lord, all part of the fun of course, he'd felt like he was being circled by sharks. He'd had his Occlumency shields up so rigidly that night and had to monitor everything he did with such vigilance that when he'd finally returned, pulled down his defences and tried to make his exhausted body and mind relax somewhat, he'd just collapsed. It had been beyond exhaustion. And then she'd appeared. At first he'd half wondered if she was even real or if he was just so far gone he was conjuring her. But she'd been very real and he'd been desperately and pathetically pleased she was there. He'd shivered, whether it had been from cold or tiredness or just the knowledge of who he'd spent the night with he didn't know even now, but the girl had cast her Warming Charms around them and given him her cloak. She'd just taken it off her own shoulders and put it over him. That gesture haunted him. It was just so … kind … people weren't that kind to him. They just weren't. He didn't deserve it anyway. 'I care about you.' She'd said, and then blushed. Blushed. He'd made Hermione Granger blush.

When he'd thrown up, far from being disgusted, she'd pulled him up and started marching him towards the castle. She really was insufferable. And she'd taken his shoes off… He was letting her get too far in, she was getting too familiar with him… But she cared about him. She did. He didn't revile or disgust her. She'd touched his feet. And she could be so damn bossy.

The thought made his lips twitch … no … he didn't like her … not at all…

He'd tried to send her away for good but it had been a half hearted attempt and she hadn't paid all that much attention. She was too brave for her own good. Or too stupid.

And then she'd done that bloody fucking interview, how she'd managed to set that up he had no idea, and all he'd thought about her caring for him had come smashing down around him. He'd felt like an idiot for ever believing it. The girl was bright, even if he'd never admit it, and if she was so concerned for him she would have surely realised that the Dark Lord wouldn't be best pleased about Potter going public? And that surely would have led her to the conclusion that he would be held accountable? So he'd decided that either she had realised but just didn't care, or she hadn't realised at all, in which case she couldn't possibly care much about him. The thought made him feel hollow. It hadn't helped that she'd been walking around beaming like an idiot either while he'd been left fearful of his punishment and furious with her, and furious with himself for caring what she thought of him. Then she'd had the tenacity to grin right at him. But he'd watched the realisation dawn on her face, he'd seen her go pale and clammy, seen the horror in her eyes, the guilt, the worry… It had been an honest mistake. She'd apologised about 100 times and meant it and fool that he was he'd forgiven her. Because he was relieved it was just an honest mistake. He hadn't wanted to believe that none of it had been real… And she'd waited for him again. To make sure he was okay after what she'd done.

The thought made him feel warm inside and he scowled. Bloody girl.

She'd stayed Disillusioned that night. It had made him uncomfortable but not excessively so … he couldn't allow himself to trust her though, not that he did or wanted to anyway. Nope. Not one bit. She'd sighed in relief when he'd said he wasn't badly hurt and he'd felt her breath, warm on his face. She must have been very close to him… Why? And when they'd gotten back inside the castle she'd held his hand, properly this time, slipped her fingers through his and squeezed. And he'd let her.

He groaned again.

The feel of her delicate little hand in his had sent a jolt of … something … straight to his chest, he'd felt his heart rate increase, his cheeks flush, and then he'd just run from her. Again.

Bloody fucking hell.

The day Umbridge found out about the D.A was one of the worst days she'd ever had.

*"Harry, come on!" she'd shrieked from the centre of the knot of people fighting to get out.*

He was right behind her so she ran, blinded by panic, adrenaline coursing through her, praying that everyone would get away…

But then Harry was gone and she was terrified and this was all her fault.

But Dumbledore saved Harry and now he was gone. She felt so filled with guilt it was like a physical weight she was carrying. Dumbledore was gone.

*BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.

Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic*

She could only hope that Dumbledore would be back soon, and the rumours about the Head's office sealing itself against her were true. Toad. And although she disagreed with the general idea of causing 'mayhem', she couldn't help but pray the Weasley twins gave Umbridge hell.

So here's chapter 22! (22's my lucky number)

I thought I was working all day today - well, technically yesterday - but I got the date wrong and it's tomorrow - or technically later today where I am, it's just gone midnight. Anyway I felt like writing all day since I didn't have work so here we are!

Firstly I know there's a huge chunk straight from the book and I apologise to those who don't like it when I do that, but it is from Severus' perspective and I just couldn't help myself- it was so much fun to write. Secondly I'm sorry there's no Snermione scenes in this - by the time I was done writing from Severus' POV it was pretty long and so I thought I'd just do a little from Hermione's POV after to lead us into the next chapter - which should hopefully be up by the Saturday but I can't promise. A significant Snermione scene in that one though I can promise!

I know this chapter feels a little patchy so I may do some tweaking at some point, but I hope you like it all the same.

Thanks for reading.

*Text between asterisks* from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J.K Rowling. I've done some serious fiddling with certain parts though so the asterisks give more of a guideline.

:)