By the light of torches burning in the wall sconces, Hermione waited in the underground corridor outside the Slytherin common room. She stood rolling the snitch she'd caught between her fingers, clicking it against her engagement ring, extending and retracting its delicate wings. Her first and only snitch - Ron had hounded her for the story of how she'd caught it. He had examined it to make sure it wasn't malfunctioning. He had weighed it in his palm and shouted "Reparofarge" at it to make sure it wasn't something else she had transformed to look like a snitch and then passed off as one. In the end, he'd handed it back to her, baffled.

The truth was that Ron had known Hermoine very well for a very long time, and if her plans had gone smoothly, he would have been right about the winning snitch being a fake. If their match had gone on for too long, she planned on using a transformation, a switching spell, to morph the snitch into the form of a small stone she was carrying hidden inside the pocket of her trousers, and the stone into the form of the snitch.

But when she spotted the snitch, and she pulled out the stone to do the switching spell, she had to take one hand off her broom, letting it buck, sending the stone flying, colliding with the snitch, causing it to crash to the turf. Just before the rest of the players became occupied with Draco taking a bludger for Harry, she had landed, and scooped up the limping, damaged snitch from the ground. No magic but flying was needed, just as she told Ron. Though she did use a simple Reparo spell to get the snitch back into tip-top shape before showing it to everyone else. But that happened after it was out of play so it hardly mattered.

Isn't that right?

In the corridor, the stones in the wall opposite her were grinding past one another to bring the Slytherin common room's door back into view. Draco was stepping out of it, dressed for bed in a soft long-sleeved t-shirt and flannel sleeping trousers, his hair still windblown, making it look slightly darker than usual. He looked at once more relaxed and more vigorous and healthy than she had seen him all year.

He had what she had been waiting for draped over his arm, and she was snatching at it before he could close the door behind himself. He held it over her head. "Allow me," he said as he pulled his green quidditch jumper, complete with an "S" for "seeker" embroidered on the arm, down over her head.

She made a high, happy cheer in the back of her throat as she slid her arms into the sleeves, hugging herself. He grinned and eased her hair out of the collar, fluffing it the way he liked it.

"Adorable," he said. "How did it take me this long to dress you up in this?"

She smirked at him. "It might have blown the cover off our secret relationship if I appeared at breakfast one morning wearing half of your uniform."

"Well, we missed a great opportunity to announce ourselves in exactly that way," he said, taking her in his arms, surrounding her in the warm, softness of himself in pajamas. He sniffed at her shoulder, grimacing. "You should have waited for me to wash it properly though."

She shook her head against his face. "That your jumper smells strongly of you is the point, really."

He looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Is it?"

"Yes," she said, a coy smile forming. "I am going to wear this to bed from now on - or, for the next four nights, at least."

He growled into her neck, lifting her up and turning in place. He was still holding her face level with his when he stopped.

She placed a palm on each of his cheeks. "Look at you. How can Harry Potter not want you as a dear, dear friend?"

He shuddered even as he laughed, as he always did when he remembered the moment Harry refused to take his hand in first year. But what he said as he stood her back on the ground was, "If it had been anyone else treating me like he did tonight, I would have said they were a cold, nasty prat. But seeing as it was Potter, it was as if he was positively gushing over me by comparison. I mean, by the time he'd left, he had thanked me for the bludger save and told me Slytherin had a better team when I was on it."

Her arms were still around his neck. "Will it be enough?"

He sighed. "I'll keep working on him. Frankly, I'm more worried about your father. But I suppose it's up to you to concentrate on your parents. I don't suppose you've seen them at all tonight."

She shook her head. "No, there hasn't been time. It's best if Dad sleeps on it, anyway." She pursed her lips, unconsciously taking on Professor McGonagall's thinking face. "Draco, are you sure there's no way we can get your mother to the ceremony? For sentimental reasons, naturally, but for her own safety as well."

He dropped his chin on the top of her head. "If we take her out of the manor, we'll draw his attention to me. That's what my mother told your mother when she set her free, and she's not wrong. We need to keep him ignoring me long enough for me to stay here and marry you. "

She boosted herself up to kiss him, sweetly. "Well, at least we know she's not mad - or, she wasn't mad for long enough to save my mum. That's got to be comforting. Isn't it?" His body stiffened, alarming her and causing her to lean back to look at his face. "Draco, what is it?"

"I keep trying to comfort myself with that thought, but something keeps burning, like an ulcer in my gut, telling me something is still terribly wrong with her. I don't know what, but I can't stop sensing it. Maybe it's some kind of divination, or maybe it's just common sense to suspect he'll want to punish her for what she did this morning."

Hermione squeezed him in a tight hug. "If it is common sense, then McGonagall will have thought of it too. And if she has, she'll have sent someone to the manor to check on your mum - the only person here but you who can still go there: Snape."

There was too much sunlight filtering through his eyelids. That was how Snape knew for sure, before opening his eyes, that he had fallen asleep and spent the night somewhere outside his dark dungeon living quarters. He remembered everything - that he was in Malfoy Manor, having sneaked in, having given Narcissa Malfoy a potion that may have saved her life.

Beside him, she lay on her back, his arm running like a bolster in the gap between the curve of her neck and the flat of the sheet. Would she be startled to find him there? If he waited long enough, would she roll along the slope of the mattress toward him, eyes still shut, nestling into him as she had during her convulsions the night before? Would she murmur her husband's name against his chest before she sorted the truth of their situation from the fantasy of her dreams?

His black hair had fallen forward and lay against the whiteness of her hair. The contrast was unequivocal. In the bright morning light, it was clearer than ever: this woman may have been hurt and scared enough to have slept in his arms, but she remained the other half of Lucius Malfoy, body and soul. It didn't matter where Lucius was. He lived, and while he did, he and Narcissa lived as parts of each other.

Snape shifted away from her. She wanted nothing from him but medical care and the comfort of a little heat. And indeed, her body had felt warm against his, her chest rising and falling with slow, steady sleep. There wasn't much colour in her face but she was, after all, Narcissa Malfoy. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. It was warm and she was now awake.

"Severus."

"Madam Malfoy," he said, withdrawing his arm from underneath her head.

"You stayed all night," she said, her hand reaching for his arm as he turned his back to her.

"Obviously," he said, sitting up, kicking at the rug to find his shoes.

She was well enough, awake enough to be cross. "It's Madam Malfoy now, is it? No more Cissa, or even Narcissa?"

"I must be getting back to the school for an early morning appointment," he said. "I cannot stay to argue naming etiquette with you, Madam." He was standing, striding toward the door, listening at it, waiting for a quiet moment to let himself out.

She rose to kneel on the unmade bed. "Severus, I apologize if I asked too much of you yesterday."

"No matter," he said, his ear pressed to the door, not looking at her. "You supplied me with a new, provocative image to use in occulmency - a sight that looks like something significant, to be hidden and treasured, but which is, in fact, meaningless."

She was walking on her knees toward the edge of her bed. "I ought to thank you - "

"You already have."

" - Last night I was in extremity, not myself."

"Precisely," he said, turning away from the door to glare at her. "Your self is the same as your husband's self, completely removed from everyone else until it needs something from them. A remarkable marriage, truly. Blissful for yourselves, I'm sure. Repulsive to others."

She inhaled, her posture straightening, her neck elongating, chin tipped upward, taking on an imperious manner which was both Lucius's and her own. This morning, however, the pose brought the fresh wound on her chest more shockingly into view. "This is the mark of a blissful family life, is it? Enviable, is that what you think, Severus?"

He was feeling in the pockets of his robes, searching for another small glass vial, setting it on the surface of her vanity with a decisive click. "The blood engorgement potion."

With a dramatic flick of her hair, she declined to look at it. "Take it away. I can brew my own."

"Well, you needn't," he hissed. "Drink this final dose with your breakfast. I won't return until Sunday night."

"Quiet the room," she ordered the house as she stepped onto the rug in her bare feet. "Sunday, Severus? What will happen then?"

His lip twitched. "It's an arbitrary appointment. I could have said any day - "

"But you didn't," she said, walking unsteadily toward him. "You are already planning on Sunday. Something is happening then and you're keeping it from the Dark Lord by keeping it from me. Yes, no one knows a double-heart like another double-heart, someone else who works both sides of something, led by a personal compass that suits neither. That's you, Severus. Me and all. Perhaps it's everyone in this movement except for the completely, obsessively mad, like Bella. Tell me, what happens Sunday?"

Snape regarded Narcissa down the length of his nose. "Speaking of the double-hearted, the meeting for which I am now late is with your son and his," he sneered, "bride."

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. "Ah. Draco's bride. Sunday. I see." She was close enough to touch him now. "Those children are my hope. And that hope would have been dashed long ago if it had not been for you, Severus. You may be angry with me, offended. You may be disgusted by me, repulsed. But I can never stop hoping in you."

With the fastest casting of a disillusionment spell she had ever seen, Snape faded before Narcissa's eyes, stepping out of reach of her outstretched hand. She could barely see him as he opened her bedroom door, and left.

Draco came running down the stairs from the Entrance Hall into the anteroom outside Snape's dungeon office. He expected to be late and was surprised to find Hermione still standing outside a locked door.

"I don't like it. He's never late," she said. "I don't understand. I've knocked and knocked. Maybe, he's not in there. Maybe he never came home."

Draco shrugged. "He's either out fighting evil all night, or else he's out fighting, evil all night."

She laughed at him, tapping her quill against her jaw. "Who knows? He's nothing if not unpredictable. Rash, even."

Draco stepped closer, hushing her. "And sneaky. Watch what you say."

He had no sooner finished when Snape himself came billowing into view above them. "Miss Granger," he said. "Mister Malfoy."

There wasn't much room for the three of them to stand together at the bottom of the stairs. Draco crowded Hermione into a corner but he was still very close to Snape as he unlocked the door to his study. In the closeness, Draco could smell him - his hair, the waistcoat beneath his robes. It was a smell Draco knew well, lovely and comforting in and of itself, and then horrifying in the context of sensing it on Snape's person.

"Mother," Draco blurted as Snape pushed the door open in front of them. "That perfume of narcissus flowers. Professor - you've been with my mother."

Snape's lip curled. "Step inside."

"Is my father dead?" Draco was nearly shouting as the door to Snape's study slammed closed behind them. "Is this your way of telling me my father is dead? Because the teacher I have loved and trusted more than any other would not meddle with my mother while my father is still alive."

Snape took a great breath, as if recovering himself after a sound blow to the stomach. "I know nothing about your father, Draco, except what your mother tells us. She says he lives. However, your mother was made to answer for Dr. Granger's escape from the manor yesterday, and she required my help to survive the effects of the Dark Lord's punishment."

Hermione gasped. "No. Draco, I'm sorry."

"Cruciatus curse?" He needed to know.

Snape shook his head, once, violently. "No. It was Sectumsempra, something that would leave a lasting token. Complications set in when it became clear no one in the manor when it happened knew the counter-curse. She bled for nearly fifteen minutes before they brought me. She needed a transfusion from your aunt followed by two doses of a blood engorging potion and - and regular observation during the night. I remained in her chambers until just now."

"This happened yesterday? How could you not tell me?" Draco raved. "I was here sleeping and eating and playing quidditch while my mother was bleeding to death. And you said nothing."

Snape drew himself up tall. "Draco Malfoy, the truth is that when it comes to your feelings for one another, the members of your family cannot be trusted to be wise and cautious. Your drive for self preservation ends where your connections to each other begin. Even as we stand here now, I have locked that door as I cannot trust you not to race off to the manor to throw yourself in the path of the Dark Lord in defense of your mother this instant, voiding the sacrifice she made for you and for Dr. Granger."

Draco choked on his own rage and fell into the chair at Hermione's tiny desk. She stood next to him, cradling his head in her arms as he began to weep.

Snape stepped cautiously toward them. "Forebear, Draco. In three more nights, our best chance to save your family - present and future - will be upon us. Bide your time here as Miss Granger works to write the incantation, and prepare yourselves for the matrimonial charm to come into effect. That is the best way, the only way to avenge your mother."

"Sir, is she alright now?" Hermione spoke the burning question Draco couldn't compose himself to ask.

"Yes. She was quite herself when I left her. She will suffer no lasting effects. Only a scar, like Draco's own." Snape sniffed, smelling the narcissus scent on himself. "Please excuse me," he said, passing through the study to his private quarters beyond.

When he was gone, Hermione sat in Draco's lap and held him as he finished crying. She kissed his hair and his face. "You deserve to be this loved," she said between kisses. "It is only right that she do this for you. It's where she's truly belonged all this time - set between the Dark Lord and you."

"Let's hurt him, Hermione," Draco said. "Let's knot our family ties so taut with love that we tear him to bits for Potter to blast into ashes."

She closed her arms around his neck. "We will, my darling. We will."

With the door to the study locked, there was nothing for them to do but dry Draco's tears and get to work on the incantation. He sat on a low stool, his head laid back in Hermione's lap, looking up runes in Snape's dictionary as she asked for them.

Writing the incantation was extremely challenging. Apart from figuring out what to say, she had to read the old manuscripts in runes and write her new material in an old Latin.

"The Friar will be able to help," Draco said. "When Crookshanks took your father to meet him, he was jabbering away in Latin before he noticed us there."

"Well good," she said. "I'd hate for a war to start over my faulty conjugations."

Draco smirked up at her. "You could probably get it right conjugating purely from memory. This is open-book matrimonial incantation writing. Nothing to worry about."

"Your vote of confidence is inspiring, but misplaced," she smirked back at him. "And I'm afraid there's something else we're going to have to consult with a teacher about. It'll have to be McGonagall, I suppose, since we've already broached the extremely awkward subject with her."

Draco raised an eyebrow when she didn't go on. "Extremely awkward? Is it something about - "

"Yes."

"Sex? And the ceremony?"

Hermione's complexion turned decidedly pink, surprising Draco as they'd been talking about sex more and more lately and she hadn't seemed embarrassed about it in the least. He sat up, laying the dictionary aside to take her hands.

"Tell me."

She cleared her throat. "I can't tell for certain, but it seems to me that an important part of the ritual is - is consummation."

He sat back. "Oh."

"But surely they can't mean - that - with everyone sitting there - all around us - and us having to - "

Draco scrubbed his face with his hands. "Your father really is going to murder me."

"It has to be meant to happen in private," she said, flipping far too forcefully through the delicate pages of the manuscripts. "The ceremony was crafted by monks, for stars' sake. The same monks who dreamed up the purity clause. They wouldn't have approved of consummation happening anywhere but in private. Would they?"

"Of course not. Yes. You're right."

She slammed the tomes closed. "And even if they did, I'm not doing it. I've been modifying the monks' work at every step of this process and I will do it again if I have to."

Draco was nodding his head furiously. "Yes, that's right. Of course."

The door at the back of the study opened and Snape appeared, his hair washed, and his clothes smelling as they always did, of freshly dug roots and burnt brimstone.

"Morning classes will begin shortly," he said. "You are dismissed. Remember that you are forbidden, Mr. Malfoy, to leave the school for any reason until after the weekend. The Aurors at the gate have been alerted."