A/N: The weekend really got away from me, but here's the next chapter for you all. Sorry for the delay!


Chapter Twelve

The cold and damp penetrating his thick coat and robes, Severus stalked through the halls of Azkaban prison, his guide wisely silent in front of him. He had already been dreading this visit- now he found himself at the hands of the emotional effects of the tower once again, and his patience grew thin. Was it truly the lasting effect of the Dementor's presence, or was it the acrid isolation of the place? In any case, he hoped to be gone from here shortly.

"Here you are, sir." The auror in front of him stopped at the end of a hall, deep into the tower, where the very air had begun to chafe and Severus' breaths came at a cost. "Malfoy is beyond this door. I will be ten paces back during your visit."

"Make it twenty." Severus replied, not sparing a glance at the guard, and waited until he had retreated a fair distance before stepping up to a thin window in the cell door.

While he had seen in Narcissa the woman she had been before imprisonment, in Lucius he saw a shell. The man sat at the foot of his cot, forearms on his thighs, head hung in defeat, long silver-blond hair falling in front of his face. When he looked up at the door at Severus' approach, his eyes were hollow, his expression blank.

"Severus?" The question came out weakly, as if he hadn't bothered to speak in months, and his empty eyes squinted in disbelief.

"Lucius," he replied, recovering from the shock of seeing this man- this once friend- so helplessly broken. "We need to talk."

The sound of his voice seemed to awaken in the other man the anger that Severus had expected. His hollow eyes filled with hatred, his mouth turning into a horrid sneer as he snarled, "Get out of here. Be gone from my sight."

"And if I refuse?" Severus asked calmly. "I believe I have a bit of an advantage here." When the man only glared, he sighed. "I need to speak to you. You don't have to answer me; I only ask that you listen."

Lucius never stopped glaring, but he replied, "So speak of it, and be gone. I have no desire to be in your presence."

The feeling is mutual, he mused as he collected his thoughts. "The Minister is willing to strike a deal with you, Lucius, in exchange for information." He paused then, but the man's expression stayed the same. He continued. "Three death eaters remain on the loose. Any information you can give us that would warrant capture would grant you and your family your freedom- with limitations."

He waited. If Lucius was interested, he would speak. If he wasn't, there was no reason to go on. It seemed he was, however, as after a moment he asked, "And what limitations would be put upon my family and me, should I provide the information you so surely need?"

Running through the agreed upon stipulations he and Kingsley had worked on together, he replied, "You and your family will be barred from employment at the Ministry of Magic, in any and all branches. You and your family will have an altered version of the Trace attached to your persons for the course of a year, after which you will be allowed to appeal its presence. This altered version will simply document the magic you use, and may be called upon in the event of another attack to prove your innocence." Or guilt, he added silently. "Should you so wish, the documentation will be destroyed following a successful appeal. And finally, you and your family will be required to agree to a sweep of all of Malfoy Manor- and yes, that includes the secrets it holds as well."

At the indignant look that Malfoy now wore, Severus explained, "It was very difficult for the Wizengamot to agree to your release at all, Lucius. I only offered enough to see that it would happen."

"You dare," he hissed, standing abruptly. "Only you, the spiller of secrets, would trade my own and call it charity! Are you mad?!"

"Are you?" Severus asked calmly. "This is an opportunity you should not have had. You are meant to be rotting away in this cell until your death, you and your family both. To keep your secrets for your own privacy is one thing, Lucius, but this isn't just about you. Narcissa and Draco's freedom relies on this as well." He paused, meeting the loathing eyes of the other man, and added, "I would take the deal, if I were you. How long do you see yourself lasting in here, truly?"

The intensity of Lucius seemed to melt away and he collapsed back onto the bed, turning away from Severus as he stared at the wall. It seemed the reminder of his weakness had knocked the wind out of him. It was a long silence, but Severus was patient. He saw that the man would give.

"Who is unaccounted for?" he asked, muted.

"Are you agreeing to the terms?" He saw a stiff nod from his former friend, and knew it was costing the man a lot to give in. Severus looked back at the auror, indicating his agreement, and turned back to the door. "MacNair, Dolohov, and Gurth. Our latest intel was that they were headed towards Wales, for what purpose we do not know. However, MacNair seems to be back in the country, and we have no indication if the other two remain with him."

"Yes," Lucius muttered, "we had planned to reconvene in Wales."

"Why?" Could it be possible that the Malfoys had the answers after all? "What was in Wales?"

"He didn't say."

Damn the Dark Lord and his secrets! Severus ranted to himself, and almost missed Lucius' next words.

"But I did hear... rumors..."

His anticipation grew at this possible lead. "I'll take rumors."

"Will rumors save my family?"

The voice that had been so neutral was tinted now with disbelief. "If the rumors get us closer to the answers we need," he replied, "then yes. What did you hear?"

"I heard rumors of an underground network of sympathizers. It was assumed that Wales was chosen in order to recoup our numbers after the battle, potentially even growing them."

"These sympathizers," he asked. "They were the Dark Lord's?"

"As far as I've heard, they were not directly controlled by him, but from someone sent by him. I do not know who."

"And who was your source?"

Lucius looked over his shoulder and glared at Severus, who remained impassive and simply waited. "Apparently there's a branch of Welsh supporters there that are werewolves."

"Fenrir." Lucius nodded. "Is there anything else you've heard? Any other plans the Dark Lord was making for the future?"

"If I think of anything I'll be sure to owl you," he snarled. "Are we done here? I would very much prefer the isolation over your presence."

"Let a guard know if anything does cross your mind." Severus turned from the cell, paused, and stepped back briefly to add, "There is no love lost between the two of us, Lucius, but I do hope to see you out of here, if only for Draco's sake."

Lucius' head sunk down between his knees as his hands ran through his matted hair. "Leave," he growled, and Severus did gladly.


The cacophony inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was enough to chase even Ron out of the shop. Hermione, who had escaped nearly twenty minutes ago, looked up from her Occlumency book and called out to him. As he approached her bench, she moved a few newly purchased books aside and asked, "Are you finally feeling like you understand the term 'deafening silence' or was that just me?"

"Merlin it feels good to hear my own thoughts again!" he groaned. "I get it, everyone is excited, but we could at least take turns."

"Fred has been sorely missed," she agreed, watching the shop windows as yet another cloud of smoke erupted with a colorful bang, through which the incorporeal form of Fred Weasley flew with a twirl. She didn't know what she had expected when she read up on a twin's soul bond, but seeing him as a ghost-like being had been startling to say the least. "It's been months," she continued, turning back to Ron beside her. "It makes sense that no one wants to wait to talk to him. Did you get a chance to?"

"I gave up," he muttered, paging through one of her purchases on Ward History. "At least I was able to say "hi" before Percy shoved me out of the way. What are you reading this for anyway? I thought the wards were almost done?"

"The basic ones, yes," said Hermione, taking the book from his hands and adding it to the stack in her arms. "But Professor Flitwick has encouraged us to expand from what was already there." She stood, hiking her bag up onto her shoulder. "I've really got to run. When you finally get a word in edgewise can you please tell Fred I'm very, very glad he's back with us?"

"It's time for your lesson already?" Ron stood and frowned. "I was hoping to get a few minutes with you. Can I at least walk you to the Leaky Cauldron, or…?"

Hermione was shaking her head before he finished. "I'm sorry, Ron, but it's important that I use the walk to clear my head." Seeing his disappointment hurt her, so she added, "I know we haven't been seeing much of each other lately, between your field training and the rush to get the wards done. I'll come find you after my lesson is over."

She knew as she turned away that her promise was an empty one, and worse still she knew that he knew it. Her lessons had grown exhausting, with Snape forcing his way through her shield time and time again until her head felt like splitting and the world spun. But the training had begun to work; her magic was returning, slowly but surely. Basic spells had once again become second-nature to her, and with a combination of meditation and shielding she was able to cast higher level spells with only a bit of difficulty. She had been able to cast the simplest of warding spells in no time and had training on boosting others' magic to assist with the strongest spells the school required. She still wasn't where she was before the war's finale, but she was close.

Stopping only to slip her books into her bag, she stepped through the portal between Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron and, after assuring she was alone, she apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

A curious thing happens when a ward caster enters one of their own wards; its presence washes over them as they pass through. When she was placing smaller, less complicated wards for herself, Ron, and Harry, the feeling was little more than a tickle, a raise of arm hair. Now, though, as she walked through the castle gates, a warmth fell over her with the strength of a waterfall, sending shivers through her skin and flushing her cheeks. Over as soon as it began, it left her with a lightness in her chest, a sense of comfort brought by returning home. And as she looked towards the castle in the distance, a melancholy smile fell over her face. This was still her home, in a way, for at least one more year. And as it was the only place she had that could truly be called her home, she was glad to be a part of its protection.

As she walked through the empty halls of Hogwarts she found herself once again lost to the tranquility of the castle in summer. Even over Christmas, there were still a few students and professors that would wander the halls, a handful of pets traversing the hallways in search of enrichment. Decorations would cover the walls, a reminder that the school was still housing those that had nowhere else to be, giving the stone castle an impression of liveliness. But in summer, there was a stillness, a deafening quiet broken only by Hermione's breaths, her quick steps, the rustle of the long robes she wore over her summer clothes, keeping her warm in the deep of the castle. Even the paintings were quieter in the summer, as if the lack of the students was a reminder that their very existence had become a dreadful bore.

Hermione ran a finger across the wooden occamy and entered the dueling club. She was met with the usual setup of chairs in the center of the room, as well as an irate Snape standing in front of them, his arms crossed. "You're late," he snapped.

She held up her wrist and checked her watch. "Barely. It's only two minutes past."

"Late is late. Your time might be worthless, but mine is far from it."

Oh great, he's in a mood. "My apologies if my tardiness has put you out, sir," she replied with heavy sarcasm, setting her bag to the side of the door. She joined him in the middle of the room, ignored his raised eyebrow, and asked, "So you went to Azkaban today. How did it go?" At his silent stare she added, "You're in a foul mood, you have mud on the hem of your cloak, and I was at the meeting last week, too."

He slowly uncrossed his arms as the tension in his shoulders loosened. "I sometimes forget that you're in the Order now," he muttered. I'm glad I make an impression, she thought bitterly as he sighed. "It went as well as it could have gone. I have a lead."

Her eyebrows rose. "That's good. That's really good."

He nodded. "It is. But we'll talk more about that at the next meeting. Let's discuss what we will be working on this afternoon." He took a seat, pulling out his wand and motioning for her to sit opposite him. "Your shields have grown much stronger as of late, so it's time to shift our attentions. I will be instructing you on how to feed me a specific memory."

"A what?" Hermione, halfway to her chair, froze in mild panic. Her mind flew back to their first lesson, the invasive legilimency attack that introduced her to the training, and her heart began to race.

"Sit, Granger," Snape snapped, and gestured to her seat once more. "This exercise is important, I assure you. It will teach you the skills to focus and power through any magical blocks you may find yourself having in the future."

Hesitantly, Hermione walked to her seat and sank into it slowly. "I can choose the memory?" she asked.

"You will choose the memory to pull up, yes. However," he leaned forward slightly and held her gaze, "I will not lie to you. This is difficult. I may happen upon something else before I see what you're trying to show me."

Hermione hugged her arms around her stomach, nervous energy ramping through her body. She wished he had warned her that this lesson was coming up. She needed time to process the idea that this man in front of her, who had already seen too much of her in her weakest moments, may possibly also see her most private memories. For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt terrified to be under his tutelage.

"Miss Granger, if this was not essential I would not subject you to it." His voice had grown gentle, his eyes still on hers in earnest, and he leaned even closer. "You are still having momentary upsets in your magic. I'm certain that this training will give you the toolset you need to power through those upsets." He paused before adding, "If you would rather we end our lessons here, I understand. However, I cannot promise you your magic will return to you in its full capacity. It very well may, but you would be leaving it up to chance."

She had gambled with the odds once or twice in her friendship with Harry. Hell, she had risked her life many times over the years, on nothing more than possibilities and mere chances. But something Hermione had never done was to walk away from a problem before she solved it. And even though she was afraid, she wasn't about to back down now.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up straight with an outward confidence that she did not feel, and exhaled. "Okay. I'll do it."

Snape nodded, once again calmed by the roll of teaching. "I'm glad to hear it." he lifted his wand and instructed her to start to clear her mind. "When you feel my presence in your head, I want you to concentrate as hard as you can on a single particular memory and pull it to the forefront of your mind. It will be difficult to focus on a specific one while I'm flashing through many others. When you manage to do so, the memory will play out for both of us to see. For this first one, go for something simple, for example your last meal."

That's easy enough, she thought. She had lunch at the Burrow before they heard the news about Fred and traveled to Diagon Alley. She closed her eyes and began to focus on that particular memory.

"Are you ready?" she heard him ask. She opened her eyes an nodded.

"Legilimens."

All too fast the familiar fleeting moments flew across her mind and it took a minute to regain her bearings. Yet every time she tried to focus on the memory she had been told to pull forward, her concentration slipped away. Distractions flashed in front of her- a holiday with her family, staying up late studying in the common room, watching the Quidditch Tournament- until suddenly they all vanished, and the only thing she saw was her instructor's blank face.

"I-"

"Don't fret, Miss Granger," he quickly assured her. "I told you this would be difficult. Let's try again. Try to visualize pulling the memory out from the depths of your mind."

"Pull the memory," she muttered as she readied herself. "All right. Go ahead."

Their eyes met, and he cast the spell.

The second attempt overwhelmed her nearly as much as the first. She tried to visualize pulling the memory from the depths, as he had told her, and she had some success with that. The memory of her lunch with the Weasley's flickered in and she was able to grab hold of it. But as she started to pull it forward, a vivid scene crossed in front of her, and the shock of seeing it caused her grip to slip away. The burrow faded, and in its place, the dreary stones of Malfoy Manor snapped into view. Her heart lodged into her throat and she couldn't breathe, thrown back into that moment so suddenly, a moment she had attempted to bury deep within her subconscious. She tried to shake it away. She couldn't escape.

She heard screams- her own, she realized- and her body jerked in her seat, trying to run-

And then she was back in the dueling chamber, safe, sitting across from Snape, who was leaned forward holding her arm. She looked down and realized that, unbeknownst to her, at some point she had grabbed her wand. She gasped.

"Miss Granger."

She heard his words but couldn't look away from his hand on her arm. When had she grabbed her wand? Did she cast anything? Gods, did she hurt him? Her fingers sprung apart, and her wand clattered across the floor. Snape didn't let go.

"Miss Granger, look at me."

Her head flung up and scrutinized his face, his body. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, and she realized as her voice trembled that she was shaking.

He shook his head and released her arm, seemingly assured that she was cognizant of her surroundings. "Are you all right?" He spoke softly.

"How much did you see?"

She watched intently as his face grew dark, uneasy. "I saw very little," he told her, and while she didn't believe him, she appreciated the fact that he didn't press it. "It was over in moments."

"When did I grab my wand?" She glanced around the room, looking for it.

"As I was pulling from your mind." He summoned her wand to him and she took it with a mumbled thanks. "It's... a known risk."

"I didn't even know I was doing it."

"I figured as much."

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hands, twirling it around in her fingers. "I almost had it," she whispered. Then, louder, "I caught a glimpse of that memory- and I couldn't focus on anything else. My control just slipped away." She looked up into his face, and noticed he was studying her as she spoke. "It... isn't a good memory," she finished weakly.

Snape leaned back into his chair and put a finger to his lips in thought. "We could try a pensieve," he suggested. "Although it would require you to think of these events in a fair amount of detail in order to set it aside."

She shook her head. "No, I think I'd rather just try again," she said.

"Are you certain?" He seemed surprised.

She nodded. "I need a minute, but... I almost had it," she repeated. "I know I can do it. Just... maybe you should hold onto my wand this time."

She herself was taken aback at how easy she was able to shake off that particular memory. Was it because it had been such a brief moment, that all she had time for was an instinctual reaction? She felt like she had just experienced a jump scare. She was still shaken, but she knew she was safe. That alone was a shock. When was the last time she was able to shrug something like this off? Was she finally gaining control of her mind again?

Snape forced her to take a break to meditate, and when he was satisfied she sat in front of him once again, this time wandless.

He still seemed uneasy, she noticed. And truthfully, she was as well. But she had come so close to success, and she refused to let a momentary panic get in the way of her progress.

She would probably lose sleep tonight because of it, but at the moment she didn't care. She needed a win.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?"

She took a deep, determined breath, and stared into his eyes. "Yes."

"Legilimens."

Again, the flashes of memory were overwhelmingly distracting, but her determination overpowered the intense flashing of scenes before her. Pull, she told herself, and much like a fisherman pulling a net from the sea, she was able to finally, finally bring her memory to the surface long enough for Snape to see her in the Burrow, buttering a roll and talking with Mrs Weasley.

A triumphant grin crossed her face as Snape pulled from her mind. It had been a long time since she felt this level of pride in anything she had done. Goosebumps prickled across her arms- she had almost forgot about the rush she felt after achieving something so challenging!

"Well done," he congratulated her, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat. He had told her similar praises during their prior sessions, but hearing it from the one professor that had so steadfastly refused her such pleasantries still excited her. Between his words and her success, a soft, relieved chuckle escaped her still-grinning lips.

"That should be plenty of practice this evening," he continued as he pocketed his wand and returned hers, which she took in surprise of the lesson's abrupt end.

"Now Miss Granger," he went on in a lecturing tone, "I want you to remember the feeling of pulling that memory to the surface. Whenever your magic is acting up, clear your mind, and use that same mental motion to pull your magic past whatever is blocking it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." The feeling he referenced, the pull, was a very distinct sensation. It wouldn't be hard for her to forget it. "I understand why you wanted me to experience this now. Will we be working on the technique more in the future?"

"I would like to, but with term starting next month, our time is limited," he replied as he stood. She followed suit and he desummoned the chairs. "Now, I have been instructed to escort you to the Headmistress' office. Minerva would like to speak with you."

"Do you know why?" It wasn't the most shocking thing for her to hear, McGonagall wanting to see her, but it was unexpected. It did explain the quick session, though. She grabbed her belongings and followed him out into the hall, and after the training she had just had leaving her with a sense of vulnerability, she appreciated the escort.

"If I were to hazard a guess," he replied as they walked side by side, "I would say it has something to do with the new term. It is your final year, after all, as unprecedented as it is."

"Will you be returning to Hogwarts, sir?" Hermione wasn't sure she was looking forward to being a proper student of his again. She rather enjoyed this less rigid relationship they had been developing.

He was silent for just long enough that she started to doubt he had heard her, and when he replied he sounded apprehensive. "It would be unwise for me to return," he answered tensely. "A known former death eater with my history, reformed or otherwise, is not a welcome part of any school staff."

"But you are a war hero," she argued. "Surely you would be welcomed back?"

"Your definition of 'hero' is rather forgiving, Miss Granger." He glanced over at her with a look that told her he saw himself as anything but a hero. "Besides, my "good deeds" only matter so much. Take Remus Lupin, for example. He was possibly the best Defense teacher you experienced in this school, correct?" she nodded, surprised by the offhanded kindness Snape offered to a man he once so vehemently despised. "That will never matter to parents. What matters is the idea that if there is a potential for danger, it's a situation best avoided."

If that were true they wouldn't send them at all, she thought to herself, remembering the years of frequent dangers she had encountered. "What will you do instead?" she asked him, turning the subject away from the school. It felt like a topic he'd prefer not to discuss. "Do you have a career in mind?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking out down the hallway. "The most obvious thing to do is freelance potioneering," he answered, but she sensed uncertainty in his words.

"So you won't teach again."

"No, Miss Granger, I won't teach."

"So I shouldn't refer to you as my professor anymore."

Snape looked over at her quickly. "Does that matter to you?"

Hermione tried to reign in her odd excitement at the prospect that they were no longer tied to their former titles. "I'm just trying to figure out where we stand," she replied, hoping that answer would suffice.

"Where we stand?" He stopped abruptly and stared at her. "What do you mean?"

Yeah, I don't know why I thought that would explain it. She turned to face him, feeling a warm flush flow over her face and trying to ignore her racing heart. "Since... the war ended," she answered vaguely, "Since we've been interacting... It hasn't felt the same. To me."

It wasn't often she saw both eyebrows rise at the same time. She quickly elaborated. "I mean, we don't interact like student and professor anymore; so where does that leave us?"

Despite his relatively blank expression she could feel a wall going up around him. Unsurprisingly, really, when she considered the implications of what she had just said. She was hoping he had been feeling the same, but... would he even tell her if he did?

He hadn't answered yet, too busy inspecting her as if for some kind of trickery, his eyes narrowed in thought. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable. "Sir?" she asked meekly. It seemed to snap him out of it, and he blinked. "What do you think?"

When he spoke, he spoke with care. "I think you think too much, Miss Granger."

Her heart sunk. Did that mean he didn't feel it? "Yeah, maybe," she muttered, looking away.

"However," he continued, and her eyes snapped back to his, hope bubbling in her stomach. "You are not wrong. We are no longer professor and student, and we will not be so again. Things are indeed different between us, in at least that small capacity." He turned from her, continuing down the hallway.

Frozen in place for a moment, Hermione quickly ran to catch up with his long strides. He feels it, she told herself. I knew it!

"Then sir," she huffed as she matched his steps, "What are we?"

"We work together in the Order and the task force," he answered curtly. "Miss Granger we are, at most, colleagues... of a sort." He paused for a moment, considering, before he added, "Though I think 'friendly acquaintances' would be more apt."

"So..." she bit her bottom lip as she considered his words." So, how should I address you, then?"

"Oh what does it matter?" he snapped, though not harshly, and stopped again to look at her. "Why are you concerned about this all of a sudden?"

"It's just a bit weird to call you 'Professor' now," she admitted. "You call me Miss Granger, but I just say 'Sir'."

"So say 'Sir' then," he retorted.

"Well that's hardly personal," she muttered.

"And you feel a need to be personal with me, do you?"

She could feel the blush forming on her cheeks and hoped the hallway was too dim for him to notice. "I was just... hoping for something the majority of the Order couldn't respond to."

Rolling his eyes, Snape continued down the hall. "My official title is Master Snape. Feel free to use that if you must. Now how bloody far away is this office? It seems your training was a bit more draining than originally thought if these questions of yours are any indication."

Hermione refrained from continuing the conversation and let him lead her in silence the rest of the way to the Headmistress' office. She had plenty to consider, anyway. At least now she knew, these feelings of connectedness she had felt growing between her and Snape... they weren't necessarily one-sided. Snape seemed to feel something, as well. To what degree, she had yet to figure out, but she was satisfied enough with what the night had given to her.


Minerva was wondering when Hermione would show up, and to what capacity her mental state would be. She was relieved to find her arrival to be both timely and in good health, and she silently commended Severus for not overdoing it as she invited her to sit across the desk from her.

"I'm happy to see you so well Hermione," she welcomed her as she pulled a thin file from a drawer. "How have you been? Are you doing well in the task force? Your lessons with Severus?"

Her former student laughed at the bombardment of questions. "I have been well," she agreed. "The task force is going well also, thanks to my extra lessons with-" she paused, and Minerva wondered why, until she continued, "with Master Snape."

Ah. She smiled knowingly. "So he's told you he isn't returning." She watched with interest as the young woman's brow furrowed, and said, "I'm going to miss the great bat skulking these halls, but it really is for the best. He never wanted to be here to begin with. It's better to let him find his own path. Plus," she added with a smirk, "I'm sure you're looking forward to having a peaceful final year without a cantankerous, disapproving Professor dragging you down."

Minerva's cheeky comment did not get the reaction she had thought it would. Instead of a laugh, grin, or otherwise agreeable understanding of the joke, Hermione smiled sadly and looked... dejected?

"Is something on you mind, dear?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing, Professor. Just a bit of melancholy."

"Well, that's to be expected." She let a short pause fall between the two before opening the file in front of her. "I have your school information here. I wanted to go over a few points with you." She handed over a piece of parchment. "I took the liberty of setting up a schedule for you based on your current academic standing. I wanted to give you a chance to approve it before I finalized the list. I'll give you a few moments to do so."

Minerva leaned back in her chair and watched the young woman across from her study the sheet carefully. She hadn't gotten a chance to check in on her much in the last month, but she was pleased to see that everything seemed to be going well. When Severus came to her in June, explaining the difficulties their former student was having with her magic, she gladly allowed him access to the castle for her training. She had hoped that while she herself was preoccupied with getting Hogwarts where it needed to be before start of term, Severus would be available to oversee any difficulties that may arise in Hermione's life. Term was still a month away, but if what she was seeing of her was correct, Minerva was confident in the young woman's ability to succeed this year.

"Professor?"

Minerva heard some uncertainty in her voice. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

Hermione bit her lower lip and placed the schedule on the desk between the two of them. "The classes are all well picked," she explained, "but I was hoping I could have a... lighter course load this year?"

That was unexpected. Miss Hermione Granger, the student who loved learning so passionately that she at one point required the use of a time turner to attend all her classes, was requesting a lighter course load? "Of course, my dear," she agreed, "but I must admit I am a bit taken aback."

Hermione smiled. "I know," she said. "I am, too. But I think that with everything that's happened... I would benefit from an easier year."

Minerva nodded. "I can say I very much agree to that! May I ask which classes you would like to remove from the schedule?"

"That's where I'm having trouble." Pulling the schedule closer to her once more, she continued, "I absolutely adore Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and I would hate to hurt Hagrid's feelings by dropping Care of Magical Creatures. And then, as much as I value them, I'm not sure how important some of these core classes would be to my future. For instance," she pointed to a line, "I don't think I can handle another year of Potions if Professor Slughorn is returning. No offense to him, but the stress that class put me under..."

"Hermione, do you still have a career path in mind?"

She nodded. "I do. I still want to work in the ministry. After everything this past year, I want to fight for those who can't fight for themselves."

She said it with passion behind her eyes, and an overwhelming amount of determination.

Minerva took the schedule from her, grabbed her quill, and crossed out a few classes. When she handed it back, she said, "As a seventh year, you are allowed to adjust your schedule as you see fit. With your chosen career path, let us forget about potions, astronomy, and herbology. This leaves you with room to take your three electives while also giving you a few free periods, and the core classes you maintain will help you succeed in your future at the ministry."

Hermione glanced over the parchment, eyes wide. "I never once thought I'd have this few classes on a schedule before," she breathed. "It's almost... freeing."

"Does this suit you?"

She nodded, a relieved laugh escaping her lips. "It does. It really, really does."

Minerva nodded and took the schedule from her, placing it back in the folder. "I will owl you a copy of it with your term letter," she informed her. "I imagine you and Miss Weasley must be excited- you will be sharing a dorm room, after all."

There wasn't much left to say after that. When all was said and done she offered Hermione to floo back to the burrow, which she accepted gratefully. She returned to her desk, pulled out the altered schedule, and began to transfer it to a clean bit of parchment.

Seven classes. Miss Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, had only seven classes in her schedule. Minerva chuckled. "The world really is changing," she mumbled to herself.

"Indeed, and in such a positive way, too."

Minerva turned in her chair to address the portrait behind her. "Are you done with your nap, then, Albus?" she asked, smiling. "Or are you to tell me you were spying on us?"

"I have no reason to spy," replied the portrait. "Everyone that enters this office is fully aware of my presence, and speaks as freely as they wish."

"Under the assumption that you're asleep."

Albus Dumbledore shrugged in his frame, his eyes glinting. "It is a dreadfully dull life as a portrait. I have all the knowledge of my former self and none of the capabilities. Would you deny me a bit of gossip?"

Minerva jabbed her quill in the direction of the painting. "You could speak up once in a while," she replied. "Help me deal with these oafs from the Ministry, or stave off Severus when he's in here biting my head off."

"The Ministry and Severus have both had enough of my meddling in their affairs," the old man replied. "Besides, it is such a nice change of pace to not be involved in the interworkings of everyone's lives, for once."

"Yet you persist in bothering me," she retorted as she turned back to the parchment.

"Am I bothering you?" Albus smiled. "I rather thought you enjoyed a bit of company from time to time. Company that asked nothing of you, that is."

"Yes, your uncharacteristically chauvinistic nature is greatly appreciated," she replied, looking over her shoulder, "but I do need to get this done tonight."

The portrait chuckled good-naturedly. "It's good to have you here, Minerva."

She grinned. "You too, Albus. Now shut it."


A/N 2: Reviews are always appreciated!