AN: Sorry it took so long. I've had loads of Homework.

Disclaimer: Come on, guys! I'm 13! Is JKR suddely 13 too? Uh uh!

'If you say so, sir.'

'Thank you for understanding, my dear. Now, if you go back out into my office, I'll give you his address.'

Hermione trotted into the office and sat down in one of the chairs facing the Headmaster's desk. She was suddenly nervous.

Dumbledore reappeared a few seconds later and directed her to take a piece of parchment and ward it so that only she could read it. This done, he instructed her to write out 41, Spinners End, Milton, Manchester. He then gave her a second address: Greenwood House, between Woodborough and Calverton, Nottingham.

'I assume that he will be at Spinners End, as that it the best protected of the two residences, and with the ministry searching high and low for him, it would be safest. However, the wards on Greenwood may have be reinforced since I was last there, and since number 41 is such a dreary place, he may have relocated to the Wood, since it is much larger and more comfortable. I wish you luck, Hermione.'

She nodded, and stood to leave. This was turning out to be very climactic, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, she felt bone weary, disappointed and wished nothing more than to fall into a nice, soft bed like the one in Gryffindor tower.

'Goodbye, Hermione.'

'Goodbye, Headmaster.'

She was just about to open the door when the portrait called out to her: 'Oh, and Hermione, I must impress onto you the importance of your mission. If I were you I would find Severus as soon as I could. Once again, good luck.'

Hermione looked back at the eyes one last time and left. She knew an order when she saw one. There was to be no rest tonight. Tonight, tomorrow, and however long it took would be for finding Snape. Not sleeping, relaxing or otherwise.

Hermione slopped through the halls; her previously determined footsteps now tired and deliberately slow. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice reminded her that the sooner she found Snape, the sooner she could rest, but another voice was ranting about how little difference a few hours would make to the outcome of the mission.

No! Hermione told the second voice firmly. I'll find him, get the information and then rest. After all, a few hours could make all the difference.

Now with a slightly more purposeful gait, she set off into Hogsmead. Her digital watch read four p.m. and when a disbelieving Hermione checked her new mobile, she discovered that her watch wasn't wrong.

I was in that office for five hours!

Quickening her pace, she arrived in Hogsmead ten minutes later and went to the Three Broomsticks.

It was quite full, Hermione decided, considering that Diagon Ally had been nearly empty when she went there to stock up a month ago.

She walked up to the bar and decided to order a shot of mulled mead. Just a little something, she assured herself, to steady her nerves and give her a boost. The rational little voice in her head, however, told her that a strong coffee would work better. She took no notice.

The small glass of mead later, and she was feeling slightly invigorated. She left the Three Broomsticks and went to Honeyduke's for a big bar of strong, dark chocolate. Her favourite.

Chocolate obtained, she once more summoned the Knight Bus, and instructed the conductor to take her to Calverton. The trip was the most boring, longest (well, maybe not longest) and most pointless ever. She knew the geography of the UK like the back of her hand, and they went right past Calverton twice before they actually stopped there. When they did, it was in the centre of the town, and it was getting dark.

Hermione stepped out into the cool dusk air, and set off for the Tourist Information Centre. It was closed, but there were several large laminated maps outside and which showed various footpaths, bridal paths, lanes and roads which led out. One particularly small footpath led to Woodborough, which was less than a mile away.

Locating the stile, she set off at a brisk pace. She was certain that the house would be guarded against Muggles seeing it, but she was no Muggle. Her eyes sought out each and every detail of the grassy meadow on one side, and the golf course on the other.

After five minutes walk the village of Woodborough came into sight in the half light. She walked all the way to where the path joined a backstreet, and turned. No house. Strange or what: Dumbledore had instructed her to write "between Woodborough and Calverton" on the piece of paper! Surely there couldn't be two places with the same two names in the same county? No way.

She walked a little way back down the footpath, and sat on a stone. This was all so annoying. Not getting to lead the Order, being Snape's contact, and now the house not appearing. Not funny.

Standing, she paced back down the path a little, and the pieces snapped into place. The house was under the Fidelius! She had to walk back and forth repeating the address. Silly bitch, Granger!

She walked quickly back and forth for about four minutes before feeling that tiny magic pull like she had felt when Grimmauld Place showed itself for the first time. Turing to the meadow, she saw it shimmer and change into wild, untidy grounds. A large house sprung up from the ground seconds later. Smiling, she walked towards what appeared to be the back gate and opened it.

Determined and (now) fatigue free, she dashed up the path to the house.

Upon reaching the front door – having gone round the house to the drive – she found that she couldn't be bothered to knock, so she just pulled the handle, in the hopes that the door wasn't locked. It wasn't. Uh huh, oh yeah, uh huh, oh yeah!

Quickly, Hermione shut of her psyche's victory dance and entered. There was not time for worrying now.

Whilst later, Hermione would look back and think that marching into the house of the Dark Lord's right-hand man, unarmed and yelling "Snape! Snape, are you in here?!" at the top of her lungs was one of the most stupid, incautious and reckless things she had ever done, right now it seemed a very logical course of action.

After all, it was a big house, which didn't have any outward signs of activity. How else was she to find the bloody man?

So, she continued through the hall to the stairs, still yelling.

She looked around her as she walked. It was a rather nice house, all in all. The halls colour scheme seemed to be navy blue and light green with silver edging. There was a coat room off to the side, and two big double doors at the end which she went straight on through. They led into a hall area, which seemed to be a ball room, and which was crammed full of expensively dressed people. They were talking loudly, and there was music playing in the background, but they all looked up when Hermione entered, and froze, horror struck, as she met the eyes of not less than eight known Death Eaters.

'Well, well,' purred a decidedly female voice. A very beautiful café au lait woman with chocolate brown hair came forward. 'I do believe that it's the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Die's girlfriend.'

Hermione whimpered slightly as she felt a wand pressed into her back.

'Deborah, your frightening the little girl,' said another female voice. Just when Hermione had though that it couldn't get any worse, Bellatrix Lestrange slunk through the crowd and barged the woman called Deborah out of the way. 'Well, we'll have to see what Severus says about this, won't we Mudblood?'

A blonde woman who Hermione recognised as Narcissa Malfoy strutted back through the gaggle of men and women now pushing for a sight of the 'Mudblood' and vanished through a side door. Moments later she was back, with Snape in tow. Hermione slumped in relief.

But she looked up and met Snape's eyes. He gazed at her, and she gazed back, feeling his Legilimency probing her mind.

'Release her, Zambini,' he said lazily. Hermione felt the wand removed and the man behind her step away. 'She wasn't meant to be brought out for some time, and she certainly isn't ready, so I trust that we can keep this between ourselves, right Bellatrix?'

'So this is the surprise you planned for Him.' Bellatrix put her hand on Snape's shoulder. 'Nice one, Sev. I didn't think you had it in you.'

The woman who Hermione remembered was called Deborah snorted, 'Why would the master want this little chit? She's a Mudblood and ugly too. No good in the harem. No good for breeding.'

'She may not be good in the harem or as a brood-mare and yes, she's a Mudblood, but her school scores rival those of the Dark Lord himself, and she's exceptionally bright. But now, if you wouldn't mind, girls-' He flashed a charming smile at the three women '-I need to have a little chat with Miss Granger here about her manners.'

He grabbed Hermione roughly by the scruff of her neck and marched her from the ball room. By the time she had made it out her cheeks were burning with shame: Everyone sniggered as they went past, not at Snape having to drag her, but at the fact that she was being dragged like a bloody errant child. It seemed like they took the longest possible root, but out of the party, and when they were out she was dragged past several ardently kissing couples who also broke apart to watch her public humiliation.

Then she finally got a break as they ascended the stairs and took a right into a study. Snape released her, and sat down behind the mahogany desk, indicating for her to sit in the chair in front of the desk. She did, and her interrogation began.

'So, Granger,' he said in a deceptively calm voice, 'I'm assuming that you just ran into this house, knowing that I, a known Death Eater was in residence, yelling my name to all and sundry, am I right?' He didn't wait for her to answer: 'I always though you were the logical one, Granger. This act of stupidity was worthy of Potter and Weasley, but not you. I though that you were at least slightly careful!'

Hermione bristled. Oh course he was right, perfectly so, but that didn't make her failure any easier to bear, 'Actually, I didn't know you were "in residence".'

'That fact is irrelevant, Granger,' Snape examined his fingernails. 'But now you will have to deal with the consequences of your – rash – actions.'

'"Consequences"? What consequences?' Hermione tried not to sound worried. She could think of any number of repercussions coming from her actions, the least of which was her own death.

'You need not fear your own death, Granger,' Snape smirked. 'I saved you from that at least, but I fear you won't like the way I saved you much. However, the Dark Mark of you arm should be a fitting reminder to be constantly vigilant, I think.'

'What?'

'Granger, surely you know what the Dark Mark is? What it symbolizes?'

'Yes, I know that. Why would I take it?'

'Let's say…self preservation. Oh, yes, and so I can continue to spy for what's left of the Order.'

'Yes, but how is it going to save my life?'

'Because I had to pretend that you were the latest apprentice to be inducted into our ranks. In fact, you are to be a surprise for the Dark Lord, you and the potion that I had originally intended for that purpose.'

Everything fell into place then. The things he had said in the ball room. Hermione felt sick. Her stupidity was going to cost her everything. Everything. With a muffled groan she dropped her head into her hands, shaking uncontrollably.

'What can I say, Granger? You made your bed and now you will lie in it. Unless, of course, you want Dumbledore's sacrifice to be in vain and both our lives forfeit.'

Hermione lifted her head and looked at the dark man. His eyes were black, just like she remembered them, same hooked nose, though his skin was far more tanned. But he looked younger, not older and more worn like she had imagined. Then it hit her.

'What happened to your hair?'

Snape snorted, 'Miss Granger, we are discussing a life and death matter and you ask me about my hair?'

Hermione was struck with the absurdity of the situation, but she continued. 'Yes.'

'Draco Malfoy in a fit of murderous, glory starved rage, "happened to my hair".'

Hermione barely suppressed a giggle, 'It looks good short.'

'Thank you. But there are matters of greater import than my new haircut to discuss. Are you going to make a hash out of Dumbledore's sacrifice and run, or are you going to rise to a challenge? As I recall, you like challenges.'

'May I have some time to think it over?'

'I'm afraid it's now or never, Granger.'

'You're a bastard!'

'And proud of it, though technically I can't be a bastard as I was conceived within wedlock.' He gave her a real, wolfish grin, and another ten years dropped away.

'I'll stay.' Two words, and in those two words she had determined her future, and later, she would realise, the outcome of the war. Right now, though, she knew nothing, and she felt sick with nerves. What if it was the wrong choice? What if she died? What if they were found out and both died? Oh Christ!

Hermione wasn't a religious person by any means, bit she was seriously considering praying right now!

'I thought you'd say that, Granger.'

'It's not like I have any choice, is it? If I don't you'll die, and then we'll have no source of information, will we? Then, consequently we'll loose the war.'

He didn't answer; instead he stood up and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle.

'I believe it's time to meet your new colleagues, then, Granger.'

She snorted disbelievingly. She wanted to punch something, and Snape's face was looking awfully inviting.

Then there was a knock on the door. Snape opened it and revealed Draco Malfoy, who cowered before him.

'Sir, Aunt Bella wants to know where you are. She says your champagne's going flat.'

Suddenly, Snape – who might hit her back – didn't look so inviting. She cracked her knuckles at Malfoy, who obviously hadn't seen her before. He looked like he might wet himself.

Snape burst out laughing.

AN: Leave me one of those lovely lil' things begining with "r", will ya?

Niki