A/N: Warning for a brief, non-explicit scene depicting an intimate encounter between consenting adults.

Chapter Six: Though lovers be lost love shall not

Hermione paced in the cold library in Grimmauld Place. They were supposed to have been there to meet her more than an hour before. What could be taking them so long? She had even gone upstairs and looked in their rooms, but there was no sign of them anywhere—which was just as well, since only a few people knew that the three were staying at Grimmauld Place most of the time. She, Professor McGonagall, and Arthur Weasley were the only ones who knew officially, although Remus and Tonks had discovered it by accident, and Harry had trusted their promises sufficiently to continue staying there. But perhaps he had changed his mind, perhaps he had taken them off to some other base. They still were supposed to be there for their meeting, though, regardless of where they were staying. What if something had happened to them?

Unofficially, Professor Snape also knew. In a way, it had been his idea that Harry, Ron, and Luna stay at Grimmauld Place while they conducted their searches, something he had suggested to Hermione on the day that Harry had stormed out of Potions three months before. Harry hadn't been very keen on the idea at first, even without knowing its source, but then he decided that it made the most sense, since the house was warded and the Fidelius apparently was still in place—though Harry had expressed scepticism about whether the Order's secrets were safe with Professor Snape now that Dumbledore was no longer alive to keep an eye on him. But nothing untoward had happened, and Hermione had pointed out that the Headmistress still trusted Snape. If Harry became aware that Professor Snape knew that they were staying there, though, he would likely leave and never look back, and Hermione had no idea how she would keep in contact with them if that were the case. It was difficult enough as it was, sneaking away to meet them like this, as she had for the past few months. And if they didn't hurry—

A door slammed, and the portrait of Mrs Black began screeching about blood-traitors and filthy Mudbloods. Hermione rolled her eyes. She had been so careful not to disturb the portrait when she had arrived.

"Where have you three been? Do you realise that the Order meeting will start in two hours? And people will likely begin arriving well before then?"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Hermione," Ron said grumpily.

Hermione goggled at him. Then she looked at all three. Luna looked much as she always did, if somewhat more focussed, perhaps, but Ron and Harry were covered in mud—still drying mud. Hermione waved her wand, cleaning them both of the worst of the dirt.

"Sorry, Hermione," Ron said grudgingly. "Just another wild Snidget chase, with nothing at the end of it." He turned to Luna and put his hand on hers. "It's not your fault, Luna. The information you had was good, it was just old, and we all agreed to go."

Luna nodded and gave him a dreamy smile.

"Do you have anything new for us, Hermione?" Harry interrupted.

"A few things . . . but I have to say, this entire quest of yours seems like a wild goose chase—or Snidget chase," she said, looking at Ron, whose hand was now holding Luna's. "Look, I think you're getting distracted from the main purpose. You have to find the Horcruxes. You have to destroy them, or killing Voldemort will do nothing except prolong the war for another generation. And who knows if he even can be killed normally now. He's stronger than he was, Harry. We should be researching the ritual he performed to give himself a new body; we should be trying to figure out what the other Horcruxes are and where they're located and how each one may be destroyed. We have four more left. It is January already. Time is not on our side."

"We are looking for the Horcruxes," Harry replied. "But this is important, too. I know it is. Dumbledore said it was."

"Dumbledore is dead, Harry!" Hermione said in exasperation. "Time is growing short. It's January already. There have been more killings. They tried to assassinate Scrimgeour last week."

"Kidnap him," Ron corrected her. "We heard from . . . some of our other contacts that they were trying to kidnap him. They tried to kidnap Professor McGonagall the week before that, but it was hushed up—there are a few more Death Eaters in Azkaban today, though. They were looking for us and they think McGonagall and Scrimgeour know where we are. Of course, Scrimgeour hasn't a clue, but if he's going to go about spouting off how great a supporter Harry is of the Ministry, and how the Ministry is providing him 'every assistance,' he deserves what he gets." In response to Hermione's shocked expression, he hastily added, "Not being actually kidnapped, of course."

"So, where's the information? We have to get out of here before people begin to arrive." Harry was taking charge again.

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchments. She handed it to Harry, but before she let go, she said, "I still believe it's a mistake to be going after these things; I think someone is leading us astray. I hope that after you look at all of this, you will finally agree with me."

Harry looked at the parchments she had compiled for him. "All of this? I suppose we could split it up, each take part of it—"

"There's a summary, too, and it's keyed to the relevant places in the main text. You can find them using the common indexing spell. I'm sure Luna knows it." Hermione looked at Luna, who now had one arm wrapped around Ron's. She wasn't sure how she felt about that sight.

The four talked a bit longer, Harry finally thanking her for her hard work, done despite the fact that she was sceptical about the existence of the Deathly Hallows. They promised to be careful, and Hermione hugged each of them before they left, even Luna, who gave her a vague smile, then she cast a Disillusionment Spell on a grumbling Ron. Hermione just rolled her eyes and shooed them out of the house.

A few minutes after the door had shut behind them, fortunately more quietly than it had the first time, Hermione heard it open again. Thank goodness! They had left just in time. Other members of the Order must be arriving. She tried to remain calm. She had been sent ahead by Professor McGonagall. Neither of them had ever come up for a good reason for her to be there early, but so far, she had never had to use the excuse, as either the Headmistress herself or Professor Snape had always arrived before anyone else had, and whoever arrived next always assumed that Hermione had come with one of them.

Hermione sat on the old sofa and pretended to read her Transfiguration textbook. She looked up when she heard someone enter the room. A bright smile lit her face, and she stood.

"Professor Snape! I am glad it's you, sir. That is, I thought it might be someone else," she said.

"What took those three so long?" Snape asked with no prelude, bringing the cold January air with him as he swept through the room and took a seat in the old wingback chair across from her.

Hermione explained as well as she could, and Professor Snape listened, gazing at her over steepled fingers. After she had, she said, "But . . . were you watching the house, sir?"

How had he known they were late? He had seen them leave; had he also seen them arrive?

"Yes, Miss Granger, I was watching the house." He gave a parody of a smile. "It's what a good Death Eater does, isn't it?"

"I simply wanted to know how you knew they were late," Hermione said, trying to remind him of her trust in him. She paused, looking at him carefully. "Do you do that every time I meet with them?"

Snape remained expressionless, but he swallowed. "Yes. Each time. It is important to know that you arrive safely and that neither you nor they are followed." His hesitation was perceptible. "It was I who suggested to you that you meet with them here. It is safer for them this way, but you must then leave the security of Hogwarts and Apparate here alone. I follow you. The dangers are not as great as they were when you would leave the school with Potter and then return, but they are not negligible." He waited for an adolescent tirade of some sort, or at least a Gryffindor protest that she could take care of herself, and why was a Slytherin Death Eater following her, anyway?

Hermione thought about what he had said, then she smiled. "In the stories my mother always told me as a child, guardian angels were supposed to wear white and have wings. It seems that was just a fairy story, too."

Severus twitched a slight smile, but an honest one, not the peculiar grimace he had affected earlier. "Fairy story?" he asked.

Hermione let out a sigh. "I don't know how much of this you know, or how much I should say . . . but . . ." She looked up at him. "Can I talk to you, sir? Do you mind?"

Severus felt the urge to smile again. She hadn't asked whether she could trust him; she had asked whether he minded if she talked to him, shared something with him. As though he were a friend, and not . . . not what he was.

He shook his head. "I do not mind, Miss Granger."

"I think they are on a wild goose chase, er, Snidget chase—"

"I know what a 'wild goose chase' is," he broke in, reminding her obliquely that he was the Half-Blood Prince. Of course, he wouldn't look at her blankly like Ron would, even if he hadn't heard the term before; he would be able to figure out its meaning immediately, and he would never look at her blankly—not the vacant way that Ron did, anyway. No, when Professor Snape looked blank, you still knew that there was something going on behind those dark, unfathomable eyes.

Hermione took a breath and told him about the Deathly Hallows and Harry's obsession with them. "The thing is, sir, I think that it's all just a story. And not simply because I'm a sceptic. I think there's a . . . a hoax going on. I think that someone is trying to lead Harry from his mission to . . . to do what he's supposed to be doing. I actually don't know why it is that Harry believes so strongly, except that apparently in one of the last conversations that Professor Dumbledore had with him, the Headmaster said something specific, and now Harry has interpreted that to mean that he has to find these . . . these fabled items, and that finding them is just as important as finding and destroying—" Hermione stopped herself just in time. She felt very comfortable with Professor Snape, but there were some confidences she couldn't share, for her own peace of mind and sense of integrity, not from lack of trust in him.

"Best not to speak any further of that, Miss Granger. Even with me," Snape said, struggling with the desire to tell her that he had been one of those leading Harry down a primrose path of sorts, but instead of making things easier for him, only making them more difficult. "Why are you so convinced that Potter is wrong—other than the fact that he so often is?"

Hermione ignored the jibe at Harry, instead reaching into her book bag and pulling out a frayed and tattered book. She held it out to him, but he did not take it.

"This, for one, sir. Not just this—I have been sceptical all along—but this book, I found it just last week." Hermione shook her head. "I would swear that it hadn't been there when I had looked before . . . but that isn't the point. There is a chapter in this book that traces elements of the story back to earlier myths and legends. It is very convincing and well-documented. And Death personified . . . call me a Muggle, if you like, but it sounds too allegorical to me. And there are other things that made me wonder, but this book . . . it solidified my doubt and made it belief. I simply cannot believe that this search is anything more than a . . . a ruse to draw Harry away from what he should be doing. Or I might be paranoid, and no one is actually trying to lead Harry astray, but I still believe that he is veering from the correct path."

Severus stared silently at the book now in Hermione's lap; finally, he said, "You found that book, Miss Granger, because I placed it in the library last week for you to find. And I removed it from the library last spring so that you would not find it too soon."

Hermione's jaw dropped, but she was speechless. Severus waited for an accusation to come from her lips, but none did.

"I returned it earlier than planned, in fact," he continued, anticipating the inevitable display of outrage, ready for her to blame him, to question his loyalties.

"But why?" Hermione asked, having found her voice.

"Because I am in agreement with you. Potter needs to prepare himself for the day when he will face the Dark Lord, and I am not persuaded that hunting down purely imaginary items is the best way for him to do that," Severus answered.

"But why . . . why remove it in the first place? And all of the clues, everything that we found that pointed toward their existence . . . what of those?"

"Many of them false leads, planted, just as I planted that book for you to find."

"Luna's father—"

"Is gullible and highly suggestible, Miss Granger. Much of the information that he has passed on through Miss Lovegood was planted just as the books and other documents were."

"Memory charms?" Hermione asked. The notion of anyone using memory charms of any sort on anyone for any reason appalled her. Her mind and her memories were precious to her, every one, and the prospect that anyone might perform such a charm on her was terrifying, especially the Obliviate, although being forced to remember things that weren't so seemed almost as bad to her.

"Memory charms, among other things."

"Did you do them?"

"No, not I, another." Albus and Robert had each visited Luna's father and given him knowledge of things that did not exist and memories of long-ago conversations that never occurred, supplementing the altered memories with books and old letters stuffed in various nooks in his home, where he would find them and believe he had always possessed them.

"Has anyone done any memory charms on me? Or on Harry or Ron? Or Luna?"

"No, that particular bit of violence was only committed upon Lovegood."

"Oh." That was a relief. "And not on the Headmaster?" Hermione asked.

Severus chuckled mirthlessly. "No, one does not generally cast memory charms on oneself. I do not know if such a thing is even possible."

"Then he . . . ." Hermione was trying to comprehend what she had just learned.

"He wanted to distract the Dark Lord from his objectives during the first war, and so he began to plant a false trail for him to follow, knowing that he would not be able to resist. After the Dark Lord vanished, the Headmaster had abandoned the idea, but then it seemed a way to give Potter more time to prepare, so the Headmaster built upon the foundation that he had begun all those years ago. This time, he included Potter in his plans—as he would have to, of course. He had to take into account both Potter's presence in the scheme of things and the goals that he must achieve if he is to play the role that it appears he must play. And so . . . Potter was likewise presented with the trail of breadcrumbs, and he followed them as surely as the Dark Lord did."

"Is the Dark Lord still looking for the Hallows, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, and he became more obsessed with them once it was clear that Potter was on the trail as well. It confirmed to him the validity of his search, just as the Headmaster had hoped."

"But why? I still don't completely understand. I do understand distracting Vo– the Dark Lord, but why Harry, too? Couldn't he pretend to look for these things, or you tell the Dark Lord that he was? Wouldn't that serve the same purpose?"

Severus shook his head. "That was only one reason that Potter was introduced to the story. The Headmaster also wanted to give him more time to prepare for the encounter with the Dark Lord, which he believed inevitable. He thought that this side quest would help do that by delaying both the Dark Lord and Potter. I don't believe that the Headmaster anticipated how single-minded Potter would become, that he would neglect his other duties, whatever they may be, in order to hunt down these imaginary objects. You were always a part of the Headmaster's plan. He believed that you would be able to keep Potter focussed on the most important aspects of his preparation while at the same time helping him to find and follow the clues laid out for him, but while encouraging him to be sceptical. At the right moment, you would be able to convince Potter that he was wasting his time and that he should expend his energies elsewhere. That has not happened as anticipated, and I am concerned that the opposite is happening."

"I see . . . I do understand why Professor Dumbledore did as he did," Hermione said slowly, "but I think he was a bit too thorough, and he underestimated how much Harry looked up to him. Harry sees this as fulfilling Professor Dumbledore's final wishes, which seems to have taken up as great an importance as anything else. Harry also believes that there is something about gathering these things together that will make it possible for him to defeat the Dark Lord."

"The Headmaster was not infallible, for all his virtues and his brilliance," Severus said, then adding, "He knew this, however, and tried to compensate for his mistakes and misjudgments, but he could be . . . stubborn on occasion. And he is no longer here to correct his error in this instance."

"I always felt that there was something or someone steering us. I do not know if I am happy that I was right," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Miss Granger, Hermione . . . if the Headmistress asks . . ."

"If she asks, I will tell her everything up to the point where you told me about replacing the book in the library," she said. "I do assume that you weren't supposed to come right out and tell me that it was all a hoax."

"She won't ask you specifically, any more than she would admit to Potter that she knew that he was looking for the nonexistent Hallows," Severus replied. "She did try to get him to talk to her about it, but he was as obstinate as ever. The Headmaster is dead, and still he keeps his secrets, even those that were never intended to be true secrets. But you are correct: I was not supposed to inform you of our deception. Merely plant sufficient clues that would eventually lead you to doubt the existence of the Hallows and then convince Potter of it."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Why did you tell me, then—if I may ask, sir."

"Because you were always sceptical and you are wasting your time trying to help Potter find what does not exist. To the extent that you spend any effort on it at all, you should be looking for things that bolster your argument that he is on a wild goose chase."

"Thank you."

Severus nodded, then he turned his head, listening. "Others are arriving." He looked back over at her. "You should probably not appear so . . . comfortable in my presence."

Hermione blushed. As they had been talking, she had toed off her shoes and drawn her legs up under her, as she often did when curled up on a big chair or sofa, reading or talking with friends. It wasn't terribly dignified, though. And Professor Snape was right: no Hogwarts student would feel comfortable enough to sit like that in his presence. She imagined even all of the Slytherins sat up straight and got their feet off the furniture when he came into their common room. She didn't know what had possessed her.

Hermione slipped her shoes on and picked up her book, which she was reading quite decorously when one of her least favourite wizards and one of her most favourite came into the room together—Alastor Moody, who never hid his disdain for Professor Snape even when there were children present, and Remus Lupin, a kind and trustworthy soul who treated Professor Snape with respect despite the fact that the latter wizard had leaked his secret to the world.

Severus muttered a greeting, said something about his baby-sitting being over, and left the room in a swirl of black robes. He made his way to the kitchen. Unfortunately, others were likely to join him there soon, but at least he had made his escape before Moody could say anything nasty in front of Hermione about leopards not changing their spots. That paragon of virtue might never use Unforgivables when capturing Death Eaters, but he had his own brand of cruelty. He just didn't see it that way. What the old Auror thought of Severus rarely disturbed the younger wizard's mind, and the Headmaster had always known that he had truly repented. When Dumbledore was alive, that had been enough, to have had his confidence. And now Minerva, despite the fact that she was still . . . upset with him and they were no longer friends, she had rebuked Moody just the week before for one of his comments. It didn't bother him what a mad old bugger like Moody said about him. Not one whit.

He still didn't want Hermione to hear it, the way that Moody spoke to him with such derision. Hermione—Miss Granger, he corrected himself—had not once presumed that the hoax he had helped perpetrate had been on behalf of the Dark Lord. She had been surprised that Dumbledore had quite the active role in it, though she shouldn't have been. He had been one of the only people whom the boy would listen to, after all. Severus didn't know why she would think that Dumbledore would have a memory charm placed on him—he was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix and, as such, the architect of their plans. But Hermione had been surprised by the information he had given her. He could forgive one lapse of logical thinking on the girl's part. After all, she trusted him, and she had kept his secret as surely as she had Lupin's. And she seemed to tolerate his company quite well, possibly even welcoming it. That was an unusual pleasure for him.

Severus was just remembering a visit Hermione had paid him in his office a little over a year before, her small gift, and her words at that time, when two people entered the kitchen. Minerva and her shadow.

"Miss Granger said you had arrived, Severus," the Headmistress stated, taking a seat across from him. Her shadow was . . . in the shadows, his dusky greenish-grey robes hanging limply from his frame, apparently making Minerva a cup of tea. "I had wanted to speak to you before very many others arrive."

Severus nodded. Minerva's shadow put a mug of tea in front of Minerva and a second one in front of Severus.

Minerva looked up and smiled at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Thank you . . . Robbie."

Robert returned her smile and sat down beside her, Summoning his own mug from the sideboard. Minerva glanced over at Severus, an eyebrow raised. Severus took a sip of his tea, then grunted his thanks.

Minerva had just finished speaking with Severus, her shadow silently at her side, sipping his tea, when Moody came in. Alastor stopped, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Robert Crouch at the table. That was one thing they had in common, Severus thought. Neither of them trusted the sudden ubiquitous and constant presence of this foreign Crouch, regardless of who his parents had been or how long Albus and Minerva had known him. There was something unsettling about the man, and even more disturbing was the way that he had slipped so easily into life at Hogwarts, in the Order, and with the grieving Headmistress. Severus had always suspected that Moody was more fond of Minerva than she of him, and he didn't know whether it was the new wizard's unexpected role in the Order that disturbed Moody most or some sort of jealousy—or just general Mad-Eye paranoia. Severus almost laughed: if Moody didn't like this former apothecary, perhaps that was reason enough to give him a chance. Then he saw the way the grey-eyed wizard looked at Minerva, and Severus decided it was best to wait and watch. Minerva might feel safe with "Robbie," but if it became clear that she wasn't safe, he would do something about it. He had promised Albus on his deathbed that he would take care of Minerva, and even if he hadn't, he owed it to her and to Albus to look after her, whether she liked it or not. . . .

Back from the meeting at Grimmauld Place that night at Hogwarts, Severus returned to the Restricted Section of the cold, empty library to replace more of the books he had removed the previous spring. He would find a way to inform Hermione of their availability. Perhaps, he thought, they could work out a method of communication—he stopped, listening. There was a noise coming from a nearby corner. Severus scowled. Students out after curfew, in the library. Despite the holiday, there would be points taken that night. If they were Slytherins, they would lose double points just for being so clumsy that they were caught.

Severus was about to round the corner, intent on sneaking up on the miscreants, when he heard a familiar Scottish burr.

"Not here. Not now." The Headmistress's voice sounded pained. "Later. Later. You could come to me tonight, if you must. Or we could wait, wait, meet elsewhere, as we have done before."

It was Minerva.

"Now, here," came a soft reply. "I miss you, I miss you, Minerva."

"You were with me all day. We can wait," she protested weakly.

Severus moved so that he could see them in the moonlight filtering through the windows, but he remained hidden in the deep shadows of the towering library stacks. Minerva and her pet were standing close to each other, and the wizard had her backed against the edge of a table. Severus winced as he saw Crouch reach out and caress Minerva. If he had stopped with her cheek, the gesture wouldn't have been so painful to watch, but he hadn't. His hand trailed down from her cheek to her throat, then on lower, to her chest. Severus thought that Minerva flinched as Crouch pushed aside her loose teaching robe and caressed her through her under-robe. She certainly closed her eyes and turned her head away.

"Minerva, Minerva . . . I missed touching you. Sitting beside you . . . watching you . . . it is wonderful, but it is insufficient." Now he was slowly opening her robes, caressing her as he did so. "You must miss me, too."

Minerva's eyes remained closed, but she didn't move away or stop him, though her hands clutched the edge of the table behind her. Severus was torn. It seemed to him that Minerva was merely tolerating this impertinent wizard's touch, but she was not doing anything to stop him, either. She could step away to either side. Unless she were afraid. If she weren't afraid, if she could stop him but didn't really wish to . . . they would all be embarrassed if he revealed his presence there, stepping out to stop the impertinent stranger, and Minerva would have even greater cause to hate him than she already did. Perhaps this was an escape from her troubles. She had known Crouch longer than Severus himself had been alive, after all.

A pain shot through Severus. She would never accept such comfort from him, though he never would offer unless she sought it from him. Yet why would she seek it from Crouch? In this manner? He had always believed that Minerva had been utterly devoted to Albus. Could she discard his memory so quickly, after less than a year? But it did not seem she was seeking it from Crouch, either, as her eyes remained closed and her face turned away from the tall, gangly wizard.

Minerva took in a sharp breath as Crouch completely opened her bodice. Severus ached, but he could not tear his gaze away.

"I miss my Albus . . . I miss my Albus," Minerva said, her voice a soft, crying sigh. "Albus's touch . . ."

"I know you do, I know you do," the foreign wizard crooned. "But I am here, I am here with you now." He bent his head and kissed her neck. "Take pleasure in my touch, Minerva."

Minerva reached up as if to push him away. "I cannot do this. I . . . you . . . it doesn't feel right. And especially not here."

"Shh, shh, Minerva. It is right. It is fine." Despite Minerva' gesture of rejection, the wizard hadn't removed his hands. "And we are alone. Most are away from the castle for the holiday. We couldn't be more safe anywhere. I placed a ward on the door when we entered. If anyone comes in, we shall know. I will hide you and keep you safe."

Minerva shook her head, and Severus suppressed a sigh. Even if he managed to make it past them without them being aware of him, he couldn't leave because the shadow had cast a ward. But if the other wizard tried to take Minerva by force, he could step out and stop him. In the meantime, he would watch, painful as it was.

"I don't know," Minerva said, turning her face away again.

"I do know, and I know what you need—and what I want. I want you. Now. Not later." the older wizard responded in his soft voice. "Here, turn around. It will be all right. I promise."

Minerva turned away from him as he directed, and he embraced her from behind. In the stillness, Severus could hear his whisper as plainly as if he were speaking in his own ear.

"Here, this is better. Is this better? Feel this, feel this and think of your Albus." The wizard pulled her back against him. He kissed her neck. "And feel this. Feel, Minerva. Feel me, Minerva, feel me."

Severus grimaced as the other wizard raised Minerva's skirts, apparently using a spell to do so, but then using his hands to push down the witch's knickers, coming to his knees behind her as he lowered them around her ankles. How could Minerva stand for this? She had barely tolerated his touch when he had been afflicted by the curse the previous year—she had been good to him and had kindly consented to let him try to bring her pleasure with his touch, but Severus knew she never would have allowed him to touch her so intimately if it hadn't been for the Adfectus spell.

Now the wizard stood and continued to caress her, and Severus gritted his teeth as he place a palm on her shoulder and pushed her from the back; Minerva obediently bent over the table, resting her head on its surface, her face no longer visible to Severus.

"Don't you like this, Minerva? It is so very good to touch you this way. I like it very much," he whispered, embracing her from behind. "Think of your Albus, and remember, remember how you would feel, and I will do the same now; I promise you, Minerva, you will forget that it's different now. I will make love to you, Minerva, and it will be good." As he spoke, his voice still soft and gentle, Crouch continued to caress her. "Feel me, Minerva, feel me. Feel my desire and my need. I will take you here, now, and it will be good. I will make you forget everything but our pleasure here and now. I will make you forget."

Severus felt an almost physical pain in his heart and bile rose in his throat, but Minerva did not protest, and her breathing was growing louder.

"I can take you well, Minerva, just as well. I want to, I need to. I need you. Should I do it now? Should I?" Crouch asked, his voice a low growl, emphasising his words with a sudden jerk of Minerva's body towards him, eliciting a slight cry from her. "It is good, making love to you here in the dark. Making love to the Hogwarts Headmistress over a table in the dark. I need it. You need it. You want it. Tell me, Minerva! Should we do it now?"

Minerva's voice sounded strange to Severus's ears. "Yes, yes, now, now . . ."

If Severus had any suspicion that the foreign wizard had used an Imperio on Minerva to obtain her compliance, he would have stepped in even then, but whatever it was that persuaded Minerva to bend over and let that peculiar, sycophantic wizard touch her that way, it was no Imperio, nor any other spell that Severus could determine. He continued to watch as his nemesis began to make love to Minerva.

Severus could not tear his eyes away as Minerva's face turned toward him for the first time since she had bent over for the rapacious wizard. Her mouth was open and her eyes were tightly shut; the one hand he could see was a white-knuckled fist against the table. Tears glittered on her cheeks. Then her moaning became louder and she was crying out.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, but then she shouted, "Oh, gods, yes, Albus!"

Severus felt vindicated. She had not called Albus's name when she had been with him. Of course . . . she had not wanted to be with him, either . . . and she had not shouted anything at all.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . I know I said—"

"It's all right, Minerva, love. A natural reaction." The wizard turned her around. "But . . . you cry . . ." He touched her face.

"I can't help it. Everything . . . everything is so difficult, and you . . . I just wish things were as they had been, and I know that can't be. It never will be the same again. Nothing. Not even with Severus. I am just so tired, so tired, every day is harder than the last, and everything seems impossible . . . And even with you . . . it isn't the same . . . it just isn't the same . . ."

Crouch rearranged the witch's robes, then he held her as she wept against his shoulder, rubbing her back and crooning softly in her ear. Finally, to Severus's great relief, the Dutch apothecary said, "I think it is time I get what I came for and we leave. It is late."

Minerva nodded and wiped her face with her handkerchief. "Shall I wait for you?"

The tall wizard looked down into her eyes. "In your suite," he directed softly, kissing her cheeks and smoothing away the last of her tears. "Wait there. I will come to you. And I will stay. I will stay this time. And you will be glad of it, I promise, my sweet Minerva, I promise."

Minerva nodded again, acquiescing, then turned to leave. As she turned, Severus saw her face clearly. She seemed relaxed. Despite her tears a few minutes before, she looked more peaceful and younger than he had seen her in more than a year. Perhaps that bastard wizard had been able to give her what she needed, after all. Severus winced at the thought.

Severus pressed himself flat against the bookshelves, even Occluding, as the other wizard moved past him, like a silent shadow again. But Severus would never see Minerva's shadow in quite the same way as he had. The wizard might give the appearance of being just a sycophantic follower, a puppy dog following his mistress about, but Severus now knew that there was a measure of control there, as well, control and veiled power over the Headmistress. Severus had tried to trust the apothecary because both Albus and Minerva had wished it and out of guilt for what had happened to his mother—what he had done to her—but now he would be more wary than he had been before, on the alert for any sign that Minerva was being manipulated by dark forces, or that she was an unwitting victim of this wizard's subtle machinations, taken advantage of in her grief. Crouch's mother had been a Slytherin; he could very well be just as sneaky as any Slytherin. And he had attended Durmstrang, not noted for turning out broad-minded Muggle-lovers.

Yes, Severus would keep an even sharper eye on this one, and if the Headmistress seemed in danger, he would simply . . . deal with it. He was, after all, a Death Eater.

NEXT: Chapter Seven, When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone
Severus seeks the Headmistress after he leaves the library, and he has the most frank, personal conversation with Minerva that he has had in more than a year; she sets him straight on certain facts, trying to rid him of certain misconceptions he has.
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape

A/N: This chapter, "Though lovers be lost love shall not," was edited slightly for language, explicit content.