Thank you for the reviews, everyone! Sorry I was a little slow about posting this chapter -- I'm still fighting a nasty sinus infection, and I haven't been feeling terrible motivated.

VII

The lorry's shocks were practically nonexistent, and, judging by the unpleasant aroma emanating from the engine compartment, it burned oil, too. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and Hermione knew she'd been lucky to even find a rental agency open so late in the day, let alone one that offered the newest and shiniest models. She'd procured the largest vehicle she could manage with her license and had to hope it would be sufficient.

The cage had been a bit more difficult. A search of the grounds around Hagrid's cottage hadn't turned up anything useful, so Hermione and Snape had decided to find the cage elsewhere.

Unfortunately, a pen large enough to contain the creature in the basement wasn't the sort of thing one could find in the corner pet shop. Hermione had found herself compelled to indulge in a bit of wizardly larceny and at last resorted to lifting a cage from a shed at the Hayfield horse center. She left behind what cash she had remaining after paying the extortionate amount the rental agency had demanded for the use of the lorry, but she still felt like a thief.

Thankfully, the place had been deserted, and at least here in Aberdeen, far away from the creature's influence, she could use her magic to deposit the cage in the lorry's bed before hurrying off at speeds that didn't help the balding tires' condition any. And thank goodness she'd persuaded Severus Snape that she would be better off procuring the rental on her own. He remained at Hogwarts, keeping an eye on the seventh cellar in case the beast suddenly decided it wanted a change of scene.

Now she had a chance to gather her thoughts as she negotiated the unfamiliar route and alternately cursed the balky clutch and the poorly plowed roads. She wouldn't do anyone any favors by skidding off the highway and ending up in a ditch. Then again, this vehicle didn't seem to be capable of the sorts of speeds that could get her into any real trouble.

Before she left Hogwarts, she'd run up to the Owlery and dispatched a quick note to Ron telling him she doubted very much she'd be back in time for the Christmas Eve festivities at the Burrow. Perhaps it had been premature, but she thought it would be better to prepare him for disappointment rather than cancel at the last minute. There was a slim chance that she could get back to Hogwarts, retrieve the creature, take it a safe distance, and return the lorry before then, but --

She shook her head at herself. Already it was past six o'clock. The proprietor of the rental place had informed her that he would be closed through Boxing Day, so she'd had to pay for several days more rental than she required. Even if her mission was accomplished in a timely manner, she'd still have to come back to Scotland to return the lorry. Frankly, at the moment she thought she had a better chance of getting Professor Snape to sing "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and kiss her under the mistletoe than she did of spending a cozy holiday at the Burrow.

Her cheeks suddenly felt burning hot in the cold air of the lorry's cab. What on earth was she thinking, to consider a kiss from Severus Snape…even in jest?

Exhaustion, she thought. That must be it. Not enough sleep. Too much on my mind.

All perfectly good excuses. She should just accept them as such and stop thinking such ridiculous things. But somehow she couldn't quite dismiss the shockingly vivid image that blazed through her mind, one that involved Severus Snape pulling her into his arms and bending down to press his mouth against hers. She already knew that his body felt lean and strong. She knew what it was like for him to hold her, even if only for a few seconds.

Had it started when he caught her after she had tripped in the cellar? Or was it even earlier, during the breakfast they had shared? Or --

Did it really matter? The mere fact that she didn't find the thought of a kiss from Severus Snape completely repulsive was problematic enough. Knowing which tectonic shift caused an earthquake didn't alter the damage it caused.

She curled her fingers around the worn plastic of the steering wheel and forced herself to concentrate on the road. Very likely she was just off-kilter from being stuck here for Christmas, and her tumultuous relationship with Ron of late probably wasn't helping, either. It wouldn't be the first time someone started looking for greener pastures just because the ones they were currently occupying had begun to seem a little brown.

Of course, the mere notion of viewing Severus Snape as "greener pastures" should be cause for alarm. Never mind the fact that he hadn't shown one bit of interest in her that way. No, she'd just treat this episode as temporary insanity and push all thoughts of mistletoe and anything else even vaguely provocative right out of her mind.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. The radio in the lorry was broken, so she couldn't turn on some music to keep her brain from dwelling on the forbidden. All she seemed able to think of was Severus and the steady strength of his arm under hers as he guided her back to her rooms, or the brief glances of grudging approval he'd given her over the past few days. It wasn't much to go on, of course, but grudging approval from Severus Snape was glowing praise from anyone else.

Very well -- if she couldn't keep her mind off him, then she might as well try to be logical about it. Was she merely manufacturing an unexpected attraction for her former teacher just so she wouldn't have to confront her true feelings about Ron?

Her brain wanted to shy away from that question, but Hermione wouldn't let herself dodge the issue. Part of being an adult was facing unattractive truths. So why was she finding it so hard to admit that some time during the past few years her relationship with Ron had become more of a habit than anything else?

Because it would kill Harry, she thought suddenly. It was supposed to be the four of us living happily ever after. And out of loyalty or stubbornness or sheer stupid blindness she'd gone doggedly forward, trying her best to ignore the niggling undercurrent of dissatisfaction that had colored her life for longer than she wanted to acknowledge. It was easy enough to blame her malaise on outside causes -- the too-slow pace of house-elf liberation, the bullheaded bureaucracy at the Ministry, even the dingy weather or her noisy neighbors. Anything but admitting that she was, to put it baldly, bored out of her mind, weary of Ron's obsession with Quidditch, and tired of the blank looks she got whenever she tried to direct their conversations toward more intellectually rewarding subjects.

That could have been the reason she'd accepted this assignment with alacrity, despite her misgivings about being far from home so close to Christmas. The mission had given her an excuse to get away, one that even Ron couldn't contest.

How on earth is someone supposed to know who or what they want for the rest of their life when they're only seventeen? she wondered then, as she slowed down to take the barely visible turnoff that would bring her to Hogwarts. As far as she was concerned, this notion of setting one's future path at such an early age was a flaw too deeply embedded in wizard culture. At least Muggles went on to university, or learned a trade, or backpacked around Europe or South America or what-have-you. In the wizarding world, by your seventh year you were expected to choose the specialty that would guide the remainder of your adult days. And that same sort of expectation spilled over into their personal lives. Wizards tended to marry young -- at least the ones she knew personally. That could have been a byproduct of the uncertainty of the War years, but the practice showed little sign of abating any time soon.

Did other Muggle-borns wrestle with these sorts of issues? She didn't know, since she really didn't count any among her circle of close friends. Perhaps, although the tendency was for those of Muggle and mixed blood to ignore the nonmagical world almost completely.

The lorry jounced up and down along the rutted track that snaked through Hogwarts' outlying grounds. Under normal circumstances, a Muggle vehicle would never have been able to get this close -- the driver would have suddenly discovered he or she had pressing business elsewhere. But the Muggle-repelling spells lay as dormant as all other human-devised magic in the vicinity. It was only Hogwarts' isolation, along with the fact that any roads leading to it were hardly noticeable even when not protected by spells, that had kept the outside world from discovering it during this period of vulnerability.

Hermione slowed to almost a crawl, not wanting to risk the battered lorry's ancient shocks. She was almost glad of the leisurely pace; at least it would give her some time to collect her wits before she had to confront Severus Snape.

"Well, I suppose you've had your epiphany," she said aloud to the empty cab. "Even if it isn't close to January sixth. But what are you going to do about it?"

Good question. Even if flinging herself into Snape's arms was an option -- which of course it wasn't -- she knew she'd have to resolve things one way or another with Ron before she would allow herself to even think of being with anyone else. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair, and it certainly wouldn't be honest.

The lorry bounced off a particularly vicious rut, and Hermione set her jaw and soldiered forward. She had business yet to settle. She knew she shouldn't be making any decisions right now. Not with the task of corralling the beast in the cellars ahead of her, not to mention getting it safely away from Hogwarts.

Yet, despite this resolution to leave the matter be for now, she somehow knew her mind was made up. Even as she jolted down the road through the heavy dark, an odd lightness began to fill her. It took her a moment to realize it was simple relief.

No matter what else happened, she knew she would be happy if she never had to sit through another Quidditch match as long as she lived.

***

If Severus Snape had owned a watch, he would have glanced at it. As it was, he had to settle for pacing back and forth in front of the door to the seventh cellar. From within there came the occasional rustle, but for the most part the beast seemed quiescent.

Snape wished he could have said the same for his own turbulent thoughts.

There might have been some way he could have prevented Hermione from procuring the vehicle and driving back here alone, but he hadn't come up any convincing arguments before she took off for Aberdeen, just after she had breathlessly informed him that there wasn't a moment to waste. It wasn't as if he could have taken those transport duties on himself -- of course he had never learnt to drive. What would have been the point, when one had Apparition and the Floo network and broomsticks?

All lovely inventions…when they worked. Now he found himself in the unenviable position of being a wizard who had no magic, thus rendering him quite superfluous. He knew he would be the one providing the majority of the muscle when it came to actually caging the beast, but even that thought rankled, since it reduced him to a strong back and not much more.

He tried not to imagine the worst -- Hermione stranded on a lonely highway somewhere with a broken-down vehicle, or skidding off the road altogether because of a patch of ice or a blown tire. Accidents happened to Muggles all the time, after all. And the more he attempted to push those thoughts out of his mind, the more they seemed to crowd in.

Too many years of envisioning the worst and planning for it, he supposed. That had to be the reason for his restlessness now. He didn't want to admit that it might be because of a more particular interest in the well-being of a certain Muggle-born young witch.

He crossed his arms and glared across the dimly lit cellar. Since there was no way of lighting the room magically, he'd brought one of the candelabras from his room with him. Better to do that than waste the batteries in the torches they'd lifted from Filch's office.

After Hermione had left on her dubious errand, Snape had gone to Professor McGonagall's office to inform her of their findings and the plan to remove the creature from Hogwarts. She'd seemed relieved at first to learn that there was a relatively simple solution to the problem, but once she had thanked him for finding the answer to the mystery, she added,

"And do you truly think you and Miss Granger will be able to capture this beast on your own, with no magic to aid you?"

He'd given the matter some thought, so he was able to reply without hesitation. "Yes. I plan to enlist the house-elves' aid. They work well enough with Miss Granger, and since their magic is not affected, they will be able to cast spells to keep the creature from attacking any of us."

McGonagall's expression seemed to indicate that she wasn't entirely pleased with this scheme, but they had few options, short of going after the thing with a tranquilizer gun. Good thing he hadn't mentioned that notion to Hermione, or no doubt she would have raided the Aberdeen zoo on her way back from procuring the lorry.

"So strange that we have to resort to Muggle technology to get us out of this mess," she said. "If Professor Dumbledore were still with us, perhaps he would use this occasion to comment on the hubris of the wizarding world." A quirk of one thin eyebrow. "I, on the other hand, can only say I'm glad to know that these creatures aren't particularly fecund. Otherwise, we would have had a much larger problem to deal with."

Too true. If Scotland had suddenly swarmed with hundreds of magic-repelling monsters, then no doubt the Ministry would have undertaken a large-scale program of extermination. He'd always viewed the agency as a necessary evil, and it could be quite ham-handed when it came to managing complex issues. There was no way Kingsley Shacklebolt could have foreseen the true cause of magic's loss at Hogwarts, but it seemed that his decision to call in Snape and Hermione Granger instead of assigning the problem to a squad of Aurors had been a wise one.

Snape nodded. "As it is, we hope to have the matter well in hand very soon."

"And then?"

"And then?" he echoed. "I return to Cornwall."

A flicker of disappointment showed in her faded blue eyes and was gone. "Back to your forced exile? The wizarding world is the less for your absence, Severus. I had hoped -- that is, both Kingsley and I had hoped that, after you had completed your mission here, you might rethink your decision to live so apart from everyone."

"Hardly," he replied without thinking, but as the word left his lips he wondered if he believed his own protests. There had been something rather comforting about being back at Hogwarts, even in its changed state. He hadn't grasped quite how much he missed the place until he walked its corridors once again.

Better to blame his sudden confusion on ambivalence toward his status in general, and not a certain brown-eyed witch. As annoying as Hermione could be at times, he thought he rather enjoyed her company. A little pang struck him as he realized that he might not see her after today. Once their mission was accomplished, she had nothing to hold her here. She'd return to London and her family and friends.

And Ron Weasley.

That thought was as unpleasant as it was unwelcome. He'd muttered something to Professor McGonagall about not wanting to leave the creature unattended for too much longer, then made his retreat. Once he was back in the cellar, he found he had little to occupy himself…except his own traitorous thoughts.

Really, what was the matter with him? Exile had suited him well enough these past five years. Why on earth would he want to change that pleasantly melancholy status quo? More to the point, who would make him want to change the life he had ordered for himself?

He didn't want to think of Hermione, but he couldn't help seeing her in his mind's eye, the excitement plain in her features as he read the excerpts from that long-ago Hufflepuff's diary, the way her mouth had parted slightly as she listened in rapt attention. If he were forced to admit such a thing, he would have to say that she'd grown up to have a very kissable mouth.

Insanity. She was -- well, she wasn't exactly half his age, but close enough that it made little difference. And even if that glaring discrepancy didn't matter, there was the little matter of Ronald Weasley. Or the fact that Hermione Granger was probably the last woman in the world to ever look at him as anything except her former Potions professor at best, and a bitter, sour-faced recluse at worst.

"Professor!"

He started at the sound of her voice and turned. She stood in the doorway between the fifth and the sixth cellar, one of the pilfered torches in her hand. Before setting out for Aberdeen, she'd Apparated back to her flat in order to fetch some Muggle attire, so she stood before him in jeans and a dark jumper and oversized wool coat. Above the shapeless clothing her face seemed incongruously delicate.

At least she hadn't broken down somewhere in the Scottish highlands, or skidded on a patch of ice into a ditch. He forced a deliberately casual note into his voice as he said, "Miss Granger. I assume you were successful."

"If by 'successful' you mean, was I swindled by the criminal who runs the rental agency, then yes, I was." She crossed the room to stand next to him and looked at the door to the seventh cellar. Once again he was uncomfortably aware of the fine scent that rose from her loose hair. "No change here, I see."

"No, none." He cleared his throat. "The lorry?"

"Backed right up to the castle's front entrance." For some reason she didn't quite meet his eyes as she added, "I kept thinking I was going to get struck by a bolt of lightning for such Muggle temerity, but of course nothing happened."

Snape knew the spells that once protected Hogwarts were far more subtle than that, but he didn't bother to correct her. It was difficult enough to be back in her presence, to hear the London-tinted alto of her voice and watch the terribly distracting curve of her lips. Madness. He'd just have to keep his wits about him for a few more hours. Then the creature would be gone, and she would have no reason to remain here. She would be gone as well, and he could return to his self-imposed solitude not too much the worse for wear.

"I spoke to the house-elves while you were gone," he said. "As you can imagine, they weren't terribly keen, but they have agreed to help."

"Maybe I should have been the one to talk to them."

They'd been over this before. "No need. Although if you would like to be the one to fetch them -- "

"You're ready." It wasn't a question.

"As ready as can be."

"Then I'll have them help get the cage out of the lorry. We shouldn't be more than a few minutes." She pressed the torch into his hand, said, "You need this more than I do," and was gone.

He supposed she was right. After all, she'd be returning with several house-elves in tow. They could manage illuminating the cellars for her. The candles he'd brought with him kept the darkness at bay, but of course the light they cast wasn't as strong as that given off by the heavy-duty aluminum Muggle device he now held.

Just to test it, he pushed his finger against the switch. A bright bar of white light flashed across the chamber, illuminating the sacks of flour and unground grain stacked up against the wall. A rat paused for a few seconds in the middle of the floor, most likely blinded by the harsh beam that had just caught it. Then it scurried off into a far corner and disappeared.

For some reason, Snape found the presence of the rat to be vaguely heartening. Something else survived down here, at any rate. He wondered then what the creature in the seventh cellar actually ate.

A series of pops, and five house-elves, one of whom clutched Hermione by the arm, burst into the cellar. The other four supported a largish steel cage, one whose door appeared to be held shut by a simple sliding latch. Snape gave it a quick glance and murmured a silent word of thanks that Hermione had possessed the native intelligence to steal a cage without a lock.

She murmured a thank-you to the house-elf who had brought her here by side-along Apparition, then approached Snape. "They're willing to hold the cage if we're the ones to open the door."

House-elves were not known for their personal bravery. He hadn't expected any more of them. "That should do. I'll enter the chamber and herd the beast toward the cage. You be ready with the door."

It was hard to tell for sure in the cellar's chancy light, but her cheeks looked a little pale. "Must you? That is, perhaps there is some other way -- "

"There is no guarantee the creature will come into the cage if someone does not encourage it to do so. We know now that it is not dangerous in and of itself. However, there is still a chance it could knock one of us down as it tries to escape. Better that I, as the larger of us two, should be the one to go into the cellar."

He half expected her to argue further, but after a brief pause she nodded. "I don't like it, but I suppose you're right."

To be honest, he didn't like it much, either, but there was no point in delaying. He looked past her to the house-elves, who still flanked the cage. "Look sharp," he instructed them. "I will go into the seventh cellar, and Miss Granger will man the door. Hold the cage steady, and be prepared for the creature to put up a good amount of resistance to being put in the cage."

They all exchanged uneasy glances. But a house-elf would rather cut off its own hand than challenge a wizard master's direct order, so as one they tightened their grip on the cage and waited.

Nothing for it, then. He directed them to leave a bit of clearance between the door to the seventh cellar and the cage so that he could squeeze past. Then he put his hand on the cold iron handle and lifted the latch.