Hermione pushed her plate away forcefully and declared, "I'm full," for perhaps the fifth time. Snape pushed it right back.

"You aren't through till you've eaten everything," he insisted. "I'll not have you starving yourself—you'll stick to this meal plan if it kills me."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. It'd been a week since her first therapy session and Snape had taken the diet incredibly seriously—he seemed happy to be put to use. Every day since, she ate breakfast and lunch under the careful scrutiny of her friends and dinner with him while they worked. And while at first the amounts she was instructed to eat seemed daunting, slowly the weight was crawling back on and she looked less and less like she was knocking at death's door.

Hermione finally popped the last bite of chicken into her mouth and Snape smiled sincerely as he cleared he dishes. It didn't take much for him to smile these days, and this image was so at odds with the perpetually surly Potions professor that it sent the rest of the students spinning. Hermione wondered what inspired the change, too, and surmised that he was just pleased she was finally listening.

And she was. Something had struck her in Delia's office; she now knew what it would take to ease her mind.

She had to get her revenge, and she had to get it right.

-BREAK-

Snape closed the door with a snap behind his heels and was faced with the now eternally grim faces that comprised the Order. Professor Dumbledore sat at the head of Twelve Grimmauld Place's long dining table and Snape deposited himself into the chair by his side.

"Good morning, Severus," the Headmaster greeted in a tone that was quite at odds with the atmosphere.

Severus merely nodded in return. No pleasantries would be exchanged today. "We have news?"

The question was aimed at Kingsley who, until addressed, had his head bent forward seemingly examining the woodwork of the table. Presently, he straightened, and Snape could see he looked like he'd aged alarmingly since he'd last seen the Auror.

"It isn't good news, unfortunately," he sighed, his soft baritone reverberating off the surrounding stone.

Snape swallowed, but held fast to the blank mask on his face. "You've received word of Miss Granger's rape kit, I presume?"

Kingsley bowed his head deeply in assent, and Mr. Weasley cleared his throat uncomfortably beside him.

"And?"

Kingsley furrowed his brow almost apologetically. "And there were seven semen samples, all right."

Snape loosened—he'd feared something had gone wrong—until he noticed how tense those around him remained.

"The only identifiable sample," Kinsley muttered, "was yours."

Snape felt Lupin's hand rest gently on his shoulder and resisted the urge to throw it off. From the opposite end of the table, Mrs. Weasley's tragic coos burned his ears. McGonagall's lips were drawn in a tight a line as ever. And, to Snape's dismay, Potter and Weasley were fidgeting angrily in their chairs, clearly itching to get their destructive hands on something, anything.

He'd quite like to join them.

Instead, he steadied his breathing. "How can that be?" he muttered through his teeth.

Kingsley shrugged. "We've no idea. The samples are there, but they've been stripped of the markers that Muggles use as means of identification—it's a science I don't understand. All I know is the impossible has happened and legally, you're the only one we'd be able to charge—you know, if she wished."

Snape wracked his mind for a potion or a spell that could explain what Kingsley was saying but even his advanced mind turned up empty. He swung his gaze to meet the somber eyes of the Headmaster who shrugged in response.

"It has stumped as all," he murmured gently.

Snape dropped his head into his hands and allowed his eyes to close against the news that taunted him. No DNA. No prosecutorial possibilities. No case.

No justice.

Snape raised his head, then. "How are we going to tell her?"

To accompany his words, the door of the dining room banged open and they just caught a glimpse of Hermione stowing her wand in her robes once again.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

-BREAK-

The room at once was still, like she'd intruded upon a meeting of statues. Then, chaos ensued.

"Hermione," Harry cried, "we left you in the common room!"

She nodded. "I wasn't aware I was to be locked and chained."

"But," Ron fumbled, "we were talking about going to play Quidditch! You always lose interest when we talk about Quidditch!"

Hermione crossed her arms defiantly. "Not when I know bloody well that the season hasn't started yet, I don't."

McGonagall rounded on the boys and let loose. "You boys had one job, to not raise her suspicions,and you couldn't see to that!"

"Silence," Dumbledore said softly but clearly, and the room immediately obeyed. "I see no use in arguing blame over Miss Granger's arrival; the fact of the matter is that she has indeed arrived, and we must treat her like any other member of the Order."

Hermione nodded in gratitude and occupied the chair that Snape vacated for her. "May I ask what it is you all went to such great lengths to hide from me?"

Kingsley eyed the Headmaster for a moment before bowing his head to her in respect, and probably in shame, as he relayed the same story. To her credit, Hermione remained stony throughout the whole of his pronouncement. She sat still, and was granted silence, for perhaps a full minute after he was through.

Finally, she glanced up, and though her eyes gleaned with tears, she smiled lightly and shrugged. "So, I guess that's that, then."

Mrs. Weasley came bustling over, fresh tears streaming down her own face, and draped an arm around the girl's shoulders. The rest of them shifted uncomfortably, wanting so bad to dispel her statement but knowing perfectly well she was right.

It was Snape who swallowed his guilt for the time being and studied the girl—the woman—in front of him. She sat rigid, patting the back of the woman who was supposed to be comforting her, and shaking the hand of each Order member in turn as they bid her their condolences upon their exits.

He caught her arm before she could follow them, and shut the door she was trying so desperately to squeeze through.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Granger," he murmured dangerously, "but you have no intention of letting them off the hook, do you?"

Hermione struggled internally for a moment before braving her face to him and standing tall. She cocked an eyebrow, blatantly daring him to challenge her, and crossed her arms.

"Not in the slightest."

Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW, thank you!