They went to Hogwarts the next day. Severus woke her early, blankets thrown off the bed, fingers and tongue deep inside her.

"Good morning," he hummed when her aftershocks subsided, sliding up to lie with her and hold her close. She kissed him, tasting herself in his mouth. Her skin was twitching with little happy shivers.

"Good morning." She ran her hands along him, finding his cock between them and guiding it into her. He groaned, kissing her, rolling them so that he was on top.

Hermione pulled her knees up, moving with him. His fingers locked with hers above her head. His eyes didn't leave hers as he began moving. He thrust deep each time, sliding almost out of her and them slamming back in. She was gasping, shouting his name.

"I wish every morning could be like this," he said, pulling her close again and burying his face in her hair. His lips brushed her neck as he spoke, setting her shivering with anticipation all over again.

"When the war is over, every morning will be like this," she said. She looked into his eyes and dared him to contradict her. When the war is over, she thought, and hoped he wasn't listening in, we will either have won, in which case we can do this every morning, died, in which case we'll hopefully be together in some afterlife and can lie together for eternity, or the Dark Lord will have won, and with any luck Severus will still be a member of the inner circle and he'll be able to claim me as a Mudblood slave for services rendered or something.

Not that, he thought back to her, glaring. He'd been listening in, which was annoying, but they really couldn't help it most of the time.

"I love you, Severus."

He kissed her.

They went about the morning as if the world wasn't spinning sideways, or tried to. They lay in bed for a bit snogging like teenagers—exuberant, enthusiastic kisses—then went to the kitchen and she cooked eggs while he stood nearby flirting. Then they showered, working up the muster for another good fuck. She screamed her climax, screamed his name, and he burst in her, holding her close and standing there in the stream of hot water.

Severus dressed in his teaching robes, which she hadn't seen in awhile. They hung well on him, adding to his imposing figure. She trailed her fingers down a seam in the flowing fabric under his arm, tucking it into proper place. It was odd seeing him in the familiar robes after so long in more casual summer robes or even jeans. She told him so, and he laughed.

"I prefer jeans, actually," he said, sliding his wand up his sleeve and tucking a curl behind her ear. She was dressed in full robes, too—deep plum brocade. "Don't tell."

She caught the hand that had tucked her hair and turned it palm up so that she could kiss it right in the middle, the way he had the night they'd rescued her parents. "Never."

"I love you, witch," he said, his voice tight. She smiled at him, and he turned his hand in her grasp so that he could cup her cheek. His gaze was intense; it was like he was looking straight through her face and into her soul." When this is over, I will follow you to the end of the world, Hermione Snape."

She felt the tears coming and wished they wouldn't. They didn't have time to cry. She didn't have time to cry. (Why the hell couldn't she stop crying lately?) They had to go to Hogwarts and make sure the wards accepted her as the spouse of the headmaster, just in case. They had to save the whole fucking world.

"Oh, my darling, don't cry," he said, pulling her close. His hand was on the back of her head, holding her to his chest, and he wrapped the other arm around her, too. His voluminous robes settled around them, warm and comfortable, smelling of potions ingredients and the cold stone walls of the Hogwarts dungeons.

"It already is the end of the world, Severus," she said when she could. She'd fisted her hands in his robes, and that helped ground her.

Severus pulled back, putting a hand on each side of her face and looking her in the eye. His eyes were black. Ink. So much swirling emotion and intensity, and somehow the rest of the world thought he was cold and withdrawn.

"It isn't the end of the world. Not yet." He kissed her forehead. "That's why we fight."

And if he, of all people, could say something like that, she had to believe it was true.

They passed the morning packing. One way or the other, they wouldn't be coming back to the flat much for the duration. Hermione would be with the Order, with Potter. He would be at Hogwarts.

"What are you going to do with these?" he asked, peering into the last box. They'd been through most of everything; he'd just extracted the useful things from his bedside table and Vanished the rest, and she had the last boxes from the back of the closet on the bed. The box he was looking into contained school books from her first years at Hogwarts. He picked up Magical Me off the top of the box, gritting his teeth with a palm-sized Lockhart grinned smarmily up at him, tossing his hair.

I spent an alarming amount of time that year trying not to punch that man in the throat, he reflected.

"Keep them for the kids, I think," she said. Her back was to him as she sorted through a different box of books so she didn't see him grab the foot of the bed for support when his knees suddenly gave out.

So offhand. Just—'the kids.' As if they're a given.

Of course, they're a given, Severus. She was looking straight at him now, projecting that thought into him.

He sat down on the bed. He looked down at the book in his hand again, watching the Lockhart on the cover adjust the drape of his cloak.

"You'll keep this one for the kids?" He couldn't help it if 'the kids' came out a bit tighter than the other words.

"Hm?" Hermione walked around to look at what he was holding. "Oh hell no. I thought I got rid of that ages ago. Look, here's the one from the toad, too."

She dumped the box out and quickly sorted them into Keep and Pitch piles.

Severus smiled as he watched, remembering. In the first months of her first year, she'd been the only Gryffindor he'd been able to tolerate—she was more like a Ravenclaw, with her hand constantly in the air, her complete and timely homework assignments, and her quiet demeanor. But then she'd become friends with Potter and Weasley, and the rest was history. He had mourned the loss of a decent student, watched her turn into a delinquent. Worse, a clever delinquent. Potter and Weasley plotted, and she made the plots reality. A teacher's nightmare, and now a thorn in the Dark Lord's side.

"You know," he said, picking up her first year Potions book. "Minerva used to spend long hours lamenting the state of your education." She raised an eyebrow at him. "She'd wax lyrical on how those boys had corrupted you, how they would drag you down. If Dumbledore was unfortunate enough to visit the staff room at the same time she was marking something of yours, she'd pounce on him. Talk his ear off about how it was only a matter of time before those two got themselves expelled—there were only so many excuses that could be made—and she wished he would do something to keep them from dragging her precious Miss Granger down with them."

"That's 'the precious Madam Snape' now," she corrected, tapping the tip of his nose with a fingertip.

Severus smirked at her. Thinking of her as his wife, hearing her call herself Madam Snape, was not commonplace. He hadn't adjusted to it yet. It snuck up on his more often than not, making parts of him go melty. And other parts tended to do the opposite of melt.

"You are precious, Madame Snape," he said, cursing his own sentimentality but unable to keep himself from it, apparently. It made her smile, though.

"And you, Master Snape." She was teasing him, smiling. Flirting.

Do people normally flirt with their spouses? How the hell does this work?

"I suppose it would be Headmaster Snape, not Master."

"Master is still correct," he said, making a grab for a conversation he knew how to have. Official titles he could handle. Flirting could be shelved for later. "Masters of any subject are always Masters—or Madams, as the case may be." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and suddenly the flirting was back off the shelf. Damn. "And, to be perfectly honest, I would really rather you didn't call me Headmaster."

"What about Professor Snape?" she asked, and then they both winced.

"Decidedly not," he said, scowling. She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head.

"Agreed."

They were quiet for a bit, letting the elephant settle into the room with them.

"I was surprised your parents didn't make more of a fuss about that particular point," he said eventually.

"I think they were more concerned about the part where they walked in on us this morning," she replied. He met her eyes, surprised to see the twinkle there.

"As far as I could tell," he said slowly, knowing it would ruin the mood if he said it but still wanting to say it, "they were more hung up about scars than they were about sex."

"Yes," she said.

Hermione looked down at her arms. They were covered in little lines, some from brewing but some obviously not. He knew the story for most of them. And then there were the swirls from the Cruciatus. Her parents wouldn't know what those were from, but they would have been curious. He was glad there hadn't been time for that conversation.

"Dodged that bullet, for the moment," she said, looking up from her arms to smile at him again. He was just as glad as she was to set the conversation aside.

They finished their packing quickly. They left most of the things in the flat; they could come back if they desperately needed any of it, after all. He took particular pleasure in watching her burn the Ministry-approved Defense Against the Dark Arts texts, and Vanished the ashes for her.

Finished, they retired to the sitting room. He lay back on the sofa and she settled into the space conveniently made between his legs with the one leg stretched out along the cushions and the other foot on the floor. She sat back against his chest, and he moved her hair so that it was on his shoulder instead of in his face.

"Does it bother you, Severus?" she asked after quite awhile.

"Does what bother me?"

"That I was your student." She sounded like she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "It was more recent for you than for me. I don't actually think of it very often."

"Not really," he said. "Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how I'm glad you grew out of this or that, or thinking of an essay you wrote for Potions, but—" He sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain it. "I don't think of it often, either. And you've really changed so much since you were in my classroom. Or at least when you were truly a student sitting in my classroom."

"I certainly don't feel like I'm the same person who sat in your classroom."

Deliberately, he ran his hand down the line of her neck, around the outside of her breast, down her ribs, spreading his fingers at her waist and settling his hand on her hip. "No, you certainly don't."

"Your father asked me if you were okay," Severus said. Hermione had just settled into a pleasant head space where she wasn't thinking of anything at all, just relaxing into the warmth of him.

"What did you tell him?"

"She's clever, and she's strong, and she will make it," he said, the timbre of his voice telling her that he was repeating it the way he'd said it to her dad.

"That's not really an answer."

He chuckled, the vibration of his chest tingling nicely through her.

"He didn't really want an answer."

"Hm."

After that, Severus got up to make lunch. She liked to watch him; it was almost like watching him in Potions class. Steady hands chopped and stirred. It was soothing.

She didn't get much time to watch him this time around. He made some sort of sauce and spread it on bread, added meat, lettuce and cheese, then grabbed the bag of crisps and brought it out to her on the couch.

"Thank you."

She had no idea what he'd put in the sauce, but it was very good. They sat for a bit, eating and chatting about nothing. Hermione washed up because he had put it all together. After, they were back on the couch holding each other.

"So how did it go with your parents?"

"Good." She sighed. Her hands drew nervous lines up and down his forearms. "Great. I forged a bunch of paperwork. Removed myself from their minds. It was awesome."

"Necessary, though."

"Yes." There was another pause. "I sent them to Melbourne. I don't know where they'll go from there, but first they'll be in a nice hotel in Melbourne and they'll feel inclined to travel Australia."

"Try thinking of it as a vacation," he suggested, knowing it was a stupid suggestion. She laughed without humor.

"An involuntary one."

"It will keep them safe."

They left for Hogwarts twenty minutes later.

\\

The school was completely empty.

Oh, there were the ghosts and house elves, but there were no witches or wizards. Hagrid wasn't even there. Severus explained that it was part of the turnover process, the castle recognizing and accepting the headmaster before the start of his first term. It was also part of his killing Dumbledore and the other professors not wanting anything to do with him.

At the gate, Severus tapped the heavy square in the middle where there would be a keyhole on a Muggle gate. The wards shimmered blue when he did. She did the same thing, and this time the wards shimmered colorlessly, like heat rising off pavement.

They closed the gates behind them and walked across the grounds hand in hand. It was the first time they'd held hands in what was technically a public place. It made her heart beat a little faster, and she squeezed his hand. He looked down at her, smiling, and squeezed back. It made her tear up again.

"This is bloody ridiculous," she said, wiping the tears away with her free hand. You'd almost think I was pregnant, she thought, and almost laughed at herself aloud. She took a very reliable contraceptive potion once a year. It was technically good for closer to two years, but overlapping the doses made it a guarantee. The only things that could counteract the potion was the actual antidote, for when a baby was desired, or Blood Replenishing Potion, and she hadn't had any of that.

"It's lovely here," Severus said, ignoring her tears and her complaints about them. They had stopped walking, standing at a point on the path from the gates where the grounds opened up for a view almost as good as the one from the lake. The castle was in full view, the lake shimmering off to one side, the goals of the Quidditch pitch just visible off to the other side. Looking down and over, there was Hagrid's hut.

"Magical," Hermione said, and neither of them caught the pun.

"Some of the most miserable experiences of my life have happened in this place, and I still love it here."

"It's Hogwarts," Hermione said, understanding him perfectly.

Instead of going in, as Severus seemed to have expected, Hermione took him around to Dumbledore's tomb. When he realized where they were going, his footsteps slowed, but he didn't stop or protest. They stood for a long time at the tomb, and for once their thoughts were their own. Hermione still hated Dumbledore most of the time, but she wasn't glad he was dead.

The castle was even emptier than the grounds, or at least they felt that way. It wasn't impossible even during the school year to find the grounds empty at the right time. The castle was never empty. There were always people dashing to class or Quidditch, or just milling about.

Severus tapped the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office with his wand, and it obligingly stepped out of the way. He held her close on the moving staircase, squeezing her almost too tightly when he opened the door to Dumbledore's office.

It was exactly as it always was. Strange contraptions all around, tall bookcases, and the portraits of former headmasters. And there was Albus Dumbledore directly behind the desk. His painted self was only a touch smaller than life size. He wore pale blue robes. He sat in a Gryffindor red wingback. Dumbledore was looking at them over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. The rest of the portraits were doing the same, though most of them didn't have the spectacles. The room was absolutely silent.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, smiling warmly. "Welcome."

"Headmaster," Severus replied, his voice trembling only slightly. Hermione squeezed his hand.

"And Miss Granger? What a surprise," Dumbledore said. He didn't look surprised, though. In fact, he looked downright unhappy to see her.

"The new headmaster always brings his wife to set the wards," Severus said sharply. He was glaring at his predecessor's painted form.

"His wife?" Dumbledore asked, and the question was echoed by a few other portraits around the room. One of them, Phineas Nigelus if she wasn't mistaken (he had a portrait at Grimmauld Place), cackled.

"Indeed," Severus said darkly.

They entered the office properly. It was a beautiful room, or would be if it wasn't so cluttered. The instruments on their tables filled the foyer area of the room. There was a fireplace off to one side with comfortable-looking armchairs and Fawkes's empty perch. The nook on the opposite side had a large cabinet and a decorative table with a chess set on it, the pieces spread across the board mid-game. There were archways on either side of the desk, both leading to a small private sitting area with a pair of comfortable sofas and many bookcases; there was a floor-to-ceiling window along the outside wall of that room, giving a perfect view of the grounds. Almost hidden next to the fireplace was a spiral staircase made of the same stone as the walls; the only reason she'd noticed it was because there were no portraits hanging on it.

The two of them went around the room. Severus would tap something with his wand and it would shimmer blue, then she would tap the thing and it would shimmer colorlessly. They touched each strange device, the door, the window in the back sitting room.

As they did this, Hermione could feel the castle noticing her. Severus shivered, and she knew he felt it too, probably even more so. After tapping a little device that look a bit like a flask suspended on a tripod over a fire, only without the fire, she was suddenly aware that they were the only people in the school, that Peeves was in the Charms corridor arguing with the Bloody Baron, that Nearly Headless Nick was in the Divinations classroom, that the Grey Lady was in the gallery by the library.

"Your wife?" Dumbledore asked when they'd finished. They'd come to stand in front of the desk, looking at the former headmaster. He looked back at them, clearly disapproving.

"Yes," Severus said plainly.

"That was a horrible mistake. What were you thinking?" Hermione couldn't decide which of them the comment was directed to. It didn't matter, though; she was annoyed.

"I love her, that's what I was thinking," Severus shot back. Hermione felt that little fire in her chest burn brighter to hear it said aloud in front of somebody else, even if it was just a portrait. And he was defending their relationship, too. It was obnoxious that he had to to this particular wizard, of all people, and a painting to boot, but it still made her feel… good. She felt good. She was happy. She liked to see how annoyed Severus was about it.

"There's a war on, boy," Dumbledore's portrait said, condescending. "What an awful time to—"

"It's the perfect time," Hermione cut in, standing a little straighter so she could glare properly.

"Don't you start, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said sharply, his eyes darting to her before he focused back on Severus. "What if somebody found out, hm? You both are in enough danger already. What would—"

"Madam Snape," Severus said. His eyes were closed and he was leaning forward on his fists against the desk.

"What?" the portrait asked, cutting itself off to blink at Severus.

"She is not Miss Granger," Severus said, opening his eyes to look up at Dumbledore. For once, his face was naked. The emotions were clearly written there, and it stirred that little fire in her chest up a bit more. "She is Hermione Snape. Madam Snape. She is my wife."

"It hardly—"

Severus held out a hand for her and she took it, and for some reason that effectively silenced Dumbledore. Hermione wrapped his hand in both of hers and brought it to her chest, wondering if he could feel that little fire he lit in her. She looked up into his face, leaning into him so that she was against his chest. He was still glaring at the portrait.

"Severus," Dumbledore spluttered, "what about our plans? What about Harry?"

"What about Potter?" Severus asked, looking surprised. Hermione looked over at the portrait, too, raising an eyebrow.

"There is so much to be done…"

"It will still be done, Headmaster," Hermione said. "Now we just have something to fight for."

"There was always something to fight for," Dumbledore said, perhaps a touch sharply. Hermione just smiled, leaning her head against Severus again but still looking at the portrait.

"Something even better, then," she said.

"The best incentive in the world to see this shit through," Severus said. They were both thinking about Dumbledore's plan for Harry to die. Harry the Horcrux.

The portrait fell silent, and none of the others seemed to have anything to say, either. Severus kissed the top of her head and stepped away, rummaging through the desk for a moment before giving up on whatever he'd been looking for.

"Let's go up," he said.

Hermione followed him up the stone stairs to the private rooms. The first was a sitting room. It was somehow cozy despite the vaulted ceilings. There was a large fireplace, a matched set of armchairs and loveseat, a thick rug, and more bookcases. Like the back sitting room in the office, large windows dominated the outside wall, letting in a wonderful abundance of natural light and giving a brilliant view.

The bedroom was atrocious. The bed was a huge four-poster, the rugs soft, the wardrobe beautifully carved. There were two end tables carved to match the wardrobe. There was a delightful lack of portraiture. There were several tall, narrow windows and two deep window seats with cushions, all with great views. The problem was the colors. The hangings were yellow-gold, the comforter was Gryffindor red, the rugs were layers of vibrant contrasting colors. The cushions in one window seat were Irish green, the cushions in the other deep violet. The curtains were royal blue and speckled with shimmering silver stars and moons.

"Oh, God," Hermione said when she saw it. The headmaster had no taste.

"Balls," Severus said, which made Hermione laugh.

They spent a very pleasant afternoon putting things right. House elves were called, and alternative furnishing were retrieved from storage. In the end, the bed hangings were the color of cream and the comforter was a rich forest green. There were fewer rugs, and those that remained were burgundy or warm brown. The cushions in both window seats were the same cream as the hangings with a brown-gold hint to the piping. The curtains on the windows were green to match the comforter.

In the sitting room, they traded the loveseat for a proper sofa, and had the elves take away the personal knickknacks on the bookshelves—Severus had almost as many books as Dumbledore, and he would need room for them.

"I'm not going to change the office," Severus told her over supper. They were sitting in his private sitting room, having just finished negotiating a proper sofa out of the house elves. "It will remind me of our goals, I think."

"And it will drive the professors crazy," Hermione said, smiling at him. She could almost imagine the look on Minerva's face when she entered the office and found it the same except for the man behind the desk. It would hurt, probably. It would hurt Severus, too. The Death Eaters that would be at the school would expect it, though. And some of the other professors who hadn't been so close to Dumbledore for so long would have properly amusing reactions.

"Yes it will." Severus said.

\\

They christened his new bedroom that night. Actually, they christened his new sitting room that night, and the bedroom the next morning. Dumbledore gave them a knowing, reproachful look when they descended the next morning, but they both ignored it.

"I'll see you when I see you," Hermione said, kissing him goodbye. She'd meant it to be a chaste kiss, there in front of the portraits, but he pulled her close to him and, though the kiss was indeed chaste, he held her for a long moment. A few of the portraits cleared their throats uncomfortably.

"Yes," he said, then stood up straighter and sneered (though it wasn't as effective, since she could feel the nerves radiating off him). "I have an obscene amount of paperwork to get through before the professors begin to arrive."

"I love you, Severus," she said, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. The arrogant mask came crashing down, and he kissed her again. Not chastely.

"No," he said, pulling back, shoving his hands through his hair. "Go. I love you, too."

She smiled, shivering when he kissed her palm. She wanted him, and she wanted him badly, and she could feel his desire for her wafting off him, radiating from his thoughts.

"Go on," he said, but he was still holding her hand.

"This is so stupid," she said, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. He held her.

Finally, she looked up at him. They absolutely could not linger any longer. He leaned down and kissed her goodbye again, and she took her arms back, wrapping them around herself instead, feeling very small and empty at the thought of leaving him.

"Go on," he said.

If you don't leave now, I'll never be able to pull myself together in time for the professors to arrive. The thought traveled to her as clearly as if it had been her own.

She wanted to tell him to be careful, and to remember to eat, and that she'd try not to drink so much since he wasn't there to brew his clever hangover cures that remedied liver damage too.

"I know, Hermione," he said, and she smiled. Sometimes sharing thoughts was obnoxious and invasive, but sometimes it wasn't. His features softened again. "I love you."

She Disapparated.

She'd wanted to go to him again. She'd wanted to chain herself to his bed and refuse to be budged, and damn the war. She'd known better.

It was strange to be able to Apparate inside Hogwarts, but it was also a perk. It could be useful in the future. It had been useful, in fact; if she'd stayed…

Compartmentalize, she told herself. Put it in a box and leave it for later. You have things to do.

She did. She put away that little ache from knowing she wouldn't see him for awhile, packaged it up with her worries for his wellbeing and her curiosities about headmasters' wives of the past, and boxed it all up for later.

The line of the wards was set well out from the house, so Hermione had time to think about it all while she walked up to the Burrow. There were other things to worry about, too. It was a Saturday; everybody would be home. Charlie, Fred and George weren't in residence, but chances were good that the twins would be present anyway. Fleur would be there, too. Then there was the Order; they'd be slowly gathering over the course of the afternoon. She couldn't decide if it would be worse to face them all at once when she walked in or watching the individual reaction of each newcomer.

Of all people, it was the twins Hermione came on first. They were out de-gnoming the garden, striding around and jabbing their wands at the ugly little things, sending them spinning up and away over the fence. Every once in awhile, one twin would send a gnome shooting toward the other and a scuffle would break out while the lucky gnome would dart back under the leaves.

"Did you escape the house willingly or were you banished?" she asked, leaning on the fence. The twins beamed at her after they'd finished spinning around to face her and looking surprised.

"Banished," said Fred.

"Willingly," said George at the same time. They looked at each other, smirked.

"Willingly banished," amended Fred.

"Got kicked out on purpose," said George.

"Do you advise staying out here, then? Or shall I go in and get it over with?"

"Out here," said George.

"Definitely out here," said Fred, nodding. "Mum just found out that Bill and Fleur took advantage of Charlie not arriving 'til tomorrow and shacked up together last night."

"Yeah, because I'm sure they spoiled a really novel experience," George added. "I mean—they've only been practically living together."

"So she's having a bit of a fit," said Fred.

"A bit," said George. They rolled their eyes at each other. Hermione smiled.

"And it's not like we don't all know Bill was born five months after their wedding. Basic math tells us—"

"—they'd certainly never do the deed before their wedding night. No siree."

"We're very good at math," said Fred. "We run a business."

Hermione grinned at them, feeling lighter.

She hadn't thought much about Wizarding traditions regarding sex and marriage. She'd looked up marriage ceremonies and common practices there, wondering if there were strange rituals to be observed. There were strange rituals that could be observed, but even the most stalwart traditionalists didn't do the dancing naked around a henge thing anymore. She didn't really have a clue about the social norms surrounding it, though. Most of her experience was from Hogwarts, where she'd learned that Lavender Brown was a bit of a tart and probably wasn't a good representative sampling of the population. In France, she hadn't been the only one of the girls in the house to have a semi-live-in boyfriend, but in Alexandria she and Roger had had to be discreet (though she'd assumed it was because they worked together more than anything else). And her relationship with Severus had been far from standard from the beginning—they were currently thoroughly embroiled in what her mother called the infatuation stage as well as the honeymoon period, which, now that she thought about it, explained why they resorted to charms and potions to sooth chafing and strained muscles so often.

"Oooh," George said, grinning knowingly. "What's his name?"

"Yes, do tell," Fred said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Tell all."

"Oh, shut up," she said, standing up from the fence. Sounds of gnomes thumping down outside the garden and the chant of "Hermione's got a boyfriend, Hermione's got a boyfriend" followed her up to the house.

She wondered what they'd say if she told them she hadn't got a boyfriend, she had a husband.

That's obvious, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. They'd ask what his name was.

And no matter how well the twins had taken the summer's revelations about her time travel, she didn't think they'd stand for her being married to Dumbledore's murderer.

Hermione sighed. She'd decided not to think about it, but she'd circled back to it anyway.

She let herself in, glancing around and wondering who she'd meet first. There had been plenty of words at meetings over the summer, her hashing out the very basics of what Dumbledore had had her do. She'd left out most of what had been dragged up in the Prophet, though. Likely when everybody cooled down they'd understand that, but the initial reaction would be to be angry with her for leaving things out.

Tonks was in the kitchen. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Tonks had actually laughed when the truth had come out following Dumbledore's death—something had been 'off' about Sam Barnes, but reconciling that with her being Hermione Granger had worked wonders.

There was an odd dynamic between them now, but it worked. When they'd met, Tonks had been the older one, the cool young Auror in the Order, the closest to Hermione's age. After all the Turning, Hermione was several years older than Tonks. Mostly they were friends now, still feeling each other out but without all the wariness that had been present when Hermione had been Sam Barnes.

"Hi," Hermione said, sliding into the chair across from her.

"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks said cheekily. She set aside the paper, folding it carefully into quarters and setting it on the table next to her. "So… Snape's the headmaster."

"Yeah."

"Awful."

Hermione smiled. Tonks snorted a laugh.

"I wondered, you know," Tonks said. "The scars on your hand. The Muggle Fights were covered in training, see."

"I thought that might be the case," Hermione said, spreading her left hand to look at the scars again, as if she didn't have every line of them memorized. "I used to catch Kingsley looking at them all the time."

They were quiet for a moment, Tonks chewing on her bottom lip.

"Tea," Tonks finally said. "Let's have tea."

"Good idea."

Tonks got up and gathered what they needed. Hermione wished for something stronger, but that wasn't a good idea. They'd be hashing and rehashing the night's plan with the Order soon. She'd probably have a fight with Moody about the contents of the articles in the newspaper. (Any respect he'd had for her being Dumbledore's dragon had dropped by the wayside since Dumbledore's death. Every little thing she did or didn't do had become a sticking point.)

"How are—did you get your parents out?" Tonks asked once they both had a cup of tea in front of them.

"Yes," Hermione said, stirring her tea for something to do with her hands. "It was lucky," she lied. "I had dinner there the night before and decided to stay over on a whim."

"It's good you were there."

"Yeah." She sighed and set her spoon on the saucer. "I've sent them into hiding now. It should be alright."

A/N: 20 points to Nocturnus for being the first to guess.