Not A Paradise

by TheOneWithAQuill

A perfectly happy life took a turn for the dark for Hermione Granger; a perfectly chaotic life of one reclusive Severus Snape became more chaotic with the arrival of a certain young witch in his house. Not a tale of love, but loathe is what you're going to step into. A story that discovers hope, resilience and love in the darkest creases of destiny.

27. Chapter 27

A/N: The last chapter was very well received by all. Thank you so much for that. I'm not all that great with comic scenes, so if I did make you laugh in the last chapter, I'll consider it a big compliment! :)

Chapter 27: Connections and Signals

The time after breakfast and before the first class in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is usually deemed too short by students. But in the meantime when students roamed in the corridor or conspired to miss the first class, their Professors returned to either their personal offices or the staff room in order to prepare for the day.

Except on the weekends, when the Professors and students, both leisurely spent their time to their own will.

On Saturday morning, in the office of the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, another lady was sighted. Her robe was a traditional set of maroon and white, wearing a Healer's cap. Her kind face was contorted in apprehension as she sat opposite the Deputy Headmistress, narrating the issue at hand.

Minerva McGonagall, in turn, was listening to her colleague with grave seriousness. Her lips were pursed in a strict line, every last strand of her hair was tucked into a neat bun and her spectacles were spotless.

"Whatever the matter is, Poppy, please, be comfortable to tell me," the Deputy Headmistress said assuringly.

The said Poppy, in turn, nodded, still ill at ease. "Minerva, please don't get me wrong. I am not putting an allegation on anyone. But it is my duty to the school to report such...suspicions."

The Deputy, Minerva, gave a curt nod in understanding. "Whatever it is that you are here to report, be assured that the name of the bearer of the news will not leave my office."

"Of course, I have my trust in you, Minerva, otherwise I would have gone to the Headmaster," Poppy said. "But I thought that you know both the parties involved better than the Headmaster does..."

"Who are these parties you are referring to?" Minerva asked.

"Miss Granger and...Severus," Poppy said with hesitation.

Minerva blanched. "Severus?"

"I can understand how absurd it will sound, Minerva, but as I said, it is my duty," Poppy said, lightly wringing her hands together. "Miss Granger works under me and is also a student of this school. It is my duty to look out for her."

"I...am not particularly understanding what you are meaning to say, Poppy," the Depiction Headmistress said. "What about Severus and Miss Granger?"

"Well... I had a backache last night, old age, you see..." The Medi-witch of the school began. "So I went to my Hospital Wing to take a potion, sometime before the midnight. I heard somebody speaking from the main Infirmary and thought a student has sneaked in. Do you know whom I encountered with Miss Granger?" the question was seemingly rhetorical. "Severus! At midnight, with the girl! Alone, I must add. The house-elf was sent away."

The other lady plucked her glasses from her face to clean them with her crisp handkerchief. "Surely, Poppy, Severus might be on the rounds and...went to check on her..."

"Severus? Checking on a student, not even one of his House? Even you know how bleak the possibilities of that are, Minerva," the Medi-witch objected. "I have known Severus for decades, since he was a student here. Now, he is my colleague and occasionally my patient. Though we are not on very close terms, I have immense respect for him, as an Order member and a Potions Master. I would have never come to you with an allegation of this nature, Minerva, had they not lied to me on my face."

"Lied?" Minerva frowned.

"Yes," Poppy huffed. "Though Severus was flawless when it came to it, Miss Granger was, at least, hesitant. But I recognised the ploy at once. Severus said that he was summoned, and claimed to have minor gashes on his face, which he let Miss Granger heal as he did not want to disturb me so late at night. I can count one thousand different flaws here, itself."

"Would you like tea, Poppy?" The other lady offered.

"No, thank you," Poppy refused. "Severus hardly seeks my assistance even when he is gravely injured after a summon, then coming to the Infirmary with minor gashes does not bode well. Also, as we know him, Severus would have never trusted a student, a Gryffindor at that, to attend to him. But even if I overlook all that, I could not overlook the very evidence of their lie."

"Evidence?" The Deputy questioned.

"Severus is not a Medi-wizard, neither is Miss Granger so trained, yet, but I have been a Medi-witch all my life!" The woman spoke. "When an injury is healed recently, I can see the lingering traces of the Healing magic on the affected area. I saw no traces on Severus. I deliberately cross-questioned Miss Granger about what spells she used, to which she continued with the lies."

"Surely, Poppy, Miss Granger might have panicked with..." Minerva cleared her throat.

"I am not accusing the young woman, Minerva," Poppy said defensively. "Or Severus. But even you must have seen how Severus defended her in the staff meeting that day when Horace was speaking nonsense."

"That, I would say, was a gracious act, yes," Minerva responded.

"Severus had taken over brewing for Miss Granger and offered his help before I could even ask him," Poppy told her. "Do you not think that this is not how he usually acts? He is usually reluctant to help, even if he later relents. But with Miss Granger..."

The two lady sat in silence for a while, both in deep contemplation. The Medi-witch sighed, "There have been...cases, Minerva, the last one in your own time as a student..."

"Poppy," the Deputy interrupted her. "Your concerns are valid but your conclusion is faulty. But without knowing the details, I admit my reaction would have been the same, too."

"Details?" The Medi-witch straightened up in her chair.

Minerva cleared her throat again. "You do know that Miss Granger will be sworn in as an official Order member in the next meeting?"

"Yes, the Headmaster did tell me before I took her under myself," she nodded.

"Albus has...given a task to her, a mission for the Order," Minerva clarified. "A mission where both, Miss Granger and Severus are to work together."

"What kind of mission?" Poppy questioned. "The condition that the girl is in, currently..."

"That will not be a hindrance, no," the lady said. "While I cannot tell you about the exact task, I can assure you that I am aware of the exact capacity in which they are working."

"Miss Granger is a child!" Poppy objected. "And what could Severus possibly work with her as? He is a spy, his work is very dangerous for a child to be a part of."

"Since the attack on her parents, Poppy, Miss Granger has not been a child by any means," Minerva said gravely. "I cannot reveal how she is working with Severus, but what they are doing is of exceptional help to the Order, to the war. Dangerous, yes, but they are too brave to step down perceiving the danger."

"But she is...so young, Minerva," Poppy said in a whisper.

"It is a bitter truth, Poppy, that this war will snatch several childhoods away. It is a cost we have to bear if we want to win," the Deputy Headmistress said morosely, but with determination. "Miss Granger has lost too much in these unfortunate times. She will not quit."

The Medi-witch's face dropped. "Merlin knows what more will this infernal war demand of us." She swiped two fingers to the corner of her eyes. "I really misunderstood them."

"You were doing your duty, Poppy," Minerva assured her. "All I would ask of you is not keep this conversation to us."

"Of course," The Medi-witch nodded immediately, now embarrassed. She sighed deeply, probably deep in thoughts of the war looming over their heads, and how many more lives will be sacrificed for the victory.

UUUUUUU

Draco was not present at the Slytherin table for lunch. His sidekicks were missing, too. Those dimwitted Crabbe and Goyle brats, though as dull as their sires, were assisting Draco in his task.

Perhaps, Severus thought, he could manipulate the two lada into revealing what the task was that the Dark Lord had assigned to Draco. Even if it took a dose of Veritaserum and an Obliviate, later... But he could not risk that without consulting with Albus. After all, Severus' expertise did not lie with Charms. An Obliviate, if not well-placed, could very well assault one's mind into permanent damage. Albus was an expert at Charms, though.

The two boys did not bear the Mark, unlike Draco. If Severus did administer Veritaserum to them, the knowledge will not travel to the Dark Lord by any means, not that the Dark Mark made the lunatic wizard cognizant to any such happenings. It was only a precaution.

The students, he noticed, were still some aggressive, some frightened by the delivery of the Daily Prophet in the morning. The Great Hall was still in low murmurs rather than incessant chattering and clattering. The Prophet had written a vivid piece on the Birmingham village, Little Brook. They had published the exact number of deaths having taken place, along with the ailing. The article was completed with a rather viscous picture of the village in flames.

Mostly, the Muggle-born students were shaken up. His mind went back to last night when he told Granger of the attack. Not that it would have remained hidden from her, had he not given her the account. The girl did take the news with maturity, not flying into hysterics—especially considering her current plight...

"Severus?" Minerva demanded his attention.

"What?" He said dryly, bringing his focus back to his plate. The steak was well-cooked, but his mind was too wayward to appreciate the delicacy.

"Poppy came to me in the morning," she said. Severus' eyes traveled down the table. The Medi-witch was not present. "What happened yesterday?"

"What did she tell you?" He asked disinterestedly. He had never cared about the opinions others had of him. But Granger was involved, too... Surely, she had a much better reputation than he ever had, among her Professors and the students. Poppy's meddling might affect her.

"You have heard of one Professor William Davis, haven't you?" She said in a low whisper.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" He hissed. "Poppy has a rather bizarre imagination."

The former Professor of Charms, William Davis, had been an employee at Hogwarts around Minerva's schooldays. Suffice it to say that the man was sacked owing to one—rather major—illicit affair with a student whose name was not revealed. Since then, Hogwarts had finally decided to lay down a code of conduct for the teachers. It took the board of governors an illicit affair and an expecting student to realise the importance of a code of conduct. Although what was done with the student in question was not a matter ever discussed openly.

"I told her that you have been given a task to accomplish with Miss Granger," Minerva said. "For the Order."

"Commendable presence of mind," he said dryly. Severus knew that except a handful of his colleagues and Order member, he was still considered a Death Eater or traitor. He was far from popular—with his biased approach to the students and less than amicable disposition, he was not a likely company to seek. But what Severus had never been known as was an abuser. In his career as a Professor, he had never had such felonious allegations to his name.

Until now.

"Severus," Minerva said, "I do understand what the terms of the Wedding-"

"The Dark Wedding!" He hissed.

"Yes, what the terms entail," she continued. "But please, be cautious while Miss Granger is still in the Hospital Wing. I have convinced Poppy, but you cannot be seen with Miss Granger everyday-"

"I do possess a brain, Minerva," he said dismissively.

Now that he thought of it, Poppy would have perceived the worst, finding him with Granger at that ungodly hour. In fact, he inwardly huffed, was he not deserving of the allegation in a way? He had violated the girl who was under his tutelage, whatever the circumstances had been. Even though Granger forgave him—though he could not fathom how—the reality would remain the same.

"Minerva?"

She turned to him, keeping her goblet back on the table.

"What happened to the student?" At her look of puzzlement, he elaborated, "William Davis. The student."

"Oh," she frowned in remembrance. "She was a few years older to me. I believe, she was removed from school."

"By the board of governors?" He inquired.

"Maybe by her guardians. She was left in a rather...delicate condition," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"If this comes into light, Miss Granger will not get away unscathed," he muttered.

"Severus," she said in disapproval. "This is far from what happened back then! It was nasty business."

"And how would we ever prove this differently from that, is beyond me," he snorted derisively.

"Nobody will get to know," she stated.

"Because my luck has always been in my favour," he muttered acerbically, stabbing the tines of his fork in the innocent steak on his plate.

UUUUUUUU

"This is limits!" Ron huffed. "What do they even want to prove by this?" He pointed at the copy of Daily Prophet in Harry's hand. "What motive will killing innocent Muggles accomplish!"

"The show of power," Harry said, crumpling the paper in his hands.

"Rather the show of powerlessness!" Ron spat.

"They want us terrified," Hermione said. She did not tell the boys that she already knew of the attack and acted as shocked as she could when they brought the Prophet to her. Although, reading the article did shake her. It was so vividly described that it was almost gruesome. The moving image printed along had houses and streets burning and people running for their lives.

"It's Voldemort's way to convey that the next attack could be on the Wizarding society," Hermione sighed. "So that we are too terrified to resist his reign."

"In his bloody dreams!" Ron kicked the leg of his chair.

"People will continue to die until Dumbledore decides to make the first move!" Harry finally crumpled the Prophet in a ball. "But he's too afraid to do that! He'd rather people die!"

"No, Harry," Hermione said calmly. "Our side is still very vulnerable to his plans. We are not ready yet."

"And at this rate, we never will be," Ron rolled his eyes. "Right now, we should all be making plans for the war and working on strategies, not attending these useless classes!"

"We're not even allowed into the goddamn Order!" Harry tossed the crumpled ball to a side.

"Hermione," Ron said, "You are joining, right?" She nodded. "At least, one of us will know what the hell's going on."

"After everything that we've done since being Eleven," Harry complained, "This is where they draw a line?"

"Harry, you should talk to Dumbledore," Ron said. "If he's training you to fight him, he bloody well let you join the Order, too!"

"I will!" He said, slamming a fist on Hermione's bedside cabinet.

"Harry!" Hermione took his hand gently. "Hurting yourself is not a way." What a hypocrite, Hermione! She dismissed that voice away quickly.

"Yeah, Mate," Ron agreed. "Look, you insist Dumbledore to let us be in the Order, too. If he expects you to fulfil that ruddy Prophecy, that's the least he could do!"

"I think, Harry, Ron is right. You deserve to know what is happening, first hand, and also make contributions," Hermione agreed.

"If Dumbledore ever listens!" Harry huffed. "He doesn't give a damn what I tell him!"

"He bloody well will!" Ron stood up. "You're the one who has to take the bastard down, Harry!"

"Talk to him, Harry," Hermione said softly. "He has to listen."

Harry and Ron were undoubtedly an imperative part in the war. Their opinions were of essence. Keeping them out of the Order only because they had not attained the age of majority was foolish. The three of them had been fighting battles against Voldemort since their First year. All three of them deserved to be informed of all that the Order was doing.

"I'll talk to him today itself!" Harry said with determination.

"Not today," Hermione said. "He has too much on his plate right now, with the attack on that village. Talk to him in your next private lesson."

"This is the best time to strike, then," Ron said. "When the attack is still fresh on his mind, he won't be able to refuse Harry."

"Our war is not against Professor Dumbledore, Ron," she rolled his eyes. "We need to understand that he is responsible for far too much than we could ever know. We don't have to stand against him, but with him."

That seemed to have made Ron realise. Harry, too, nodded. "Fine, then, I'll talk to him in our next private lesson."

"What d'you do in these lessons, anyway?" Ron asked curiously.

"Can't tell..." Harry mumbled. "I do want to tell but..."

"We won't go galloping around spearing the rumour, Mate," Ron insisted.

"Ron, let it be," Hermione said softly. "Weren't we under the obligation not to tell Harry anything last year?"

"Yeah," he mumbled sheepishly. "Well, I hope whatever he's making you do will help you."

"I don't really know if it will, actually," he sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore should be teaching me Defence or something," Harry said. "He's instead wasting time!"

"I'm sure whatever Professor Dumbledore is teaching you must be of some help to you," Hermione said in an attempt to encourage him.

"Okay, listen," Harry sat up, looking grave. "To hell with secrecy, I'm telling you both."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione frowned. "We're fine if you want it to remain vague."

"No, I need to discuss this," he insisted.

"Wait, then," Hermione interrupted. "Give me your wand."

"Where is yours?" Ron asked while Harry handed his wand to her without hesitance.

"Muffliato," she cast, ignoring Ron's question.

"Where did you learn this from?" Harry asked in fascination.

Hermione returned his wand. "I'll teach you later."

"But where's you wand?" Ron asked again.

"Professor Snape has it," she told them.

Harry's head shot up with a frown. "Why?" He demanded.

"He didn't get a chance to return it since...he found me there..." She shrugged.

"He didn't get a chance to return your wand since two weeks?" Harry's tone was accusatory.

"How are you even managing, Hermione?" Ron asked. "And why does that Greasy Git have your wand in the first place?"

"Ron!" She said warningly. "I don't really have to do anything here, anyway. Karly is here to assist me."

"Still! Why does he have your wand!" Harry seemed aggressive. Hermione doubted there was something more in Harry's words than simple curiosity or annoyance.

"He found it where I had fallen... So he kept it with himself for safety," she shrugged again. "Anyway, Harry, what were you saying?"

"I bet that Git's still kept it only to irritate you," Ron muttered.

"Harry," Hermione prompted, avoiding to comment on Ron. "What were you saying?"

Harry was still fuming over something Hermione could not comprehend. He had always had a dislike for the Professor, but keeping her wand was relatively of not much significance. Did he have a vision?

Oh, no! If that was the case, if Harry had found something out from his vision... Did he know she was working with Professor Snape?

But Hermione did not get long to ruminate it. Harry began with a narration of what transpired in his private lessons with the Headmaster. He told them that Professor Dumbledore showed him memories of Tom Riddle from his childhood. Harry described Professor Dumbledore's memory of the little orphaned boy whom he went to see and give his Hogwarts letter.

He also narrated what happened at the Gaunt House in the memory. By Harry's Narration it was not a wild guess to make that Harry was, in fact, feeling sympathetic towards the boy who grew up to become the darkest wizard of the age.

To some extent, Hermione could comprehended Harry's empathy with the orphan. Of course, her friend might have seen some kind of similarity between the little boy's and his own condition. Now that Hermione knew all too well the pain of being an orphan, she could even feel a hint of sympathy for the child—but only for the child who was driven by his loneliness and feelings of being an outcast. That boy was relatively blameless but being alone, being abused or being an orphan did not, by any means, gave one the liberty to embitter the lives of others.

Professor Snape's childhood had also been far from ideal. He also belonged to an abusive and dysfunctional family. Though the man did take the support of the Dark Arts in the beginning, his current role in the Order was atoning for the wrong choices that he made in his youth. He did not let his dark past drive his present.

Even Harry, who had never even had a chance to know his parents, never steered life towards damaging that of the others, that of the innocents. In fact, Harry had a compassionate heart. Despite not knowing love, he had the capacity to give affection to others, to empathise with others.

Now that Hermione, too, was sailing in the same boat, she knew where she had to channelise her anger, as well. One cannot control what life throws at one, but one can always choose what to make of it.

Just like Professor Snape, Harry and Hermione decided to fight against the wrong; Tom Riddle decided to be the voice of wrong.

"There's one more thing that I might as well tell you now..." Harry said with a sigh, showing how much it—whatever it was about—had been troubling him.

Hermione and Ron trained their eyes on him, giving him rapt attention. "Go on, Harry," Hermione prompted.

"Dumbledore wants me to impress Slughorn somehow," he said.

"Impress Slughorn?" Ron and Hermione frowned.

"Yeah, well, he wants me to get some memory from Slughorn that he's not giving to Dumbledore, but is very important for the war, apparently," Harry explained. "I saw a version of this memory... But the main part was somehow deleted, like blacked out."

"What is this memory about?" Hermione inquired.

"Something to do with Voldemort," he told them, ignoring Ron's flinch. "Voldemort was Slughorn's student, a favourite, in fact. There's one conversation that I'm told to get the real memory of, from Slughorn. But I have no idea how to do that. Slughorn's clearly not impressed with my performance in class."

"Can't Dumbledore just ask him?" Ron suggested. "Or better yet, use Legilimency on him."

"Dumbledore said that Slughorn is a powerful wizard and kind of knows his way around Occlumency to have blacked a certain part out of the memory that Dumbledore now has," Harry said. "I'm losing my sleep over this task!"

"Mate, you should have told us!" Ron rolled his eyes. "We're pro at doing these things."

"I was told not to tell anyone," Harry sighed. "Do you have any ideas how I should go about it?"

"Use Veritaserum," Ron shrugged. "Slughorn will truthfully tell you whatever conversation he had had with...him."

"No, Ron, Harry," Hermione spoke. "Professor Slughorn is a Potions Professor. He might be immune to Veritaserum already, or the Headmaster would have used the Truth Potion on him. We need to find some other way."

"You getting any ideas, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I might know of something," she smirked. "But I have to find out more about it. Until then, go to the Library and grab a few books for me. I'll write you the titles."

"See, Hermione can solve anything, Mate," Ron was laughing, soon joined by Harry who seemed more relieved now.

And just like that, the trio was on another private mission!

UUUUUUU

On Saturday, after lunch, Madam Pomfrey had finally let Hermione shift to her private room in the Isolation Ward.

The corridor to the Isolation Ward had only three rooms, all identical, painted in calming blue. Hermione had gotten the first room in the row.

Karly had brought Hermione's trunk from her dormitory, along with her other belongings. The only one who could not come was Crookshanks and Hermione truly missed her familiar.

Karly had set the small room up for her with great care and much enthuse. The bed was similar to the other beds at the infirmary, minus the curtains. The room had no windows due to the purpose it was used for—to abate communicable diseases. There was a bedside cabinet available. Madam Pomfrey had conjured a small study table for her, too. Karly had brought an armchair in, as well as a stool, considering Hermione's visitors. Her Charmed-Chair was parked in a corner, waiting for its turn to come on Monday. The room even had a joint bath, much to Hermione's relief.

Other than that, the room was simple, but extremely immaculate. The bath was mostly Victorian with claw-footed tub, but it more than sufficed for Hermione.

Now that she had gotten a room, Hermione had gladly relieved herself of the Hospital gown and warn her normal clothes. There, she had faced the extent of problem. She realised that wearing jeans with her injuries was very uncomfortable. But wearing a skirt or a pair of denim shorts would put her bandages on display, and she did not like the idea at all.

She would also not be able to wear her school shoes and socks on Monday. Thankfully, her robes were long enough to cover her feet. She hoped they'd cover the bandages on her feet, too, when she remained sitting in the Chair.

So, she settled for a comfortable long-skirt and blouse. Hermione did not like wearing a robe when not in class—a Muggle attribute. She also left her bed and sat in the armchair, by the study table, with Karly's assistance. She was sick and tired of remaining on a bed!

Hermione decided to start revising for the classes that she had on Monday. She had read the notes and texts of all that the Professors had finished in classes. She had still to take the practical approach, though. Hermione also made a list of all the wand movements she had to ask her Professors to teach her, whenever they had time. Along with that, she also had some research to do for Harry's solution. Though she knew in which direction to go into, she still had to refer the other books that her friends had brought from the Library.

She opened her planner and shook her head. She had made no notes for October, yet. October, the month had already started. Professor Snape had told her that she would have to go before Voldemort before Halloween. They didn't even have a proper month left and Hermione still had to learn to resurface some selected memories successfully. Moreover, they had created only one memory with Polyjuiced Harry, yet.

Once again, she reprimanded herself for her rashness that fateful night! If she did not perform well in front of Voldemort, Professor Snape, too, would bear the brunt of her failure. With all that he had done for her, the least Hermione could do to pay him back was to not become a reason for him to get his covers blown.

So for the forty minutes, Hermione practised resurfacing some selected memories over her Occlumency Shields, deciding to do the revision later.

It proved harder than she thought. Her Shields were slipping if she tried to focus on a particular memory. Sometimes, if she focused on only one memory, the others slipped beneath her Shields.

They also had to determine which other memories she was supposed to keep on top so as not to be suspected by Voldemort. Professor Snape needed to Legilimenize her to determine that.

After some time, she grew tired of practising and opened her textbooks, instead. From Monday, she was to report to Madam Pomfrey again. Life would be back to how it was, save her legs—a reminder to her of her recklessness.

A knock resounded on the door when Hermione was revisiting Harry's Transfiguration notes. "Come in," she called.

The owner of the notes stepped in, looking around the room.

"Harry," she smiled. "At least, it's not after curfew. Come on, in."

Harry closed the door behind him cautiously and Hermione turned back to the notes.

"Miss Granger." Harry said.

"What?" She looked up at him, startled and half-laughing. "What did you- Oh!" It was Professor Snape—under the influence of Polyjuice. "Professor?"

"Indeed," he said, standing by the door with a triumphant smirk.

"That's a clever plan!" She couldn't help the grin that broke on her face. Madam Pomfrey would have no objections to Harry visiting her, that too during the legitimate hours.

"I am glad you approve," he said silkily, and Hermione's grin turned to a soft chuckle on hearing the smooth sarcasm in Harry's voice.

"But where did you get his hair from?" She asked. "I have them, in the zipper."

"I had them in the potion that I took in the Come and Go Room," he replied.

"Oh, yes, I know. It can be stored for three months before the effectiveness of the potion starts to diminish," she said almost unconsciously.

"Five points to Gryffindor," another sarcastic remark from Professor Snape-turned-Harry. Hermione wondered if the points would actually being added to their hourglass.

"Professor, what if Harry actually comes?" She asked. "Or Ginny or someone else?"

"Mr. Potter and the Weasley siblings are practising their infernal game of Quidditch." A foul word for Quidditch from Harry—the world was coming to an end. Hermione bit her cheek to keep from sniggering.

"Please, Sir, have a seat," she gestured towards the empty stool. Hermione pushed against the table to make her chair face the Professor. He, too, dragged his stool closer.

"Sir, did Madam

Pomfrey say something to you?" She asked.

"Not to me," he replied. "But she did go to your Head of House with concerns."

"Oh." She bit her lip.

"She is told that we have been given a task from the Headmaster, which we were in a conversation about," he continued. "Although I doubt she would bring the subject up again. However, if she does, maintain the guise that you knew nothing of her knowledge of our task."

"Does she believe it?" Hermione hoped she did or they would have to encounter more unwanted problems that they already were encountering.

"That cannot be said for certain," he told her. "But whatsoever the case be, do not, under any circumstances, reveal-" He paused. "What I mean is, Miss Granger, if you so see fit, do not reveal anything about the bond to her."

He rephrased his sentence so as not to let the bond take it as a command. "I understand, Sir."

"Professor," she said, "I had a question...about...the night I was found..."

He sat up and nodded for her to ask. Well, talking about it before Harry's doppelgänger was a little disconcerting.

"I am told that Harry was the one who located me on his...Map," Hermione hoped he would not ask questions about the Marauder's Map. "When Professor McGonagall was looking for me. What actually happened? I just...was curious..."

"The band," he held up his left hand. "It began emitting an uncomfortable heat. Do you recall what happened at the beginning of the term while you were dining in the Great Hall?"

How could Hermione have forgotten that episode. "Of course."

"Even then, the band had indicated me with a similar sensation," he told her. "That night, too, I thought that the bond had reacted in an undesirable manner to something. So I had gone to your Head of House, to ask her to check on you."

That was the missing part of the story, Hermione thought. It was because of the band that she was found in time. How very bizarre because the bond and the band by extension were the primary causes of Hermione's rash step.

"I didn't know your band could notify you, too," she said. That popped an idea in her head. "Sir, could the band be used for communication, as well?"

He looked pensive, "I never contemplated that possibility."

"If it can be used like that," she said, "It can really help us in our roles!"

"Yes, the idea does have merits," he agreed. "We must study the connection at length."

Hermione held out her left hand. "The Glamour..."

"Are you sure?" He asked cautiously.

Hermione had never truly set eyes upon the band. She had it under the Glamour as soon as she could. If anything, she had felt nauseous with agitation even to consider its presence.

She released a deep breath before nodding. "Yes."

Acceptance was the key.

He retrieved his wand and spelled the Glamour away, revealing the band on Hermione's finger. He did the similar to his own hand, but the spell was not the Finite but a different, more complicated one. Hermione assumed the reason to be the Polyjuice.

The silver band materialised on Hermione's previously bare third finger. The small black stone engraved in the middle was appealing by no means. For her, it was the bane of her existence, the iron chain that had encaged her so. Her freedom was lost somewhere in the tight hold of the band on her life.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione realised she was staring at the band listlessly. "I'm fine," she mumbled. She mentally shook herself. It was not the time to sulk. "How different is yours?"

He held his hand out, bearing a similar band on his third finger, though broader in size. The stone of his band was bigger than that on hers. Hermione noticed a faded burn scar blemishing the skin around the clean, trimmed nail of his index finger. The skin was smug around the strong, muscles and long fingers. Even so, the budding Healer in her could not miss the few small white spots on his nails, depicting, most likely, a calcium deficiency. He really needed to start caring for himself!

"What does the stone do?" She asked, reminding herself how he peeved out when she had sent a potion for his spasms.

"I have no idea," he said, withdrawing his hand. "Shall we try something?"

"Yes."

Carefully, he rubbed the stone with the pad of the index finger of his other hand. Hermione gasped.

His movements froze immediately. He looked at her in question.

"I can feel it," she said, looking at the band.

"Is it...painful?" He inquired with a slight frown.

"No, it's a mild sensation," she explained. "Like a...vibration."

Next, Hermione repeated the Professor's previous actions, and rubbed the stone.

"Yes, I believe the effect is mutual," he concluded.

"Great!"

"Although I doubt it was originally meant to be used as a means of communication," he said. "We shall try it from a distance."

"We can come to an understanding what the signals indicate," she suggested.

"Alright," he agreed. "But this connection will only be used in dire necessity."

"Of course," she nodded. She was not planning to use it as a means of late night chatter with him, anyway. "One signal can mean...a calling?"

"Yes, a single signal would indicate that the other has to come to the one signalling in emergency," he added. "Two signals in quick succession would indicate that the other leave the vicinity of the one signaling, in case we are in the danger of being discovered by a third person."

"Like yesterday," she said.

"I think two are enough for the time being, unless you want to add something more," he asked.

Nothing else came to her mind regarding the signals. "Can we signal each other even through the Glamour?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We only need to memorise the position of the stone or simply feel it to touch."

Another idea popped in her head. "Can we send verbal signals, too?"

He looked at his finger briefly. "We can certainly try."

"I'll try whispering near it?"

"Yes," he got up. "I will wait in the corridor." He left the room and shut the door behind.

Hermione brought her hand near her lips. "Professor," she whispered, "Can you hear me?"

There was no reply.

"Sir?" She tried again, moving the stone closer to her lips. "Can you hear me?"

Again, there was no answer. With a sigh, Hermione rubbed the stone once, instead. The door opened and Professor Snape-turned-Harry stepped in. At least, the signal worked well.

"Could you hear anything?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Had I heard, I would have not treated your words as rhetorical, Miss Granger," he lowered himself back on the stool.

Hermione ignored his sarcasm. "At least, we know that we have some means to contact."

She held her hand to him again. "Please." He took the hint and concealed the band again. He concealed the one on his finger, too, again with another complex spell.

"Sir," she perked up, "Now that you are already impersonating Harry, why don't we work on another memory?"

"Three admirable ideas in a span of mere minutes, are you planning to compete with your own wits, Miss Granger?" He smirked.

A joke from Professor Snape along with a complement. Another warm day in the dungeons? She grinned, "Just a warm up before rejoining classes, Sir."

He snorted. "I believe, you need a script again?"

"Unless you want me to try acting on spot?" It was Hermione's turn to smirk.

"No, we need not go through such perils, after all," he responded with the same sarcasm.

Hermione provided him with the parchment and a pen that she usually worked with, when not working in a more formal capacity. He took it without complaining. Hermione also gave him a hard book to put under the parchment while he wrote, balancing everything on his lap. Meanwhile, Hermione was given her wand. She fulfilled the cleaning terms.

When the script was ready, they began.

UUUUUUU

After meeting with Granger, Severus went directly to Albus' office. The plan that he had made in regards to Crabbe and Goyle was better put to work as soon as possible.

"I do not think it wise, Severus," was the immediate reply the Headmaster gave.

"Albus," Severus sat up straight, "Draco will not breathe a word of his plan to me. But his little clique of friends does know of it."

"Yes, my boy," the old man said placatingly. "But why do you intend to interrogate his friends, and not Mr. Malfoy himself-"

"Albus," Severus cut him off, "The two boys are daft enough to swallow a drink laced with poison. But Draco will not accept a goblet of water from me. He is even less likely to remain unaware of the Veritaserum. The boy does have a keen interest in Potions. He can sniff and tell that the drink is spiked, if not exactly with the Truth Serum, then by some other potion."

"And you plan to Obliviate the young lads after that?" Albus asked.

"Yes," Severus hissed. The old man took joy in peeving Severus. He had narrated the whole, detailed plan to him not minutes ago.

"But the boys are both under age," Albus pointed out.

"So I am aware," Severus said.

"If we Obliviate an underaged wizard or witch," Albus said, "The spell can tamper with their cognitive abilities permanently."

He pinched the bridge of his nose irritably. Even though the two louts had an incorrigible excuse of brain, Severus would not toy with it.

"When will they turn of age?" Severus asked. The Headmaster had all records of every student with himself.

"Not until next year, in any case," he said. "Most of the students of that batch were born in 1980, barring only a few."

"I have ran out of ideas, Albus!" He huffed. "That Malfoy lad will not budge!"

"Patience, Severus," Albus raised a placating hand. "In time, we will find the way."

"Spare me the philosophy, Headmaster!" Severus snarled. "Do you even realise how less you have!"

"Not much, I am aware," he said with a smile. "But to a well-organised mind, death is but a next great adventure."

"While you will have crossed the bar to set upon your great adventure, we will be here, fighting and sacrificing our lives!" Severus snarled in exasperation.

"I will not go without setting things to right, my boy," the old Headmaster said promisingly.

"If you are implying the war will take place before your lights are out, you are gravely mistaken," Severus hissed. "And if you are implying that you will live long enough to hear the bells of victory, your mind is as good as dead, already."

"This is not how you want to bid farewell to an old friend, my boy." The damn twinkle in the coot's eyes annoyed Severus. Annoyed and reminded him that he would not be seeing that twinkle for long. That burden was too heavy for him to bear alone.

"When are you planning to inform the Order of your plight?" He asked.

"Not now," he said firmly. "They will be panicked."

"I wonder how gracefully they will acknowledge your corpse one fine morning, as an Easter surprise," he said acerbically.

To that, the old man only chuckled, peeving Severus even more.

UUUUUUU

Sunday went in a blur for the most part. Hermione found herself stressing over her school uniform, her notes, and her Chair. She had always known the Chair would make her conspicuous in the crowd, but as Monday was only the next day, she was panicking a little too much.

She had her uniform cleaned and ironed. The length of her robe extended by two inches to cover her feet when she sat. She had tried controlling the Chair again, which was nothing but smooth, if she managed to curb her anxiety.

Hermione had revised all the notes for the classes and prepared the timetable for October. She had a study plan ready, as well as her curriculum of Healing, upto date. She had taken out the time for her Occlumency lessons from her study plans and lesson with the Medi-witch.

Currently, she sat in the armchair, with a mirror in her hand. Hermione was studying the fading scars on her face. The scars on her arm were hidden by her robe or full-sleeved shirts. But the once on her face would not.

The bruising had neatly vanished. The skin around her right eye and lips was clear of any bruises. But the other spots still remained. The one scar on her forehead was still quite prominent, though. It extended from below her hairline to her right eyebrow, barely touching it. She could only imagine how profusely she must have bled from that wound. Other than that, her healed skin had white patches which will take time and sun to go. But all in all, if she considered it in comparison to the first time she had seen her face, it was indeed magical to have recovered so much. Hermione was satisfied and grateful that after her reckless act, her eyes were safe. She put the mirror away.

The other thing that she had found was her watch—Profess Snape's Portkey watch. She had assumed it to have been broken when she fell. But finding it safe in her trunk, she could not help but smile fondly at it. The watch was kept with her other belongings that she had on her person when he fell. Maybe she should return the watch to the Professor.

Hermione wore it on her wrist. The dial looked too big for her narrow wrist, though. Better to keep it in her sight and return it the next time she saw him. Which would be soon.

The day before, they had created another plausible memory with Harry—Polyjuiced. The dialogue had been just as morose. She had been quite affected personally while acting. Telling even Harry's doppelgänger to just give up sent a pang in her heart. Especially after what she had done... Or rather tried to do.

Hermione had written in her diary after the Professor had left. It was cathartic to let go, to jot down all that bothered her. As if penning the words took the worst edge away.

Hermione willed herself to keep from going over the feigned conversation with fake Harry in her head. The dialogues that suggested 'giving up' and 'meeting Sirius again' weighed heavily on her mind, still. But she kept playing her Mum's words in her head, every time she started feeling low.

'We want you to live, Love.'

And live, she would.

Hermione sighed and rested her head on her folded arms. She hated feeling so dismayed with no apparent reason. She hated feeling lonely suddenly. What did the Professor tell her?

'You can tell yourself to stop—take a break, breathe, and tell yourself what lays beyond those impulses, if you manage to combat that sudden bout.'

Stop. Take a break. Breath.

It will be fine.

You can do it, Hermione.

Her eyes fell upon the stack of parchments on her desk. She used to do origami as a child. When was the last time I made a swan? Not since starting Hogwarts, she was sure. She picked a parchment up. Hermione could do something to distract herself until her mind attained some balance.

She would make a swan. Hermione folded the parchment into a neat triangle, and began.

As a child, she used to make cranes, swans, paper boats and much more out of all scrap pages. Occasionally, her Mum took her to feed the ducks at the lake. She used to set her boat sail into water. The memory graced her lips with a smile. What beautiful days they were. She was a carefree child... Her most convoluted problem used to be...not scoring well in a class test?

Stop. Take a break. Breath.

UUUUUUUU

Severus narrowly escaped running into the Longbottom boy and the Lovegood girl, disguised as the Potter brat.

The absolutely wretched aspect about turning into the brat was his glasses that irritated him greatly. Severus was not in the habit of feeling plastic atop his nose. But if he removed the glasses, Severus could not see the edge of his own nose! Not to mention, the brat's untameable hair that poked in all directions! Too much like his worthless father!

Moreover, the number of people he had to duck by to reach the Hospital Wing was maddening.

The Hospital Wing was not empty when he entered. Poppy was standing over a Ravenclaw, Seventh year girl. Chang? Chiang? Something on those lines. The girl glared at him before turning her face away. Oh, so the Golden Boy is not that popular among ladies, after all. Severus ignored the girl.

"Mr. Potter," Poppy turned to him. "What have you broken now?"

"I have come to see Mi-" He broke with a cough. Severus, you idiot! "I have come to see Hermione, Madam."

"The number of visitors the girl has every day, Sweet Circe." Poppy shook her head.

If so many people ever became amicable towards Severus, he would likely leave the continent. "May I?"

"Go, but no making ruckus in my Infirmary," she warned.

"Yes, Madam," he said with what he assumed sincerity. Without waiting for more conversation to take place, he stalked away to the Isolation Ward.

Getting in the corridor, he knocked on Granger's door.

"Come in," she called.

Severus stepped in. The girl was sitting by the table, fiddling with a complicatedly folded parchment. What is she upto? She looked up at him in question, apparently wondering who he was.

"Harry?" She asked slowly.

"Miss Granger."

"Professor," she said with surety.

He closed the door behind himself. The last thing they needed was Poppy intruding.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Origami," she replied. She handed him a model made up of parchment from her table.

"A bird," he deduced.

"A crane, yes," she corrected.

"What is it called again?" He dragged the stool forward interestedly. The small parchment-model was neatly folded to have a beak and feathers. He examined it closely.

"Origami," she repeated. "Have you never heard of it, Sir?"

"Not in my memory." He looked at another quite different models on her table. "What is that?"

She glanced where he was looking. "It's a fox."

Severus handed the crane back. "What is the purpose of these?"

Granger blinked at him. "Nothing."

He frowned. "You are wasting parchments for no reason."

Her face contorted in a mild scowl. "It's actually therapeutic," she said defensively. "You should also try making something."

"I am hardly interested in making inane animals out of paper," he said dismissively.

"They are not inane," she objected. "Swans and cranes have their own significance."

"Clearly," he ran his eyes over the models. "But I do not identify with either."

"I can also make a bat," she offered. Severus raised his eyebrow at her. Realisation donned on her face, "I didn't mean because of the rumours..."

Audacious, little chit! "Miss Granger," he said in his best impression of formidable, "Are you implying that you have a reason to believe the mundane rumours those moronic First year students spread?"

For a moment, Severus thought with satisfaction that he could still intimidate her. But then she broke into a chuckle, reminding him exactly how intimidated she was of him.

"We did believe them in our First year actually," she said sheepishly. "But I took it as you being an Animagus. It was at least a logical deduction, Sir."

"What made you decide that had I been an Animagus, my form would have been a bat?" He asked.

"Well, back then...we all thought so because of your billowing cloak," she said truthfully. "But now I think, you would be a raven if you ever decided to become an Animagus."

"Because of my choice of colour?" He gave a delicate flex to his eyebrow.

"No," she grabbed another parchment from her pile. "Because of its qualities. I think you identify the most with a raven." She began folding the parchment. "Ravens are said to be the most intelligent birds. They are clever and cunning, and they represent insight."

"Ravens are also known to be Psychopomps," he countered. "They lead the soul to the place of dead."

Granger deftly creased the folds with adroit fingers. "They are said to connect the material world to that of the spirits. What's wrong in that?"

"Nothing, except traveling to the world of dead might mean one's own demise," he said amused at the morbidity of his own words.

"People have travelled to the other side and returned," she looked up at him. "Near-death experiences."

"Have been extremely rare, and can very well have been falsified," he negated her point.

She gave him an enigmatic look but went back to her parchment. "Raven are also perceived as the creators. Many Haida myths and legends often suggest the ravens as the provider to mankind."

"You have quite a bit of knowledge of Animagus forms," he said. "Are you planning to be one?"

"I didn't think of it ever," she said, concentrating on folding the parchment in a complicated crease. "But maybe, in future."

"What form would you take, you surmise?" Severus asked casually.

Granger bit her lip in contemplation, then shrugged. "I don't know... Though my Patronus is an otter."

Severus picked the model of the fox in his hands. "I believe, Miss Granger, that you could be a fox."

"A fox?" She looked up. "Why? I haven't read much about it."

He kept the model back. "Then, read. The Library must have a slew of books on the subject."

Granger, in Severus' opinion, had the qualities resembling that of a fox. As much as he knew the girl, she would identify the most with the said animal in many ways.

"May I have my wand, Sir?" She asked. "Only for a minute?"

"That is another matter to be discussed," he said, retrieving her wand from his sleeve. "As you are resuming your classes from tomorrow, you will be in need of your wand."

"Will I have to return it after class?" She asked in a small voice, taking the wood from Severus' hand.

"No," he replied. "You cannot roam around the castle without your wand."

"Oh, thank God-"

"But," he interrupted, "I will put a Charm on your wand, which will notify me if you try any self-harming spells."

Granger's face fell. "I won't... I won't do that..."

"Miss Granger," Severus leaned forward, "It is not an accusation. But it is not unheard of people combating depression to feel overwhelmed at times. If I recall correctly, you were the one who brought a similar concern up, the other day."

She sighed, but nodded. "I understand, Sir." She made a few cuts on the parchment with the help of her wand. "Have you put the Charm on?"

"I will, before leaving," he replied, watching her work with interest. "The Charm needs to be renewed once every few days."

"I'll remember that," she said. After a couple of more folds, Severus could see the form of a raven folded from the parchment. It was a neat figure with precise creases. Granger waved her wand over the model and mumbled a spell. The sallow raven changed its colour to black.

"Here it is!" She held the figure on her palm, a grin playing on her lips. "It's easy and therapeutic."

It wasn't easy by any means, Severus decided. But even watching the process was mesmerising to some degree. "It's a neat piece."

"I used to do a lot of origami as a child," she told him and kept the model of the raven beside the fox. "I used to make so many other things, but I'm a little out of practice now."

"It does not seem so, though," he said almost absently. His eyes were still fixed on the raven and he wondered why it felt vaguely warming to know that Granger made the figure because she found it to have a resemblance with him.

"I loved making paper boats, too," she went on. "I used to set them off into the lake."

"There used to be a pond near my house, at Spinner's End," he found himself speaking. "I believe it has dried up by now. But in my early years, the pond harboured ducks. It used to be relaxing throwing bread crumbs to feed the flock." If he later asked why he was indulging himself in such a mundane conversation with the girl, he wouldn't have an answer to it.

"I used to feed the ducks, too, in fact," she perked up. "But the lake was quite far from our house, so we couldn't go too often."

Severus pulled out his own wand. Without him asking, Granger gave him her wand. Severus had seen depression too closely. His Mother had never overtly made an attempt on her life. He, after Azkaban, had lived each day with the determination to protect Lily's son when the time came. But in three weeks, the Dementors had left an impact enough on him to consider death numerous times. But his determination to keep his promise—which he had made to himself more than to Lily—had kept him from acting on those thoughts. But Granger... Her suicidal tendencies had once forced her to act. He was not willing to take chances with her. He would Charm her wand to notify him.

Severus waved his wand over hers in three circular motions. The Charm was not complex. When his magic left traces on her wand, the tips of the two glowed for a moment. A light from the two tips intertwined with each other before vanishing away.

But it was not only her wand that bore her danger. He could not keep an eye on her at all times and a wand was not the only source for her to attain what she failed to, earlier. But at the very least, the bond would notify him if she was gravely injured.

But that would be after she had committed the act!

"Miss Granger." He briefly contemplated his words before delivering them. She might find him as being too officious—something he had berated her for, only a day or two ago. What would you rather—your divine, crystal image is not stained in her eyes or she lives! Now, he had no qualms about asking her.

She was looking at him expectantly and he realised he had been staring at her. Severus looked away briefly before speaking. "Would you mind if we add another signal to the band?"

"For what?" She asked.

"For the times when you feel extremely overwhelmed," he said mostly without preamble. But at her look of confusion, he elaborated, "When you feel similar to how you did that evening."

She bit her lower lip, much to Severus' chagrin, and averted her eyes away.

"It was not my intention to faze you," he said lightly. "But I do understand that at moments like those, rationality finds itself overburdened with wishfulness. It is only a precautionary measure. When you feel on the edge, as they call it, a quick signal to me might prevent what we will later regret, but will not be in a state to undo again."

She looked at him, blanched. "Fine, I guess... It makes sense."

Severus could see the apprehension clear on her face. "Three signals in quick succession would have me know your plight."

"How will you find me?" She asked, probably trying to return to some semblance of casualness.

"I have not been a Head of House and not discovered methods to find daft troublemakers in the castle," he said with a smirk.

That returned the colour to her face. "Alright, then. Three signals."

In that moment, the door to Granger's room was thrown open. Their heads shot up to see the invader, in trepidation. But as their eyes found no form, the trepidation in Severus turned to a litany of curses that he contented himself with delivering mentally. The thin air uncovered a familiar face with wild hair, one Severus was never happy to see.

"Harry..." Granger mumbled in shock.

Potter's face paled as he set eyes upon Severus, the boy's doppelgänger. "What the..." He trailed off to look at an equally astounded Granger.

Severus climbed to his feet, hand itching to point his wand at the boy. "Potter-"

But before any verbal exchange could take place, the boy held up a folded parchment in his hands to point to Severus. "This is Snape, isn't he?"

Granger looked at the parchment in his hand. "Marauder's Map? But...it was-"

"Lost? No. I lied." Potter unfolded the parchment to reveal a convoluted map with familiar names moving about the passage lines. Severus did recognise the artefact quite well.

"I lied," Potter handed the map to Granger, and put his finger on a spot that Severus could not see from where he stood. "Why is your name, Hermione Granger-Snape?"

A/N: A cliffhanger! Oops! What do you think Harry will do now? Let me know what you thank will happen now.