A/N: Sorry for the delay. Here is the next chapter, and the last one I have written. Now I have to resume writing as all these chapters that I have posted till now were already written, albeit unedited. I'll try to be quick about writing.

Enjoy!

Chapter 52: Imbalance

Hermione leaned against the counter, her crutches tucked loosely under her arms. The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was as dank and cold as one would expect, yet it held a sense of familiarity. She had spent too many holidays here to complain. But the chilled air in the basement kitchen, in the wee hours of a January morning, did remind her of the night clothes and flip-flops that she unabashedly wore.

"How does this thing start!" A visibly annoyed Severus muttered, studying the Wizarding stove. Hermione recalled having seen only Muggle appliances in his kitchen at Spinner's End, that explained his misery.

His state of clothes worked to decrease her own feelings of self-consciousness. Severus was dressed in his slightly wrinkled white shirt and black trousers, with his sleeves rolled up just barely hiding the Dark Mark, and the first button of his shirt still loose as Hermione had done after healing him. She decided she wouldn't even inwardly comment upon his hair or a day old stubble, for that would lead her to regard that tangled mess on her head—with a feather quill stuffed somewhere in there—as her hair. Hermione could already estimate how long it was going to take her to redeem that nest into something resembling her curls.

Talking over an early, secret breakfast was a good idea, and the two were far past the point of considering appearances.

"Let me," Hermione stepped forward, struggling to control the growing urge to chortle. She started the fire on the stove with the appropriate spell that she had once learnt from a book that she had found in Mrs. Weasley's kitchen, Savory's Spells for Households Ease, by an author who went by Wick'd Savory or something on those lines.

"All done," she stepped back. Severus graced her with a scowl that clearly indicated how he despised to be the one rendered ignorant. Hermione compressed her lips to keep from smirking and held out an arm towards the stove dramatically, "All yours, Sir."

"You may use my given name. You do it, anyway, I might as well permit you," he said flatly as if it was a tidbit that he had offered about the weather today.

Hermione blushed. Well, yes, she had more than once called him by his name... Well, that was what she called him in her head, so it tended to slip her tongue at times. "Alright... Thanks," she said slowly, not pushing it. "But you keep calling me Granger..."

"That simply comes more naturally to me," he replied, now working on an omelette. Hermione watched how his fingers deftly worked with a knife, as if it was not an onion that he was chopping, but a toad eye.

Gross imagination, Hermione, she cringed.

He really seemed to enjoy cooking, knowing the consistency of his mixture, the amount of spice, and other aspects that went beyond Hermione's head. She decided she liked to watch him working as it sent a calmness to his features that she seldom found there.

"Merely observing will take you nowhere, Granger," he spoke, not once eyeing her. "The skill demands practice."

She chuckled. "I can brew some tea for us."

"If you insist," he said lightly and wordlessly gave a lazy twitch of his wave before stowing it away so fluidly that Hermione had missed it while she was busy blinking.

Behind her, a stool, resembling those usually placed by the beds in the Hospital Wing, stood—tall and metal. "Thanks," Hermione smiled before settling herself comfortable upon it. A small sigh escaped her lips as the weight was relieved from her still recuperating legs.

He merely nodded, pouring the mixture of egg yolks, vegetables and spices on the pan in equal proportion.

Hermione began with keeping the kettle on the burner beside his. It was then that the sheer incredulity struck her—working in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, with Severus Snape for company. A soft chuckle finally escaped her lips.

"What exactly do you find quite so jocular?" He asked, flipping the omelette over, a perfect blonde-esque hue settling on its surface.

"Just..." She shrugged. He didn't bother to inquire again.

They worked in a comfortable silence, similar to their time spent brewing by each other. Their silence was only broken by the sizzle of the omelette or the whistle of the kettle.

They took their quickly cooked meal, which was not hearty by any means, but appealed to both, to the table. Severus sat on the seat that the Headmaster took during the Order meetings while Hermione sat to his right. The long, vacant table laid before them. Oddly, it both seemed strange and peaceful. Hermione wished the kitchen wasn't in the basement so she could enjoyed the birds chirping or perhaps watch the sunrise from a window.

"It looks appetising," Hermione nodded towards the plump omelette waiting in her plate to be feasted upon.

"I am glad you approve," Severus said sarcastically.

Hermione smiled and started on her meal, relishing the taste. He was, indeed, a good cook. "It's really good."

"It's only an omelette, Granger," he said dryly. "Quit treating it as risotto."

"So when are you making risotto for me?" She smirked, behind her mug of tea.

He snorted. "Enlighten me more about this Charm that you have managed to invent."

Hermione instantly perked up, happiness and relief skittered through her. He might accept it! "Well, I had started in October," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow, "Continue."

And with ease, she told him about the Charm, her equations, the challenges she had had to face, everything. He listened, asking questions here and there, even telling him alternative solutions to the equations.

"It might give you a benefit in your further persuasion of Healing studies," he suggested.

"It might. I hope it works as expected," she said. "So… Will you use it?" He looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"And play your Guinea pig?" He raised a brow.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from chuckling. "Will you?"

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "I will."

Hermione's face graced up with a grin. "Thank you!"

He snorted in amusement and muttered something akin to 'Silly witch' under his breath.

"And I have one more thing to ask," Hermione said, now sobered.

"I must warn you I'm not feeling too generous today," he said sarcastically, sipping his tea. "But do try."

"It is not a secret that there's apparently no way of severing the bond," she spoke quietly. Severus kept his cup down stiffly but did not comment. "So if we have to stay under one roof for all these years to come—until we do find a way to sever it, can we agree upon talking to each other rather than letting a plethora of misunderstandings plague us?" She finished, eyeing him warily and hoping she hadn't gone too far.

They had never before talked in that regard, never considered the future and what it actually implied. They would indeed be staying under one roof, together. This early morning breakfast, late night conversations in easy nightclothes might as well become commonplace some years down the line.

Though this idea would have seriously repulsed Hermione a few months before, today she couldn't deny feeling almost content with the notion that no matter how much they fought and argued, they'd have to come back to each other at the end.

Severus looked up at her, as if having just realised this, too. Hermione wondered if the notion did repulse him… He was a private man, after all. Would this idea unsettle him? Should it unsettle her?

"We will talk." He finally spoke, but neither his voice nor his tone gave away anything more.

But Hermione surmised that if he hadn't reacted badly, he wasn't strictly averse to the idea of a future with each other.

UUUUUUU

It was after Severus had taken a shower that he could properly assess what Granger had said.

'…if we have to stay under one roof for all these years to come…'

Since the bonding, if he ever calculated their future, it was either on the lines of dying in the war, or about Granger being trapped because of him. Never had he considered it as positively as Granger had talked about it today.

'…if we have to stay under one roof for all these years to come…'

This realisation should have irked him, not send an inexplicable warmth to his chest.

At the back of his mind, Severus was already assessing his finances and that dingy house at Spinner's End which was obviously unsuitable for Granger to live in. And of course, he was deliberately ignoring the very important point that they would have to reveal the nature of their bond to others—which would most definitely end up in a catastrophe.

It was probably for the first time that Severus never once thought that he wouldn't outlive the war.

UUUUUUU

"You talked to Ron?"

Harry's voice startled Hermione. The extra ink from her quill spilled shamelessly on her otherwise neat parchment and created an ugly blot covering half the text of her essay on Disillusionment Chams. It gave Hermione a sense of déjà vu for it was not the first time by far that Harry had caused her to spill ink on her essay.

"Harry!" She huffed in annoyance, holding the soiled parchment away from her books. Not much is more irksome than ink stains on one's books.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, not really all that apologetic though. He pushed her books away from the spot of ink that had seeped to the table.

"I need another parchment now," she shook her head. "Do you have extra?"

"Er... I might," he said, groping inside his bag. Afrer a handful of broken quill and old drafts of essays had made their way out, Harry looked at his friend sheepishly. "Sorry, don't have any left-"

But before he could finish the sentence, a thin stack of sallow parchments came flying to Hermione and settled before her roughly. "What..." She regarded the stack with wide eyes.

"That was wicked!" Harry grinned, impressed with the mysterious magic.

She looked back at the empty Library of Grimmauld Place. There was nobody present beside them. Where did the stack come from? And how? She didn't cast a Summoning Charm. Neither did Harry. Then how?

"This is a weird house," Harry supplied. "I'm sure there's some Charm in here."

"Possible," she mused. The house was, after all, still infested with the curses that nobody had managed to remove. To think that the place once harboured a family and children... "Anyway, I should start again—courtesy to you, Harry Potter."

Harry looked appropriately shamefaced. "Er, you can copy my Potions essay in return, if you like." He extended his freshly writtten essay to his friend.

She glared at him.

"Okay, fine, sorry," he pulled the proffered parchment back before Hermione could hex him.

She shook her head again and restarted on her essay. Well, maybe she could include more information this time. There was information galore on the said Charm for her to include, especially from the books that the Grimmauld Place housed. At least the Black family were a good readership to have the numerous books in their possession.

"Harry, no!" She snatched her spoiled essay from him. "Write your own essay. I'll check it for you."

"I was just seeing if I have missed any key points, I've already written mine," he hastily took the parchment from her hold. "I promise, just the key points, Hermione."

Hermione pursed her lips in a very close emulation of their Transfiguration Professor. "Just the pointers, Harry," she warned, though she knew her friend too well. He started on his piece with a childlike grin of triumph and Hermione resumed her own work.

"So? Did you?" He said after some time of copying her work word by word.

"What? Oh," Hermione sighed. She could tell that Harry had been wanting to ask her for a while but they were always surrounded by the others. Now when they had assignments to finish—which both Ron and Ginny had no inclination to do for another few days, they were finally talking. "I did. Did he say something to you?"

"He was... He's gotten very angry and irritable," Harry said rather quietly. "I figured you both talked or something."

"I told him how I feel about him... Or more like, not feel," she told him.

"Why don't you tell him about it? Just tell him the truth," he suggested. "You don't have to keep lying to him, Hermione. It's better to tell him why you can't rather than telling that you don't feel for him."

"But I don't," she responded. "I really don't, Harry."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Ron and I... We had a...moment, the other day..." She said awkwardly.

Harry's face flushed. "O...kay... You know what, I don't want to know."

She chuckled, slapping his arm. "Shut up. Listen. So...whatever happened...I realised that...I don't feel the same for him."

"Oh, I get it. Cho Chang," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yes," Hermione laughed at his expression. "Now you understand."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "So...what are you gonna do now? Like, talk to him?"

"I have no idea, honestly," she sighed. "Whenever I try to approach him, he ignores me." If she were honest with herself, she knew she was stalling it. Talking to Ron would open a can of worms she didn't want to face until Ron was in a better mood or it would lead to him saying things that Hermione couldn't bring herself to get past. She wanted to converse with him when he was calm

enough to understand her, without her telling her anything about the bond.

"I'm telling you, you should come clean to him," he said with insistence. "You'll have to tell him someday."

"Yes, but not today," she said, nudging Harry to remove his elbow from the ill-fated, soiled essay that now laid terribly crumpled, too.

"Then-" He started.

But Harry couldn't finish because Ginny walked in, carrying her incomplete assignments.

UUUUUUU

That late evening , the air in the Headmaster's office was thick with agitation. The limited Order members who were attending the unofficial meeting were lost in apprehension of the coming events.

Tea cups had been emptied and refilled, an assortment of biscuits had been circulating round the table, paperwork laid mostly haphazard in undetermined stacks, and quills scratched against parchments to draw outlines of different plans.

"Did Yaxley specify a date when he might attack the school, Severus?" Albus asked, unconsciously beckoning his phoenix to perch on his shoulder.

"He was not quite vocal about the exact location or nature of the attack in so many words," Severus replied. "And no, there was no date specified."

"In that case, we will need round the clock protection," the Headmaster declared.

"How many?" Shacklebolt inquired, addressing Albus.

"Two on guard at the gates at all time," the Headmaster replied, stroking his phoenix's ruffled feathers. "Two inside the castle, I believe."

"At least four at the gates, Headmaster, along with two others to patrol the school—the hidden passages cannot be overlooked," Severus supplied. "If they indeed come with an army, a couple of Aurors would be left futile. In fact, I would suggest that Shacklebolt keeps a regiment ready as we send a signal his way to aid Hogwarts when in need."

"Yes, yes," Albus conceded. When two of the feathers swung to the ground, Severus' hands itched to collect the invaluable potion ingredient. "Of course. A group of... How many could you keep at standby, Kingsley?"

Shacklebolt shared a look with Tonks and Moody. "If we keep six Aurors at Hogwarts at all time, I can only provide for an additional eight members later from the Ministry Aurory, Albus." He picked out a parchment from the folder kept before him and handed it to the Headmaster. "Without any official word to the Minister or a request for security, I can't supply more than that."

"And we cannot place a formal request because...?" William Weasley looked around questioningly.

"Because that would spread the word that Hogwarts is becoming more vigilant suddenly," his mother explained, pouring herself another cup. "Which might cause Severus' cover to come under scrutiny."

"It would simply arise questions, how did we know that something were to happen," Arthur Weasley added.

"But—suppose—even if the Professor's cover is...well, blown, at least Hogwarts will be safe," William Weasley said. "It can not only protect the children, it can also act as a safe haven in the long run."

"In the long run, Mr. Weasley," Severus spoke dryly, "My intel to the Order will be of more value that the castle and its protection."

"But what if the students are injured during this supposed confrontation which can happen anytime now?" The oldest Weasley son continued. "Wouldn't it be better to close the school?"

"And leave the children vulnerable to the attacks, especially the Muggle-born students? Hogwarts can protect them," Minerva protested. "Moreover, their education will suffer greatly. Not to mention that we still don't have any formal evidence to show the Ministry why we are closing the school down."

"And their training," Albus added. "The students are getting trained to fight alongside us."

Severus threw a glare his employer 's way. The matter still stood between the two wizards.

"Shouldn't we at least send Harry away to a safer location?" Weasley asked further. "If according to the Headmaster, Yaxley is planning to kidnap him from the premises, with the help of his army, Harry wouldn't be safe here."

"No," Albus said firmly. "Harry will not leave the protection of Hogwarts. Even without the extra protection of the Aurors, Hogwarts can protect him."

"Yes, I agree," Arthur Weasley said. "There are far too many of them who could get to Harry otherwise."

His wife and Minerva nodded in agreement. But Severus didn't quite trust the old Headmaster's proclamation to be able to protect Potter if need be. The man was weakening day by day.

Albus reached to pick his cup up. The slight trembling in his hand, Severus noticed, had become a constant. "I have decided for there to be a formal training group for the students from Third year onwards. We cannot deny that we have lesser men than we may need."

"Absolutely not, Albus!" Minerva stated firmly. "They are children. We cannot even think of sending them to war!"

"Everything will take place with parental consent, of course," Albus said placatingly.

"But Third years?" Minerva huffed. "Do you expect mere thirteen-year-olds to be trained to fight in a battle that will most certainly be deadly!"

"We will not include the students who do not want to be a part," the Headmaster added.

"Albus," Mrs. Weasley started, clearly disapproving of the idea. "Thirteen is too young. Merlin knows I wouldn't want any of these children to be near the battlefield. But thirteen? I wouldn't ever consent to that, I wouldn't even consent for Ginny to join this group, by Merlin."

"They have to toughen up!" Moody barked gruffly. "Can't keep them coddled."

"I do not give my consent to this madness," Minerva declared, folding her hands into her lap.

"I second the opinion," Severus supported.

"Yes, Albus," Lupin spoke for the first time in a while, looking haggard after the full moon that was a night ago. "Maybe we can include sixteen and seventeen-year-olds."

"Must I remind you all that Harry and his friends had fought against Quirrell at the age of eleven," the old man debated.

"Oh, I have always disapproved of that utter foolishness!" Molly Weasley clattered the bone china cup down on the saucer with force. "We cannot knowingly allow young children to risk their lives!"

When nobody protested to the Weasley matriarch's view or give an argument in support of Albus, the silence thickened.

"Very well, then," the Headmaster was coerced to agree. "Remus, Tonks and Alastor, you are to discuss how the groups are to be formed. It is my request that you undertake the training. Severus, although you could have undeniably taught them good defences, I believe you cannot be openly seen helping our side."

Severus nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his now cold tea.

"I will make the announcement at the Return Feast for the Sixth and Seventh years to join," Albus declared. "Minerva, I expect you to collect the list of students from their Heads by the first week of term. We can use the Come and Go Room for the sessions."

"The what?" Tonks asked, popping a candy from an open can of sherbet lemons kept along the tea tray.

"I will explain later," Lupin mumbled, rubbing a healing gash on his forehead.

"If somebody were to inquire about the sudden presence of the Aurors on the campus or about the training sessions, the changes will be attributed to the recent attack on the Hogsmeade weekend."

Everyone agreed. Formalities were exchanged, after which the unofficial meeting came to an end. The members vacated the office, all involved in deep discussions.

But Severus stayed behind. He stood facing the window and eyeing the grounds until every last member left. Hogwarts would soon harbour a slew of Aurors on campus. The idea that this institution would be subjected to violence in future—if the Dark Lord's plan was to be executed—disconcerted the Potions Master. Away from the loathsome Spinner's End, that house which never felt safe, Hogwarts was where he had truly lived—both, through the best and worst moments of his life. Just as unsettling as it was to see the cabal of Dementors looming over the school, it would e to see the Aurors on guard, and an army invading the school would be equally so. War was nearer than they were realising.

Yes, the castle provided protection, the ultimate protection. And if the castle was captured, they would have no other place to hide their heads.

The Order Headquarters, though under a strong Fidelius Charm, did not provide them the protection of ancient magic that Hogwarts did. In fact, the residual of the inherent dark magic in the house might as well work in tandem with the forces of the dark if a battle were to ever break out there.

"Can I help you with something, my boy?" Albus spoke after some thick seconds of silence.

Severus spun on his heels to face the Headmaster. Then in a swift motion, he retrieved three crystal vials from his pocket, and tossed them towards Albus. The old man waved at the vials with his good hand, making each land safely on his desk. Yet, Severus' sharp eyes did not miss the tremble that the other man's gnarled hand was affected with. Even a simple act of Wandless Magic—which had never been beyond the Grand Sorcerer's scope—revealed clumsiness.

Severus had reasons to believe that his employer's cursed hand did not support magic anymore. All that he had could only be accessed through his good hand, and as it was the unfavourable appendix, the magic showed the roughness. It suddenly struck the Potions Master that Albus Dumbledore couldn't manage to hold his wand in his wand hand anymore.

"What are these, Severus?" The older man asked, examining the vials.

"You are leading us to our doom, Albus," Severus hissed, not bothering to reply.

"Does your elixir claim to extend my time?" He asked, no scrupple of remorse in his plain, amused voice.

Severus watched the older man for a long moment. "One week."

"One week?"

"Either you make the Order privy to your deteriorating health, or I shall," Severus said coldly. "One. Week."

Every time he laid his eyes on his employer, the old man's impending death tormented the Order spy's thoughts. He was alone bearing the burden while the others sat comparatively relaxed for their future that was truthfully in shambles.

"No, Severus, you will take no such actions," the Headmaster declared, his voice commanding—one that was seldom heard by one.

"Oh, believe me, Albus, I will," Severus said flatly. "My allegiances are to the Order—and its next head. You will transfer your powers to Minerva."

"You are not the Head of the Order," Albus stated the obvious.

"I thank Merlin for that every single living moment," Severus snorted. "But you are. You owe them the truth."

Albus shot him a glare mingled with warning and pleading. "Don't make me take steps that I do not want to, Severus."

"Do take the necessary steps, Sir," Severus challenged. "You may very well revoke my employment for all I care, but I will not bear the burden of this truth anymore. The Order will be told, either by you or by me."

Albus got to his feet, one hand catching the corner of his desk as his legs faltered. For a moment, Severus was patent about an upcoming duel, but no wands were brandished.

Albus extended his good hand towards Severus. A ghost of three tougues of the Unbreakable Vow, that stood between them, came to life, capturing Severus' wrist, just as it had all those years ago.

"You are under an obligation, Severus," Albus reminded him quietly.

"Yes, I am," he said with nonchalamce. "I am under the obligation never to betray your side, Headmaster. And I-" he jolted his wrist away from the ghostly impression of the tongues, "-will not.

"I am no fool, Albus. Neither am I now nor was I then. I have interpreted that Vow in numerous ways, and none forbids me from keeping the truth from the Order."

"I forbid you!" Albus ordered. His eyes now still, without the customary twinkle. His demeanour was as icy as Severus had found him on the night he had come to the man to seek aid for Lily.

Severus snorted again. "In what capacity, Sir? As my employer, one I could give my notice to this very instant? Or as the terminally ill Head of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Albus waved his good hand nonchalantly. One of the drawers pulled out open. A folder of parchments with the Ministry of Magic amd Wizengamot seal gracing its face. "As the Chief Warlock, on whose vouching you were released from Azkaban."

Severus' fists clenched. A heavy thunderbolt resounded outside. "You are threatening to send me back to Azkaban?" He did not want to play this card—neither had he expected Albus to stoop quite so low. "If I fell, Albus, so will you all, and I don't need to remind you of that."

"No, Severus, you don't," Albus said quietly. "Your intel is of eminent importance to us. But you are, unfortunately, not the only one in this castle who can be convicted for associating with Riddle."

"And what will you achieve with me by sending Draco to Azkaban, I do wonder," Severus folded his arms, his voice dripping scorn.

"Not Mr. Malfoy, Severus," the Headmaster's voice echoed in the eerily silent office. "There is one other person."

Severus saw red. "How dare you bring her into this!" He hissed. "How dare you even imply this!"

Albus looked at the pouring sky outside. "I have no such wish, Severus, but you compel me to."

"I compel you to?!" Severus spat. "Has the poison indeed began to affect your brain, you senile, old coot? You will prosecute Granger for your own foul motives, to conceal your own foolhardy choices!"

"I wish to do no such thing." the old man repeated. "Unless that is the only way I have."

"You disgust me," Severus hissed.

Albus bowed his head. "Don't interfere in my role, Severus, and I shall never harm Miss Granger, trust me."

Severus snorted bitterly. "I had stop trusting you sixteen years ago, when you had claimed the same in regards to Lily."

"Lily's safety was in your hands then, just as Miss Granger's is now," Dumbledore said. "Make your decision wisely, my boy." He turned to Severus, "I will not let our ship sink."

"You will prove to be the sole reason why this ship sinks," Severus whispered menacingly. He turned on his heels and stalked to the door. But before opening it, he paused. "I did everything to protect Lily, Headmaster, it was you who faltered." He slammed the door after himself.

He walked down to the gates, enraged. The pouring rain drenched him but he cared little.

He had always known that Albus Dumbledore did not play his cards in the open. But today, the impression of his employer that he had witnessed had shocked even him. For the old man, it was always the war that had matter in comparison to individual lives.

But prosecuting Granger! Threatening to send her to Azkaban, to blow her cover, after all that she had endured, after all that she had contributed! And for what? To coerce Severus?! To keep the truth of his impending death from the Order?!

He, Severus, had spent only three weeks at the prison and still bore the mental scars. He couldn't even imagine subjecting Granger to that fate.

He had been a fool, he had been careless with his relationship with Granger. He had let Albus be privy to too much. How had he let him know of his vulnerabilities! How had he let Albus spot his most sensitive nerve! He had not only put the Order's future, but also Granger in the harm's way. He had again led somebody who trusted him in the harm's way.

He wanted to scream, wanted to hex the old man! He wanted to announce to the Order what negligent chance they had! But his hands were tied, because he hadn't been more careful!

He Apparated away to the Headquarters, wanting to be as far away from

the Headmaster as he could.

He strode inside, his drenched robes growing cold, and with a scowl in place. Without pausing at the noises of chatter and laughter coming from the parlour, he made his way up to his room.

"Sir?" Granger's voice followed him on the staircase.

"Not now, Granger!" he bellowed in exasperation and stalked away. When he slammed his door shut, the thud reverberated down the stairwell.

UUUUUUU

Hermione looked at the closed door with a frown. She raised a fist and knocked again. No answer, again. Was he back to ignoring her? No, he had looked rather angry on returning from the meeting. Fuming and drenched in the rain. She considered not bothering him tonight, but this couldn't wait another day.

So, she knocked again. At the most, he'd bark at her to leave him alone—until his anger would dissipate, and make him feel guilty and try to apologise. She chuckled to herself.

"Sir?" She called softly so as not to be heard by another. "I won't bother you again, but if you could just-"

The door was jerked open, but Severus' raging expressions did not disconcert her anymore. "If whatever you have to say does not turn out to be of eminent importance, Granger…" He left it at that, and Hermione wondered what could he say further? Definitely nothing about a detention or even point loss. He hadn't assigned her either since…since very long.

"It's an important matter, Sir," she tried her luck. "And time-sensitive, too."

That caught his attention. In fact, he looked too eager to hear about it suddenly. "What is it about?"

"No, not like that," she quickly clarified. "It's just…" She held out the small box she had been carrying and opened it. A rather lopsided cupcake, with its bumpy surface covered with cream, sat inside. The icing, though, was smoothly executed, and a candle stood proudly on top.

"Happy birthday, Severus," Hermione smiled up at him. Hermione watched with apprehension as he stared at the cupcake silently for a moment. She was suddenly feeling shy and self-conscious. Had she acted too puerile? Would he disregard her? Was he offended? Would he still bark at her to leave? And the fact that she had, for the first time, called him by his given name so casually didn't help matters either.

"Who told you?"

His words, though plain, relieved her. She let go of the breath she had been holding. "I have my sources," she shrugged, smiling again.

He rubbed his temples, but at least the anger seemed to have dissipated for the moment.

"As you only have the last half an hour left to celebrate…" she gestured to the door. Severus held it open for her, if a little reluctantly. But at this point, Hermione couldn't care less. It was his birthday and she had been looking forward to celebrating it, even if nobody else seemed to know. She suspected even Severus to have forgotten.

She placed the cupcake on the small table and lit the candle. "Before I absolutely get onto your nerves and you threaten to throw me out, blow the candle." She chuckled.

"You baked it?" He asked, studying the poor lopsided cake.

Hermione's face flushed. "At least I didn't burn anything. And the batter had tasted…palatable."

"I do hope you are not looking for a career in marketing, Granger," he snorted.

Hermione's embarrassment turned into amusement. "Blow the candle," he insisted. "And make a wish!"

"Granger," he said, trying to sound grave, "What am I, five?"

"Who said fifty-year-olds cannot make a wish," she said with a sly grin.

"Fifty?" He snorted.

"Maybe a decade or so less," she said cheekily. "Come on, just blow it before it goes melting!"

"Granger, I'm not-"

"Please?" She nearly implored. "It's a birthday tradition."

He shook his head in what Hermione assumed to be amusement. "Who, if I may ask, led you into believing that blowing a candle aids one in their wishes."

"Maybe if you try once for yourself, you'll have all the reasons to believe me," she smirked.

When he raised a brow, her smirk dissolved into a cheeky grin. "I might as well start singing for you here."

"No, thank you," Severus held up a palm.

Hermione could barely suppress her excitement and childlike exuberance. She took a seat in an armchair by the table, waiting for him to do the same. She watched him closely, she was longing to see some hint of glee on his face. She wanted him to feel special for once!

She again gestured at the candle. "One wish."

He crossed his arms, studying her like he had been studying the cupcake a few minutes ago. His face narrated his mood—and of course, it wasn't that of a cheery ten-year-old on his birthday. So she decided upon a bargain. "Fine, I will blow the candle for you if you just make a wish."

Severus' lips twitched into an almost-smile, which he expertly suppressed. Then he wore a bored expression and gestured for her to move along.

Hermione leaned down a little and softly blew the candle, watching the smoke slowly drifting upwards and mixing with the air. She looked up at him, "Did you wish?"

This time, he couldn't quite suppress his smile, so he adapted his old trick and hid it behind his fingers. Hermione felt a warmth spreading in her chest to see him happy, even if it was at her expense, for she could see he was clearly finding the entire business funny. Nonetheless, he nodded. "Yes."

She grinned.

"You have done a decent job with the icing," he remarked. "You did not-"

"I did not have to, yes, yes, we've been over that at length," she could have rolled her eyes. "I wanted to." She hoped he wouldn't ask her why, for she didn't know that herself. Maybe because they were friends? Or something like that… Because she wanted him to know that she cared? That he was important enough to someone that his special days weren't missed?

Before he could ask why, though, she spoke. "Now, for your present-"

"Merlin, Granger," he huffed. "Kindly refrain from-"

"Just open it once," she held out a small bottle, wrapped in silver paper and blue ribbon. "It's worth it."

He took the bottle from her with another huff. He opened it with the expected nonchalance. When he held the bottle in his hand, he raised a brow at her. "My own brew of a Headache Relieving Balm?"

"Yes, and as you're currently having a headache, what better time to use it," she said.

He looked at her with a slight frown. "Granger, you must have realised by now that this is a basic brew that does not—and will not—aid my condition. You are more intelligent than that- Oh. You have…"

Hermione nodded. "I hope I'm intelligent enough for this." She compressed her lips in nervousness. "My Healing Charm wouldn't work, despite all equations being in sync with one another. Then I realised what was missing—a base. What better than a balm brewed by you. So I infused my Charm with the balm. It increased the potency of my Charm and your balm, to form an infusion that would aid you, not only for the short period of time—as is the property of your balm, but also heal you internally for permanent relief—as is the main property of my Charm."

Severus did not speak. He uncapped the bottle and sniffed it. Then waved his wand over it, examining it. Meanwhile, Hermione found herself wringing her hands in agitation.

"Would you…would you try it?" She asked hopefully. "It will take three to five months to heal the damage you have suffered due to frequent exposure to the Cruciatus. But if you apply it twice, daily, I'm sure the results will be-"

"Could you show me your equations?" He asked.

"I knew you'd ask," she grinned and retrieved a rolled up parchment from her robes. "This is the summary."

Severus took the parchment and began reading it closely. Hermione waited patiently, but excitement was bubbling within her. Maybe he'd be interested and agree to use it!

When Severus put the parchment down, his brow was raised. "Have you applied for a patent yet?"

"Um…I didn't think about it…" Hermione bit her lip.

"Do you have any inkling as to how far this research of yours can take you in your Healing field?" He said with a straight face, yet there was a hint of awe in his tone. "You have extensively researched and invented a Charm for an ailment that practically had no cure. The aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse is a subject with about little to no research on its name. Take the Longbottoms for example." He looked at the parchment again, and said in a tone laced with what Hermione assumed to be wonder and pride, "You have outdone yourself, Granger."

A wide grin graced Hermione's face up. "I… Thank you. So…you'll use it, right?"

He looked up again. "And yet, that is your point of focus." He said dryly. He handed the parchment back to Hermione, "You must apply for a patent."

"I will, after the war," Hermione said. "We can't take chances with Riddle getting a hint of my actual prowess. I better remain a weakling in his eyes."

"That is why you should never have been dragged into this quagmire," he muttered bitterly.

"None of us should have," she said. "You didn't answer me, will you use it?"

"Yes, I will use it," he said simply. "As I had agreed to, earlier."

Hermione wanted to insist that he try it right now. but considering his reserved nature, she knew that would only discomfit him. As now she understood where he came from, she didn't want to nag him. He'd use it in his own time.

They spoke of light topics thereafter, while Hermione conjured two forks and waited for him to taste the cupcake; then she herself took a bite and vanished the item from the table all at once. As always, they fell into conversation pretty easily. The topics that Hermione stayed away from were about the core group meeting that the Order had had at Hogwarts. She knew the other members would be notified in due time.

She dove into discussing an article that she had recently read in The Healers Gazette. But while she narrated the subject matter, she noticed how lost Severus suddenly looked. His eyes weren't as alert tonight, and he was not concealing his stress that well, too.

Even when she stopped talking, he distractedly looked ahead, deep in thought. Hermione leaned forward. "Is something the matter?" She asked quietly.

He snapped out of his stupor. His eyes focused on her again. She watched as his previously inattentive self was covered under his Occlumency Shields. "We shall call it a night," he said.

"There's something on your mind," Hermione said, his voice low and quiet.

He shook his head. "There is nothing."

"It's alright, you don't have to tell me," she said softly. "But if you feel like talking, I'm…I'm here." It came out a little awkwardly, but she hoped her sincerity was conveyed. Hermione got up, balancing herself on her crutches. "Good night, Severus." She gave him a congenial smile and turned towards the door.

"Hermione."

Hermione's steps faltered at Severus' resigned voice.

"Albus is dying."

A/N: This chapter finally marks the end of the winter break. Back to Hogwarts from next chapter onwards.