Hermione found the coin burning in her pocket as she left Greenhouse Three the following afternoon.

After a gruelling session trying to delicately scrape bark samples off a Persistently Playful Pine, she had embarked across the lawns with Neville by her side, half-listening to him gush about the seven properties of the Pines and their affinity with Flitterby Moths. As the days grew shorter and they quickly approached the end of November, she had taken to doubling down on wearing thick cotton vests under her jumper, topped with her heaviest woollen cloak. She shoved her hands into her pockets, subtly mourning the days when she could smuggle bluebell fire inside stolen jars when her fingertips brushed against the heated coin. She jerked her hand back with a yelp.

Beside her, Neville whittered on. 'I'm absolutely starving. Do you think they'll have soup for lunch? Anyway, are you coming then?'

Hermione stared at him, the world only half-focused as her mind swirled with the hundred possibilities for the evening ahead. 'Coming to lunch?'

Neville glanced at the other students heading back up the hill around them. 'No. You know… to the room. Where hidden things go.'

Hidden things like students, hiding their lessons from their oppressors.

Or an apprentice and her master, making deals with the devil to stay afloat longer than they should.

The coin dug into the soft flesh of her palm. 'It's really not a good idea Neville.' A wave of nervous apprehension caused her to shudder involuntarily. 'I think I left my dragonhide gloves back in the greenhouse.'

Neville gave her a curious look. 'Are you sure? I watched you put them back into your bag.'

Purposefully ignoring his comment she gave him a wave before half running back down the hill. It probably would have been more prudent to follow Neville back to the school and excuse herself to the toilets, but she found the call of the coin almost impossible to ignore. What if Snape was urgently trying to contact her at that moment? It was probably best to check it sooner than later.

Ducking behind Greenhouse Two she slipped the Sickle from her pocket, holding it tightly in her fist.

West-wing corridor 3rd floor. After lunch.

'I should have known he would tamper with the spell,' she laughed, a wry smile twisting the corner of her lips.

The anticipation held her on pins and needles as she forced down a dry sandwich and tea. In the muddy depths of night, it had almost been too easy to agree to help Snape brew that horrible potion. Her judgement had been clouded with adrenaline from arguing with him and there had been no other option in her mind aside from offering him her support. But her decision held more weight in broad daylight as she sat surrounded by her peers — most of whom maintained their innocence despite the roaring war around them.

She couldn't bury her head in the sand and pretend like they were about to brew something as simple as a dreamless drought or a cleansing potion. It was an evil poison with one outcome and no cure. Claiming she had the stomach to brew such a thing and actually carrying through with it were two completely different beasts.

Her turkey sandwich turned to dirt in her mouth and she threw it back onto her plate, staring down at it with mild disgust. Across the table, Ginny and Dean looked up as if on cue.

'I didn't know a sandwich could be so offensive,' Ginny chirped. Dean snickered.

Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs. 'I'm feeling a little underweather, if I'm honest.'

Dean leaned back from the table, all humour gone from his face. 'Well whatever you've got, keep it away from me. I've got emmenophobia.'

'Emetophobia,' she corrected, glancing up at the High Table.

As expected, Snape's place was vacant and instead, it was Professor McGonagall whose gaze she caught, the elderly woman's brow creasing faintly behind her spectacles. Hermione's stomach clenched uncomfortably and she ducked her head, afraid the Gryffindor Head had turned Legilimens overnight and would be able to tell that Hermione was attempting to sneak off into some dark and empty corridor with the Headmaster.

When put into simple terms it sounded utterly improper.

'Bloody hell, have you seen this?' Ginny gasped, bringing Hermione back to the present. The youngest Weasley pushed her lunch things to the side to spread her copy of The Quibbler out. She pointed at the small paragraph. 'Someone burned down Gringotts.'

'What do you mean, burned down Gringotts?' Hermione asked, frowning. 'You can't burn down Gringotts.'

'Dragons can,' replied Luna, sliding onto the bench beside Hermione. She delicately picked up a slice of toast and began topping it with a healthy dose of marmite, making Dean's nose wrinkle. 'Gringotts is full of them.'

'There's no Dragons in Gringotts. That's just a rumour,' Hermione scoffed.

'Don't all rumours have a morsel of truth or something like that?' Ginny quipped. 'It wouldn't surprise me if they did though, Bill's always calling on Charlie for that sort of stuff. I think they've even worked together once or twice while Bill was assigned to that vault in Greece.'

Dean cleared his throat and gestured back at the magazine. 'Aren't you all missing the point a little here? I'm no expert, but isn't Gringotts catching fire sorta a big deal?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Well of course but—'

Before she could finish, Dean pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet from his rucksack and slid it across the table.

'Then why wasn't it mentioned in the Prophet?' He questioned.

Ginny blinked at him. 'Since when do you subscribe to the Prophet?'

Hermione snatched the paper and began flicking through it frantically. There were the usual reports of missing people and from page four Harry's face snarled back at her, making her heart ache, but there was nothing about Gringotts.

Not a single mention. It was almost as if they were trying to cover it up.

Hermione's gaze shot to the High Table once again to find McGonagall still watching their group. She needed to get to Snape. 'Look, I think I'm going to go visit the Hospital Wing. Dean, can you let Professor Vector know? And Gin,' she leant over to grab The Quibbler, 'do you mind if I borrow this?'

'Erm yeah, sure, Hermione.'

Hermione darted out of the Great Hall, the cool air of the Entrance Hall a welcome distraction. 'Get it together, Granger,' she muttered to herself.

'Miss Granger, is everything alright?'

Hermione jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound of McGonagall's voice behind her.

'Oh! Ah— yes, I mean— actually,' Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling quite flustered, 'I'm feeling a bit unwell really.'

McGonagall folded her hands neatly in front of her, her eyes searching Hermione's face. 'You should get yourself off to the Hospital Wing, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey can supply you with a Pepper-Up Potion.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I'll go there right away Professor.'

Before she could make a speedy exit up the marble staircase, McGonagall called out to her. 'Fancy a bit of light reading then, Miss Granger?'

Hermione froze. 'Er, pardon?'

'I wouldn't normally take you for a Quibbler fan,' McGonagall commented, nodding towards the magazine clutched tightly in her hands.

'Oh. Yes, you know, just something to pass the time,' she replied with a laugh, curling the magazine and shoving it into her bag. 'If you excuse me, Professor…'

'Yes, of course, Madam Pompfrey. Why don't I walk with you.'

Hermione cringed internally, her mind darting back to the glowering man currently waiting for her somewhere on the third-floor and recalling the last time she missed their appointment. The thought of facing his anger when something so important hung on the line made her skin crawl.

'I appreciate the gesture, Professor McGonagall, but it's not necessary,' she protested.

McGonagall fixed her with a stern look. 'Really, Miss Granger, I insist.'

Biting the inside of her cheek to hide her frustration, Hermione nodded weakly at her Head of House and began the slow climb to the Hospital Wing, McGonagall trailing along beside her. At the top of the steps, she glanced forlornly at the moving staircases and tried not to let her emotions show. Lunch hour would be finishing soon.

'I will admit I have been less than stellar in my show for support as of late,' McGonagall said quietly. She glanced sideways at Hermione, her mouth appearing strained. 'This year has been a challenging time for us all.'

Challenging would be putting it mildly.

Hermione tried to push the image of an inebriated Snape from her mind, but she could still feel the imprint of his fingers around her elbow as he pulled her back against himself. She pressed a hand to her cheek to hide the telltale flush.

McGonagall would be absolutely scandalised to learn that her once prized student had been consorting with the Death Eater who murdered Albus Dumbledore in the middle of the night.

'It's been… tolerable,' Hermione forced out.

McGonagall made a noise in her throat that reminded Hermione of a frustrated cat. 'Tolerable… pardon my language, but this school has gone to the dogs! Students banned from lessons, outright classism and bigotry… It is an outrage the way the Muggle-borns have been treated under our current Headmaster.'

Hermione started at McGonagall's outburst, feeling touched. Her fingers grazed the raised scar on her cheekbone. 'At least they'll receive some semblance of an education, even if it's subpar.'

'Yes, but at what cost?' McGonagall asked pointedly as they stopped outside the Hospital Wing. Her knowing gaze trailed along the fading marks and Hermione was once again fearful that she possessed the same abilities as Snape. 'I understand you've been… targetted.'

Hermione's hand dropped to her side, suddenly feeling very wary. 'No more than the other students, I suppose.'

'I do not believe that to be entirely true,' McGonagall countered. 'I know Professor Snape administered the Cruciatus Curse on you.'

Her chest ached with a phantom pain that reverberated through her bones.

'That was weeks ago,' Hermione stated, crossing her arms defensively.

McGonagall's forehead creased. 'Yes, and I regret to say that I only found out recently. If I had known sooner—'

'It wouldn't have changed anything.' She tilted her head back in defiance. 'You couldn't have protected me, just like you couldn't protect me on the train.'

'Miss Granger, surely you don't believe that.'

Hermione could hear the hurt in McGonagall's voice and felt a pang of guilt. Neither incident had been McGonagall's fault, not really. Hermione had been the one to agree to stealing the sword from Snape's office. And no one could have predicted Death Eaters would sworm the Hogwarts Express.

'All I meant was that it is exactly as you say… everyone has been put into a challenging situation.' Like being forced to brew a potion that was likely going to be used to kill hundreds of innocent people.

'Indeed.' McGonagall straightened out the sleeves of her robes. 'Well, as long as you understand that whatever you must face, you need not go at it alone.'

Alone. The words, an echo of Lupin's in the shed, doused her with cold water.

Hermione hadn't been alone since she walked into that Dungeon office and asked for support from the man who wore insults like armour.

'I'm feeling rather light-headed. If you don't mind, Professor McGonagall, I'd like to go see Madam Pompfrey now.'

McGonagall nodded sadly. 'Of course. If there is anything you should need, you know where to find me.'


Forty minutes later, Hermione nearly skidded on the stone as she rounded the corner on the fourth floor, her heart thundering heavy in her chest. The moment she had left the Hospital Wing she had snuck away into an alcove to send a message to Snape.

Caught by McG. Coming.

Her anxiety was heightened when the coin remained cold and silent in her palm. Her lunch threatened to find its way back up her stomach when she yanked open the door to a large room full of dusty armchairs and seemingly disregarded furniture. It was only then that the realisation of exactly where she was dawned on her, anxiety nearly boiling over into hysterical laughter as she stood in the middle of the space.

'You've got to be joking.'

It was the very same room they had encountered Fluffy in during their first year.

Feeling a little lighter, she found the old trapdoor under a table and slipped the wooden panel from the opening, peering down into the darkness.

'Professor?'

A moment later the blue glow of a Lumos illuminated Snape's face. 'You're late.'

Hermione bit her lip. He didn't sound terribly angry, but she knew that didn't count for anything yet. Carefully leaning over the opening she squinted down, trying to judge the distance — the last time she had gone through the trapdoor her fall had been cushioned by the Devil's Snare and she loathed to repeat the performance. 'How do I…'

'There's a ladder to your right.'

She turned her head to see the top rung of the ladder leaning against the doorframe. The muscles in her arms and legs quivered violently.

'Scared of heights, Granger?'

A little. But she wasn't about to tell him that. Gathering her Gryffindor courage, she carefully lowered her legs until they hit the rung of the ladder and began her descent.

'Of all the days to wear a skirt,' she muttered, painfully aware of the cool breeze as she slowly made her way down. She was rather thankful it was dark, for it meant she couldn't see the floor beneath her.

Just as she was sure she was nearly at the bottom, her foot slipped.

There was a moment when she saw her death rushing towards her and the mortifying image of lying in a broken heap while Snape rolled his eyes and then —

'Steady,' Snape hissed, his hands on her waist.

Hermione took a great gulp of air, her palms sweaty as they gripped the wooden ladder.

'You'd think you'd never used a ladder before.'

'I have,' she growled back, 'with the light on, like a sane person.'

A deep rumble came from below her and she realised Snape was laughing at her. A retort was firmly on her tongue, but the fear of falling kept her from saying anything stupid. When her feet hit stone at last, Hermione could feel the heat from his body as he stood close behind her, making her mouth go dry.

'Erm, about that light…' she rasped.

His wand flared into life once more. 'Are you aware that you have steam coming from your ears?' He drawled, his eyebrows arching.

She groaned and pressed her hands self-consciously around her head. 'Pepper-up Potion. It's a long story.'

Snape rolled his eyes, his hand digging into the depths of his robes before he extracted a tall, skinny vial. 'Drink this. I refuse to stand next to someone whistling like a tea pot.'

'You mean to tell me we've been walking around with steam coming out of our ears when there was a counter-potion all along?' Long past questioning the contents of anything he gave her, Hermione popped the cork and tipped the slimy potion back down her throat with a shudder. 'That is positively vile.'

'And composed of curdled Diricawl eggs, which as you will know are incredibly valuable and precisely why we cannot hand it out to every student with a head cold.'

She made a face as she handed back the vial, her heart jittering in her chest as their fingers brushed. 'Yet you just so happen to carry some on your person at all times.'

Snape gave her a long-suffering look and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Chasing hormonal teenagers around gives me headaches. Now, if you wouldn't mind…'

Although he hadn't explicitly told her off, Hermione cringed at the thought of causing him any further annoyance. 'Sorry sir.'

There was a flicker of something in his eyes before he turned away from her, vanishing through an open doorway without another word.

'I always wondered, how far below the castle are we?' She asked, lighting her wand as she scrambled to keep up with his long strides.

'Hmm, I forgot you've been here before.' He cast a glance over his shoulder and she tried not to appear too sheepish. Surely they were past that now. 'We're on the same level as the Dungeon classrooms. These are just north of my office, along the outer wall by the lake.'

She held her wand high above her head, peering up into the vaulted chamber that once held the flying keys. She could still hear the flutter of what felt like hundreds of tiny wings as she pitched through the air on her borrowed broom, the adrenaline of the situation the only thing keeping her from losing her nerve.

Snape stood with his hand on the doorknob, studying her. 'They were mostly storage rooms before Dumbledore connected them and sealed the entrances.'

'It all seems a tad bit dramatic now, doesn't it?' She said, still lost in memory. 'Setting up seemingly elaborate traps to try to stop someone from getting at the stone. I could think of a hundred more effective solutions if one truly wanted to keep something so valuable protected. And then for the entire thing to be resolved by a couple of first-years who possess little magic wit or strength, it's almost as if…' Her throat constricted and she stared at him wide-eyed.

'As if it was planned that way?' He finished for her.

The idea soured her stomach. Before she could respond, the door swung open and the vaulted room was filled with a warm glow.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

The large room which had once held a giant chess set was nearly unrecognisable apart from the tall marble columns which lined the walls. The room had been divided in half, with two large workbenches set up in the middle of one side, a flame already lit under what appeared to be a sturdy pewter cauldron, far larger than Hermiome had ever worked with. She briefly clocked the meticulous rows of ingredients laid out, neatly labelled and waiting to be called upon.

But it was the other half which drew her attention. Situated around the ornate fireplace were a small bookshelf, a threadbare green rug and a single grey sofa which had seen better days. A desk was littered with scrolls and inkpots, and books stacked so precariously she was sure they had to have been held up by magic. The furniture was mismatched, and entirely out of place among the grand marble columns, but she hadn't been filled with such a sense of belonging since she had entered the Hogwarts library for the first time as a meger eleven year old.

Hermione turned back to find Snape leaning against the open doorframe, his expression unreadable as his gaze trailed her around the room.

'This is all yours,' she stated.

He shrugged one elegant shoulder. 'The Room of Requirements was impractical. We need a place to brew without being disrupted.'

So he had invited her down into his private space. She turned back to stare at the books, her fingertips itching to pull one off the shelf and curl up on the sofa which was bound to be the perfect level of worn and cosy.

Snape cleared his throat and crossed the room to where she stood. 'There is only one key to the lock, as you'll remember. As long as you keep the door locked while in here, no one will be able to get to you, should they manage to stumble down the ladder.' He drew something from his pocket and placed it in her open palm. The old-fashioned silver key Harry had caught in their first-year glinted up at her like an old friend. 'You'll need access to brew, but after we've finished you're free to use the room whenever you please, as long as you're discreet.'

She closed her first around the key tightly as tears prickled in her eyes. The library had always been a safe haven for her, a place where she was free to hide away from the stresses that came with academic life and her growing friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived. But her time in the library was now monopolised by students who had been barred entry to a basic right to education and the calmness she once felt was filled with a growing panic that the world as she knew it was inevitably coming to an end.

The key in her hand wasn't just any ordinary key. Whether he realised it or not, Snape had just unlocked a door to a quiet place where she could block out the crippling anxiety and just…

Breathe.

As if sensing the shift in her mindset, Snape awkwardly folded his hands into his robes. 'There is work to be done.'


True to style, Snape set her to work almost immediately, showing her the detailed instructions he had laid out in a little black journal while ensuring she could correctly identify every single ingredient that sat on one of the two wooden worktops. Though the room and the sentiment were different, Hermione tried her best to treat it like any other Potions lesson. Snape wouldn't allow her any notes, but she paid rapt attention to the order in which he added ingredients to the simmering cauldron.

But as she positioned herself by his side she was filled with the sobering thought that they were now brewing a potion for the Dark Lord only a few rooms away from the very place where he had once tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone from. She knew there were still lengths to go and yet in some ways it felt as though they had already lost the battle.

It was the same thoughts which she carried with her through the week as they buried themselves in work. Given the current timescales, Hermione had persuaded him to brew both potions in tandem with a seven-hour and eleven-minute delay in between. After much deliberation (and some heated words), Snape agreed it was the best course of action even if it meant Hermione would need to miss several classes to keep up with the demands, leaving Snape to keep up appearances with the Carrows.

'Is there nothing Madam Pomfrey can give you?' Ginny asked one morning over breakfast.

'It's only a head cold,' Hermione replied with a yawn as she poured honey over her porridge. 'Rest is the best thing for it at this point.'

'Yeah but you're not doing much of that now, are you. Mate, you look like shite,' Dean stated briskly.

On her way to the third-floor corridor, Hermione was washing her hands in the girls' toilets when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was limp; the few curls that had escaped her plait sticking to her neck and her forehead. Her skin had taken on an oily sheen from hours leaning over a steaming cauldron and her eyes had the drawn, sunken look of someone severely dehydrated.

She decided to take a detour, stopping by the kitchens to request a few bottles of pumpkin juice from Dobby, which she shoved into her bag along with a few pastries. She was getting better at sneaking through the halls, a skill she knew Harry would be proud of, and she tried to ignore the secret thrill every time she was reminded of who she was skirting off to meet. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she descended the ladder in the dark and she knew it wasn't from the heights.

Silently locking the heavy wooden door behind her, Hermione leaned back against it and watched her Potions Master at work.

Admittedly, in all the years as his student, she had never really witnessed him brewing before. Sure, he had demonstrated the correct way to hold a stirring stick or meticulously pare the skin of a mugwort from its stock, but his teaching style didn't often lend itself to complete demonstrations. Which was interesting, given his rather hands-on approach when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Hermione wondered if students would consider him in a different light if they could see him as she did now — his long dark hair tied back from his face, his black robes reminding her of the vestments worn by vicars. There was a careful science in the way his fingers tapped along the edge of a bowl to gently tip dried Billywig wings into one of the cauldrons, his wrists steady.

'Instead of standing there you could make yourself useful and make a start on chopping the spearmint,' he drawled.

Hermione blushed and placed the pastries and pumpkin juice on the desk before drifting over to the tables. 'I've brought you some refreshments.'

Snape hummed, glancing up over the blue steam at her fares. 'Pumpkin juice? How… adolescent of you.'

'Forgive me, next time I'll raid Slughorn's office for some ale, shall I?' She huffed, mashing a leaf with a little more force than necessary.

'Ale?' The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. 'No one drinks ale anymore, this isn't the fifteenth century.'

She put her knife down before she inadvertently sliced off the tip of a finger. 'How should I know? They don't exactly allow students to drink hard liquor at the Three Broomsticks, and you wizards have a strange pallet.'

This comment earned her a snort. 'Yes but not ale, Granger.'

Her cheeks flaming in mild embarrassment, she resumed her chopping. 'Well, what do you drink then?' She kept her gaze trained on the green sprigs of spearmint, the question feeling oddly intimate now that she had said it.

'I'm partial to a Firewhisky,' Snape told her, his voice slightly hoarse. 'But a red wine would also do. I suppose I am a simple man, in that regard.'

Her mouth went dry and she was back in his office, the spicy-sweet smell of Firewhisky heavy on his breath as he leaned in close. She had been to the pub with her father enough times that she could picture the amber-coloured liquor on ice and her stomach fluttered at the idea of Snape sitting in front of the fire in his room somewhere in the castle with a heavy book in his lap.

A timer went off and Hermione busied herself with adding the spearment to the second cauldron, just as she had done hours before with the first. Her fingers scanned through Snape's notes and she was quickly lost in the quick movements of measuring and adding newt eyes, borage and — to her disgust — rat spleens. She lowered the fire to a simmer and stirred counter-clockwise until the mixture turned from violet to magenta.

'The consistency is adequate,' came Snape's voice from behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. 'Although those rat spleens could have benefitted from being sliced into cubes, not chunks.'

'I'll remember that the next time I brew a deadly potion for a madman,' she retorted, scowling at him as she wiped her hands on her robes.

Snape held out a bottle of pumpkin juice in what appeared to be a truce. 'These will simmer for a while. It's nearly supper, you should go and dine with your friends.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'It's alright, I'm not very hungry.'

'Granger…'

'Honestly, it's fine. Why don't you go up and make yourself seen? You weren't at breakfast or lunch. I can keep an eye on these,' she said, putting down the bottle. 'Besides, I still need to finish that essay on Animagi you assigned me last week.'

He took a long swig of juice before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Need I remind you I'm already busy enough. If you submit anything longer than four inches I will not hesitate to set your parchment on fire.'

Hermione laughed softly. 'I suppose that's fair.' She leant her hip against the countertop, watching the swirling mists. 'You know, I realised that I've never seen you brewing in class. You enjoy it though, don't you.'

'What gave you that impression?'

'You practically re-wrote Advanced Potion-Making,' she pointed out.

He shook his head. 'I won't pretend to understand your obsession with that book.'

She scratched at her wrist, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. It's because it's yours, she wanted to tell him, but god, he would absolutely tear her apart if she even hinted at it. Instead she shrugged.

Snape scratched at the growing stubble along his jaw. 'There's a subtly to it that I admire. Plants and herbs take time to grow and nurture. Beasts must be sourced and caught at exactly the right point in their lifecycle. Then there is the preparation and storage to allow the ingredients to ferment or cure as appropriate.' He jabbed his wand at one of the flames, causing them to jump. Hermione unconsciously leant towards him, listening intently. 'Finally, the act of brewing itself which requires precision, patience and a subtle use of magic to infuse the ingredients together to transform something which can slow time or give life…'

'Or take it away,' she added.

Snape frowned, the flickering firelight reflecting in his eyes as he looked up making her stomach swoop. 'There is that.'

He leaned back against the other worktop, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. In retrieving the pumpkin juice had had once again removed his teaching robes in favour of his shirt sleeves. While he was no less intimidating without the billowing swaths of black fabric, Hermione had a difficult time reconciling the man in front of her with the one who had taught her for six years. She felt her palms growing sweaty and pulled at the collar of her jumper.

'You know, if you explained it like that I bet you more students would pay attention,' she mused.

He scoffed quietly, watching her hands. 'Doubtful. I am well aware there is nothing sexy about Potion making. It does dreadful things to one's skin and hair.'

Her cheeks flushed with heat and she dipped her head to idly rearrange the bottles on the bottles on the worktop. When he began flipping through his journal she cleared her throat awkwardly. 'So… what happens after we brew the potions? How are you going to deliver it to the Dark Lord?'

Snape appeared weary. 'Draco has been instructed to take it.'

Her stomach flipped and she stalled her motions. 'Malfoy is still being called by the Dark Lord, even while he's here?'

His jaw worked and he studied the bottle in his hands before placing it next to hers. 'Once.'

Hermione could hear the dip of uncertainty in his voice. 'That you're aware of.'

His fingers brushed his chest and Hermione's gaze was drawn to the motion, her pulse stuttering.

'With great enough certainty,' he told her.

Her mind was drawn towards Harry's map hidden in her trunk and the countless number of times he used it to sneak out of Hogwarts, seemingly undetected. She worked on replaiting the ends of her hair as she considered the right way to address the situation. Although they appeared to be on decent grounds now she still had an innate fear of being punished by a teacher.

'There are secret passages in and out of the castle,' she explained delicately. 'Is it possible he could be using one of them?'

'I'd say it's rather unlikely.'

His minor arrogance annoyed her.

'But… how can you be so sure? Harry managed to sneak out on multiple occasions without Dumbledore knowing. It was reckless, I know, I scolded him more times than I could count but he never—'

'Granger,' Snape sighed. His fingers slowly unbuttoned the top of his shirt and her heart jumped in her throat before she realised he was pulling a long golden chain out from underneath. With a cocky half-smirk, he held the ornate key up for her to see. 'Dumbledore knew.'

A wash of excitement brimmed to the edge of her nerves.

'Oh my god. Is that what I think it is?' She nearly knocked over a bowl of butterfly antenna in her rush to get around the table. 'I knew you were— but it never even — of course you would have it. Oh my god, so if you— then McGonagall—' She stopped short in front of him, her fingers itching to touch the large key. 'Can I?'

Snape's lips twitched. 'Go ahead.'

Hermione stepped closer, her hands reaching out to reverently cradle the key in her palms. The lights of the cauldron fires danced off the polished mixed metals, the Hogwarts crest appearing to nearly glow from within. It was heavier than it looked, and she wondered if the weight were a symbol of the responsibilities resting on a Headmaster's shoulders.

The ritual was mentioned only briefly in Hogwarts: A History. The key was a physical representation of everything a Headmaster should be: just and wise, nurturing and courageous. Qualities that most people would never associate with the tall, terrifying professor who lurked about in the dungeons. But over the last year Hermione had come to understand that there was more to the man than others realised.

She looked up then and shivered, the hairs along the backs of her arms tingling as she realised just how close they were standing. Snape still leant back against the table, his dark eyes taking on the same glossy look as the night she had found him drunk in his office. His Adam's apple bobbled once and his lips parted with a quiet intake of breath, making her feel dizzy.

'Granger…'

The key grew cold under her fingers, burning her. She snatched her hands back at once. 'Oh!'

Snape's face was full of sudden concern. 'What is it?'

She tried to blink away the foggy-feeling from her mind. 'The key, it—'

His hand came up at once, pressing the key against his chest. She could have sworn concern flickered to fear before his features turned cold and steely, just like they had when he had been summoned to kill Dumbledore.

'Someone's here.'

Her stomach fell. 'But the potion isn't ready!'

'No,' Snape agreed, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room. 'Where's your key?'

'It's in my bag.'

'Do you remember what I told you about the door?' He pressed, quickly donning his teaching robes. She could have sworn his fingers trembled as he fumbled with the top buttons.

'There's only one key. But what does that—'

Snape was on her, forcefully grabbing her shoulders to hold her in place. 'When I leave I will lock the door behind me. Stay down here, continuing brewing. The instructions are all in the book—'

'I know what I'm doing, I've been doing it all week.'

His fingers tightened and there was a growing tenseness in the corners of his eyes. 'Granger shut up and listen to me.' It was only when she exhaled sharply through her nose that he continued. 'He knows the potion wouldn't be ready, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't send someone to look in on me. He doesn't trust me at the moment.'

Fear turned her blood to ice. 'Professor…'

'If I don't return before the potion is finished, there are some empty bottles in that cupboard over there,' he explained with a jerk of his head. 'Do not, under any circumstances, allow the potion to touch your skin. Do I make myself clear?'

She swallowed thickly. 'Perfectly.'

Hermione followed him towards the vaulted chamber. Snape paused at the open doorway.

'Granger…'

His lips pressed together in a grimace. The air hung heavy between them.

'Go,' she urged him. 'I've got this.'

Snape nodded once before shutting the heavy door between them, sealing her off from the world.


Author's Note:

Oh man. Guys I'm so sorry, I can't believe it's been nearly three months since I last posted! Writing a fic of this length with lots of different story lines to weave has been rather tricky. I had a completely different plot point here, but after trying to write the same chapter 3 times I realised it wouldn't work and had to reconsider the whole arc! Once a chapter is out, it's out and I didn't want to rush anything. I just needed a bit of time to sit with it.

Thank you for everyone who's stuck around and for all of your continued support. I appreciate each and every one of you :)

Playlist:
Origins, A Discovery of Witches, Rob Lane
The Devil is a Gentleman, Merci Raines