Time moved slowly.

Every nerve, every cell felt like it was on fire — every breath took more energy than the last, her lungs rising sluggishly in a chest full of lead. Unconsciousness tugged her down and offered her no relief in a special hell where Bellatrix's high-pitched laughter and Snape's cold, dead eyes chased her through her dreams.

She'd wake sometimes from her nightmares, covered in sweat and her back arching painfully, and Snape would be there with a glass of water and a pinched expression. Wordlessly he would hold her hand until her heart rate slowed and sleep claimed her once again. Other nights she'd be greeted by an empty chair and a deep feeling of dread sitting heavy in her stomach — those were the nights she would stare up into the rafters, watching the shadows pressing in until Madam Pomfrey arrived with a calming drought.

The worn copy of Advanced Potion-Making had returned to her bedside table next to her wand, the spine still broken. She smiled when she saw it, tears prickling in her eyes. She didn't know how he had managed to retrieve it from the depths of her trunk, a blush staining her cheeks at the idea of her Potions Master rummaging through her meticulously folded socks and underthings, but she was grateful. In his own way, it was as if he were offering her an olive branch— an apology for the hour of terror and the pain that lingered while he stood by and watched.

While her dreams continually forced her back towards the moment that would forever drag on for what felt like years, during the day she built an iron wall around her thoughts and barricaded it with steel.

Not that her friends didn't try their best to tear her walls down.

According to Ginny, while Hermione was lying on the floor of the Headmaster's office fighting consciousness, the other Gryffindors quickly assumed the worst. Upon Bellatrix's arrival, Snape had ordered all students back to their dorms, escorted by their Heads of Houses. Though Professor McGonagall attempted to keep the hoard of terrified teenagers in line, enough had witnessed the terrifying image of Bellatrix standing in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts and recalled the death of their beloved Headmaster the last time she had graced the castle with her presence. Once they realised Hermione hadn't returned it didn't take them long to put two and two together and assume the worst.

Unfortunately for Hermione, they weren't far off.

Unlike Snape's spotty schedule, her friends visited more regularly. Under close surveillance from Madam Pomfrey, they came in pairs, Neville and Luna, Dean and Ginny. Even the timid first-year Emma, whom she had since learned was in Ravenclaw, had brought her a small card charmed to glitter in the sunlight. And while they all did their best to keep their voices cheerful and faces positive, Hermione could tell by the exchanged glances that they were watching her. Judging her. And why wouldn't they? Harry's poor little broken friend had already found herself in hospital twice in the last two years for getting struck down in battle.

She couldn't bear it.

'Madam Pomfrey says I should be able to go back to lessons on Monday,' she told Ginny one Friday evening.

Ginny glanced at Neville.

'No one would think differently if you stayed a little longer,' Neville said, patting her hand in a gesture that was supposed to seem comforting. Instead, it only left her with a poor taste in her mouth.

'Honestly, Hermione, you've been through a lot. Your lessons will still be there,' Ginny agreed, her hip bumping Advantaged Potions-Making as she leaned against the bedside table.

Hermione eyed the book with contempt. 'This is ridiculous, I'm fine.' When Ginny and Neville exchanged another glance she crossed her arms, trying to mask her wince at the movement. 'What is it.'

'Don't get upset,' Neville said. 'It's only... Well…'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'She was going to find out eventually.' She absently touched the space where her ear had once been, her nose wrinkling in disgust. 'Snape's forbidden all Muggle-borns from going home at Christmas.'

Disappointment washed through her. Ginny had invited her back to the Burrow at the beginning of the month and while she had loathed the idea of leaving Snape on his own over Christmas she had hoped that perhaps Ron and Harry would somehow make their way back to the Weasley's for some merriment. It had only been three months since she had seen them last but it was starting to feel more like three years.

'Just the Muggle-borns?' Hermione asked, frowning. 'Did he give a reason?'

Ginny shoved her hands into her robes haughtily and sat down hard on the end of Hermione's bed. 'Like hell he did. Something about it being for your protection but come off it— it's just one more way to divide us. That bloody git. We should have filled his office with dung bombs when we stole the sword.'

Hermione wiped her stinging eyes with the back of her hand. It was stupid, she didn't even really care for Christmas at the Burrow, but at least it was something. Anything was better than drowning in the memories of the last Christmas with her parents where they had —

No.

No, she wouldn't dwell on it. She couldn't think about them now, not when there was so much hanging in the balance.

'Dean was furious when he heard,' Neville added, sensing the shift in her mood. 'Called Snape some very unkind words and was crucio'd by Alecto in front of everyone.'

Groaning in frustration Hermione tried to sit up, a wave of electricity flaring through her nerves causing her to cry out. Ginny lept off the bed in an attempt to help.

'Are you alright? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?'

Hermione gritted her teeth and shook her head. 'It'll pass.' She laid back gingerly among her pillows. 'This is getting entirely out of hand, we can't let the Carrows keep using Unforgivables every time someone speaks their mind.'

Neville looked suddenly uncomfortable, the tips of his ears turning pink. 'Some of the younger students in DA want to stage a revolt.'

'We've told them no of course,' Ginny explained quickly, hugging her knees to her chest as she sat back down on the bed. 'They haven't seen what we've seen — it's like they've intentionally forgotten what happened the last time Death Eaters stormed the castle… all they talk about is the way Fred and George took down Umbridge.'

'Fred and George didn't take down Umbridge, that's not at all what happened,' Hermione scoffed.

'We know,' the youngest Weasley replied more gently, her gaze serious. 'But you can't blame them for wanting to do something. Especially after Snape effectively cancelled Christmas.'

Hermione ground the palms of her hands into her eyesockets, hoping the pressure would ease the pounding headache building in her temples.

'You should reconsider joining DA. You're Harry's best friend. You're the only one they'll listen to,' Neville said.

Irritation triggered shockwaves of pain across her abdomen and she folded her arms across her stomach, her face growing pale. After everything she had given, after everything she had done to protect Harry and the Order and the innocent students by defying Bellatrix, how could they possibly ask her to risk it all again?

'I can't,' she said forcefully. 'Please don't ask me again.'

They didn't stay long after that, though Hermione didn't miss the unspoken conversation they were having without her. She couldn't quite gauge if they were worried or disappointed, and truthfully she didn't know what was worse.

If she was being kind to herself, she knew that she had done well to withstand the hour of pain under Bella's wand. No one, Snape included, would have blamed her if she had given up any information to the wrong side. But there was a niggling sensation under her breastbone that left her feeling like she hadn't done enough.

And Hermione detested nothing more than the failure to meet her selfish expectations.

'Is it true you've forbidden the Muggle-born students from returning home over Christmas?' Hermione asked Snape later that night as he slid between the curtains, quiet as a wraith. Judging from the deep sigh as he slumped down in his chair her tone had been far more accusatory than she had intended.

'It was not my idea, believe me,' he remarked abruptly.

She closed the book Neville had brought her on the fungi of Devon, folding her hands neatly on top. 'But ultimately you have the authority to sign it off.'

'You can't be serious.' He gave her a level look that would have made her flee the dungeons as a second-year. Instead, she only squared her shoulders, goading him into an argument.

'Well you are the Headmaster, are you not? What is the point if you can't even have the final say.'

His eyes flashed dangerously. 'Shall I go, or are you done acting like a petulant child.'

She held his steely gaze, the muscles in her jaw working furiously until a wave of pain ran down her spine and she lurched forward, the effect entirely lost. Without another word, Snape uncorked one of the amber-coloured bottles on her bedside table and handed it to her.

'Thanks,' she said begrudgingly, her nose wrinkling at the sour aftertaste. 'I was supposed to return to the Burrow for Christmas. Perhaps it was foolish of me to hope, but I thought…' She sighed. 'I thought there was maybe a small chance Harry might be there.'

'I would hope he wouldn't be so daft as to hide himself in plain sight, but then again he has been known to do incredibly foolish and dangerous things,' he sneered.

Her temper flared again and she dropped the book onto the side table, half-hoping the thud was loud enough to penetrate Snape's sound barrier around the curtains and wake the other patients. Or Madam Pomfrey.

'I won't have you insulting my best friend that way,' she responded cooly. 'Yes, he might be a tad brash at times, but he's far more clever than you give him credit for. Besides, it isn't his fault the Dark Lord decided to mark him as his equal, or that Dumbledore all but abandoned him. He's only doing his best, and I am so sick of you constantly putting him down, especially when you of all people—'

Hermione bit down hard on her tongue, her mouth filling with the coppery taste of blood.

The memories of being comforted by Ron the last time she had been under Madam Pomfrey's care rushed back to her. She still hadn't worked up the courage to ask Snape if it were true if he had been the one to condemn Harry's parents to death by handing over the prophecy to the Dark Lord. It was a horrible concept that she had pushed down far into the recesses of her mind and refused to acknowledge.

She didn't know what that said about her or her relationship with her professor, but she at least had the foresight to realise that now was not the right moment to address it.

Hermione threw an arm over her eyes and groaned, her head smacking against the headboard.

'You're tired,' Snape said after a while, as if that could excuse her horrible mood. She let her arm fall and looked at him properly for the first time that evening. He wasn't as gaunt as he appeared the night she found him drinking in his office, but he wasn't exactly a picture of health either. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced and he wore his robes like they were armour he wanted to disappear into.

'So are you,' she pointed out. 'Tell me about the potions.'

He pulled Neville's book off the side table and casually flipped it open to peruse its contents, his dark hair falling forward into his face. 'The second will be ready to deliver to the Dark Lord by tomorrow night.'

She swallowed against the heaviness in her throat. 'And the first?'

'It had to be destroyed.'

All those hours slaving away over the steaming cauldron, undone in a matter of minutes. The idea that the spoiled potion would prevent the deaths of innocents should have brought her comfort, but she knew it wasn't that straightforward.

'Does he know?'

He flipped a page, his eyes still cast in shadows. 'Yes. We're fortunate that he had not sanctioned Bella's little visit and he's subsequently granted us a reprieve. As agreed, Draco will deliver him the first tomorrow night, and I will deliver the second once complete to ensure there are no more… mishaps.'

Her stomach gave a little flip of anxiety. Something about Snape delivering the potion himself filled her with utmost dread.

'I don't like this,' Hermione stated, her voice no louder than a whisper. 'He hasn't requested you return to him since the summer and in your first audience you will be to be told off like a school child.'

'Well.' He snapped the book shut and returned it to its place. 'There is nothing for it. I will attend like the faithful puppet I am. Besides, it has been a while since I was amongst my peers. There is much to catch up on.'

She blew a steady stream of breath out her nose, annoyed that he didn't appear nearly as bothered as she. Or if he was, he was back to hiding again. Just when she thought they were finally getting somewhere.

'At least I'll be out by the weekend,' she told him briskly, sitting up straighter. 'I'll pick up my shifts again between classes.'

'No, you won't.'

His tone brokered no room for argument and she groaned. 'Oh for heaven's sake, we're not actually having this discussion again are we?'

Snape stood abruptly, his eyes skipping over her form. 'You'll be pleased to know then that there is no further discussion to be had.'

There was a swirl of black robes against the pale white curtains and for the second time that day, Hermione's eyes prickled with tears of frustration.

Sunday morning she was given the all-clear. Madam Pomfrey arrived at her bedside with a basket full of bottles and a strained look.

'This is becoming a habit. You're going to start giving Mr Potter a run for his money soon.'

Hermione dipped her head, a small smile on her face. 'Would you believe me if I said that unlike Harry I don't go looking for trouble?'

'I bet he would likely argue the same.' Madam Pomfrey laughed, the creases around her eyes somehow making her appear decades younger. 'I never thought I would live to see the day that I might actually miss the silly boy and his antics.'

The pain behind her breastbone grew and she placed a hand on her chest to steady herself. 'It is awfully quiet these days.'

'Aye.' Pomfrey nodded her head once in dismissal. 'Get going then. I suspect your friends will want to see you, no doubt.'

Hermione took her time returning to her dorm, deciding a long hot bath was in order before lunch. There was a dull, lingering ache in her nerves that she suspected would become a new companion to see her through the winter, an ever-present reminder of a moment she would much rather forget. In the Gryffindor girls' baths she undressed and stood in front of one of the long mirrors, studying herself.

The last time she had looked in the mirror was the night she had been brought to the Headmaster's office for questioning. Then, she had thought her appearance was rather haggard from hours working over the cauldrons. Her appearance now was far worse.

Although it had only been a little over a week since Bellatrix's visit, Hermione had lost some considerable weight from the sleepless nights and lack of appetite. What curves she had gained at the beginning of the school term were gone, and instead her face was drawn, her eyes hollow. Her index finger traced the shining white scar on her cheekbone from Goyle's hex. Snape and Pomfrey had done their best, but she now realised that the mark would forever remain.

Would Harry and Ron still recognise her if they saw her? Would they see her new scar and the subtle curve of her spine and know what she faced? Would she have the words to tell them about the bone-splitting pain? Sinking under the hot water and bubbles, she knew it wasn't the torture she wouldn't be able to find words for. It was everything that came in between.

The lost prefects' badge, the broken textbook, the failed theft. Selling a slice of her soul to brew a potion for a demon they had spent their school years trying to defeat in an attempt to save the soul of another. The smell of whisky on hot breath and the feel of cold fingers against her pulse.

If there were words for the in-between she would write them down and burn them.

Upon returning her mix of potions to her room she found the Sickle burning in the pocket of her robes.

Whomping Willow.

Hermione's stomach was a flurry of butterflies as she buckled her heavy cloak over her shoulders. She had never been a particularly spiritual person, but she was willing to pray to Merlin if it meant Malfoy had successfully transported their deadly potion to the Dark Lord.

Even if that potion has been used to take innocent lives?

She wouldn't think about that.

Snape was waiting for her in the shade of the Whomping Willow, obviously undisturbed by its flailing branches. Hermione chose to give it a wide berth.

'Professor,' she offered in greeting. His dark eyes were guarded, but not cold, as he studied her. She rolled her eyes in a huff. 'I've been given a clean bill of health if that's what you're worried about.

He hummed non-committally and jerked his head towards the forest. 'Is it true Potter taught you all to cast a Corporal Patronus.'

She blinked at him, feeling slightly off-kilter by the question. 'Erm, he did.'

'It appears he has done something useful, for once. Keep your wand out then,' he commented dryly. Hermione narrowed her eyes, their earlier fight not forgotten. Snape scoffed and headed into the trees, his wand steady in front of him. She followed closely behind.

'Can you cast a Patrous?'

He glanced at her sideways. 'I thought it was a known fact that Death Eaters could not.'

She sniffed at his vague answer. 'I can't tell whether you're being deliberately abstruse.' She stumbled over a log and his hand grasped her elbow, steadying her. 'Besides, you're not exactly any Death Eater. A clever man like you, I would expect it well within your capabilities.'

He gave a wry bark of laughter. 'I'm afraid I feel less than clever as of late.'

They picked their way over rocks and stumps, the path icy and swirling with fog. The low winter sun peaked through the leaves, casting an orange glow on the forest. Her footing still felt unstable and Hermione was thankful for the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he guided her along.

'How did last night go? Did Malfoy say anything?' She enquired after a while, her breath misty in front of her face. The forest became more dense as the path narrowed up an incline.

'It went as expected.'

She chewed on the inside of her. 'Well that's good I suppose. What did the Dark Lord say? Do we know what he wants to use the potion for yet?' She wrung her hands together. 'Oh god, what if it didn't work? I'm sure I was careful, but what if the Gillyweed interfered with the bat livers?'

'Granger,' her name came out sharp, his tone exasperated. He stopped abruptly. 'While I appreciate your dedication to the cause, I need you to stop.'

Her mouth opened and shut with a snap and shame flooded her cheeks.

Snape's expression softened. 'I know it must be near impossible, but I would like you to try something for me.'

She licked her lips, the burning needs to ask a million more questions nearly eating her alive. 'Okay.'

'You and I are going to walk up this hill. As you can see, it's about to get very steep, and I would prefer to not waste any breath talking about things I'd rather not consider at this moment in time.'

'But—'

'If you can restrain yourself,' he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'you may ask one question.

Hermione wrapped her cloak further around herself against the biting wind, her fingers drumming along her arm in an attempt to keep her thoughts to herself. It was impossible to not know, but all the same…

'What kind of question?' She asked slowly, her eyes narrowed as she peered up at her professor.

His eyes rolled dramatically towards the sky. 'So long as it's not about the Dark Lord, anything. Now can we continue before the sun sets?'

She huffed and gestured towards the path. 'Where are we going anyway?'

'Is that your question?'

It was her turn to roll her eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile and despite her annoyance, she couldn't help but return it.

'Patience.'

She conceded he was right, at least in part. The path did indeed begin to climb, and it wasn't long before the dull ache in her chest became a persistent burn. By the time they crested the hill, she was nearly doubled over in pain.

'Are you alright?' Two cool fingers pressed along the inside of her wrist, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Hermione laid her hand against her sternum as she tried to steady her breathing. 'I'm fine.'

His brow creased. 'Perhaps I should return you to the castle.'

'You can't walk up the stairs without getting winded,' Ron's voice cut through her thoughts.

Hermione snatched her hand back, folding her arms back into her robes. 'I said I'm fine,' she told Snape irritably, brushing past him. 'Besides, you're the one who dragged me all this way. It would be pointless to—'

She moved past the treelined and her biting remark died.

The Scottish Highlands sprawled before them, the fading sunlight sparkling off the snow-covered hills and casting long shadows. Far below, mist clung to the valleys and lakes. It was beautiful.

'Sixteen years and I never tire of this view,' Snape remarked quietly from beside her.

She hummed in response, the winter winds whipping at her cheekbones.

It was as if someone had turned down the noise in her brain. Her bitter hatred towards Bellatrix, the grief over losing her friends, the self-doubt, it all just… quieted.

'What do you see?'

Hermione looked up at him through her lashes. 'The mountains… Snow…'

'And what is beyond those mountains?'

'Towns, I would suppose. And then… a few hours south would be Edinburgh.'

Snape nodded slowly, folding his arms behind his back as he surveyed the land below. With his head tilted up his dark hair fell back from his face and Hermione's breath hitched in her chest. He appeared almost regal, like a dark prince taking stock of his kingdom.

'There is a whole world out there,' he said, his voice low. 'More cities, more lives. Hundreds of thousands of men and women and children, who for one reason cannot afford to take part in the fight. Or are oblivious to how the outcome will impact them.'

'Muggles.'

'Muggles,' he agreed.

Hermione scratched at her wrist, the weight of it all triggering the feeling of suffocation in her throat. 'We need to fight for them.'

'We do. But this isn't all about you. Or I, ' he added, his words slow and considered. 'My point is, there is a world out there beyond this war. Your life isn't defined by your friendships or the decisions you've made. Or, most importantly, what has been done to you. You have a choice in how you want this to play out.'

Her chin quivered as she stared out at the countryside. 'But Harry and Ron are out there. Do you want me to just give up? To not care what happens to them, or whether they succeed?'

'Not in the slightest.' His finger came up under her chin, turning her head. His eyes were dark and crackling with energy. 'But for once in this game, you need to think about what you want.'

What did she want?

'The same as everyone else. I want Muggles and Wizards to live peacefully. I want there to be no more fighting or destruction.

His mouth curled slightly into a sneer. 'A noble notion. But you can do better than that. What do you want.'

All at once everything came into perfect focus.

Him.

She wanted him, her dark and cruel professor who wove himself into the fibres of her soul until she could no longer tell where she started and he ended. It had always been him since the moment he grabbed her hand across the desk and offered her an alternative path: a choice.

'I don't know,' Hermione told him instead.

Snape said nothing more of it, and when she turned back he was sitting down on a fallen log, his long legs stretching gracefully onto the frost-covered ground. Feeling incredibly self-aware of her limbs, she settled down beside him and flicked her wand through the air, bluebell flames dancing in rings before them. They weren't as hot as a roaring fire, but it was enough to ward off the cold that was settling in her bones.

Snape made a half-strangled noise and she looked up, startled

'That was you,' he gasped, mild surprise and annoyance clouding his features. 'You set my robes on fire!'

Heat flooded her wind-chilled cheeks and she covered her face with her hands. 'Oh my god, I can't believe you remember that.' She wished at once the forest would swallow her whole.

'You do realise Quirrel nearly killed Potter. I was trying to cast a counter-curse to keep him from falling off his broom,' he quipped shortly.

'Yes, well obviously I know that now,' she groaned, 'but I was twelve.'

He snorted. 'Merlin's beard, sometimes I forget how young you are.'

Embarrassment turned to shame. 'I'm eighteen,' she protested softly, nudging the flames with the toe of her oxfords.

'Yes, which unfortunately makes me twice your age,' he sighed, rubbing his jaw.

'You can be quite the grumpy old man,' she teased lightly, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her.

Snape tugged sharply on one of her curls. 'Perhaps. But never forget this grumpy old man could easily kick your arse in a fight, Witchlet.'

She laughed for what felt like the first time since Bill and Fleur's wedding, the crushing weight slowly easing in her chest. Feeling bold, she leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as she stared down at the valley.

'I'm ready for my question now.'

He tensed at her touch and there was a moment she was sure she had overstepped her boundaries and he would shout at her.

'Go on then,' he grumbled.

Her heart beating a million miles a minute she asked tentatively, 'If it weren't for the war, what would you do?'

'What a weighted question,' he replied, leaning back so that her weight shifted into him.

Hermione felt light-headed, her fluttering heart becoming a steady rush in her ears. 'You mean you never considered it?'

'Have you considered it?'

'Of course,' she told him, trying not to focus on the way his thigh pressed warmly against hers or how his robes smelled faintly of fresh parchment and ink. 'I wanted to work for the Ministry. I want to work for the Ministry,' she corrected, not daring to hope that such a future was still a possibility. The likelihood seemed so far away, foggy like the swirling mists of the crystal balls in Trelawney's Divination classroom.

'Fancy yourself the next Minister of Magic then?' He scoffed, but she could hear the note of playfulness in his tone and she jabbed her finger into space above his knee. He caught the offending hand in his own and flipped it over, one long digit tracing the lines on her palm.

'I could be,' she retorted.

'You would hate it. Politics and red tape,' he remarked. 'There are more fulfilling jobs out there in the Wizarding World, I assure you.'

Her curiosity brought everything back into focus. 'Like?'

'There's a library in Cambridge, three times the size of the one at Hogwarts. A small group of witches and wizards are currently researching ancient magic.'

She peered at him owlishly. The Hogwarts Library would forever hold a special place in her heart, and although she tried she doubted she would ever read all the books. But a library thrice the size… Just the thought of it was enough to take her breath away. 'Have you ever been?'

'Once,' he said, his touch becoming firmer as he drew lazy spirals. 'I was allowed to study there briefly while completing my potions mastery.'

'I wish I could see it one day.'

If they survived the war. If the library still stood.

'You will,' Snape assured her, as though sensing her thoughts.

Hermione hummed, holding her hope tightly inside her. There were still so many unknowns that she couldn't allow herself the luxury of dreaming. She rested her head against Snape's shoulder again and looked down at the shadows moving across the hills.

'I'd open an apothecary,' he said softly after a time, so quietly she might have imagined it. Hermione held still, holding her breath unless as she scare away his thoughts. 'Somewhere quiet, with just enough customers to get by to give me time to complete my own research.'

The image was so vivid it made her heart hurt: a small shop tucked away amongst the cobbled streets like she had seen when visiting Whitby, the shelves full of little bottles and pleasantries curated and brewed with Snape's careful attention. She could nearly smell the tang of sea salt in the air, the freedom to walk along the shore with a cone of chips in her hands while the biting chill of the waves lapped at her ankles. And in her day dream Snape walked alongside, his dark hair blowing in the breeze as he leaned in to steal a chip with that mischievous smirk she adored.

A cold wind whistled through the trees and Hermione leaned further into him, clinging onto the idea for a little longer.

'One day,' she told him — a promise she couldn't keep, but dared to ask the universe all the same.

Snape stopped his ministrations to clasp her hand tightly, and she wondered if he too were considering a phantom future.

'It all feels pointless — celebrating Christmas when the world is ending,' Ginny said solomly as they stood at the top of the marble staircase, watching Hagrid drag a great spruce tree through the Entrance Hall.

Hermione clutched her book closer to her chest, its heavy weight grounding her. 'To you and I, perhaps, because we understand the stakes.' She nodded down at the small group of first and second-years that had trailed in behind the groundskeeper with their cheeks tinged pink from the cold. 'But it's important to carry on.'

'Maybe.' Ginny sighed and leant against the railing, tucking her hair behind the ragged hole of her ear Snape had inadvertently destroyed. The sight made Hermione's stomach clench uncomfortably. Ginny glanced up at her, oblivious. 'If I had known last year that it was our last good Christmas, I would have done things differently, you know?'

A bubble of laughter echoed through the Entrance Hall against the ringing in her ears. Hermione gave the memory of peeling potatoes at the sink with Harry and Ron a forceful shove. It would do her no good to dwell on any of it now. Instead she placed a hand over Ginny's. 'There will be more good Christmases.'

The good humour from the students below fell to a hush. Out from the Great Hall strode Amycus and Alecto, looking every bit like a set of demon twins as they descended on the small group. Hagrid's expression turned from jovial to contempt at something Alecto said, and Hermione watched in horror as the spruce tree burst into flames.

'Yeh've got no shame, the lot o' yeh!' Hagrid bellowed, taking a menacing step towards Alecto only to jerk his arm back with a great howl.

Dread turned into something far more chilling as Hermione hurried down the stairs in time to see one of the first-years brandishing her wand in Alecto's face.

'And what d'you think you're going to do with that,' sneered Alecto.

'Eat dung!' Shrieked the girl.

There was a bang and some smoke, and Hermione's throat constricted when she realised the petite girl bravely trying to face off against the Death Eaters was none other than Emma. She didn't know whether the jinx failing to work as intended was a blessing or a curse, but either way was producing a similar effect to poking a wasp nest with a very short stick. Amycus rounded on Emma, his eyes bulging as his wand came up high.

'You little—'

'Don't you dare touch her,' Hermione hissed, elbowing her way through the crowd to stand in front of the Muggle-born.

Amycus' face turned a funny shade of red and he tried to shove her carelessly away as though she were some sort of bothersome insect. 'Get out of the way.'

She dug in her heels, rounding her shoulders back to make herself appear taller. 'I said no. You leave her be.'

'She tried to hex my sister!'

'Codswallop,' countered Hagrid, cradling his arm close to his chest. It had grown twice its normal size and the seams of his coat looked ready to burst. 'She's nothin' but a dot.'

'A speck of shite if you ask me,' laughed Alecto. 'The oaf's right, she can hold a wand but can't even cast a spell.'

Emma squawked indignantly and Hermione threw her arm out to stop her from moving forward. 'I know plenty of magic, just you watch!'

'Emma, no.' She disliked the gleeful look in Alecto's eyes and gently tried to tug the girl back before things could escalate further. 'She's not worth it. Come on.'

Their little group had made it halfway across the Entrance Hall when Amycus called out, 'Yes, run along back to you dirty rat hole, filthy mudblood scum.'

It's not worth it, Snape hissed in her ear.

But no, it was worth it. She was so tired of being pushed around. She was exhausted by the constant noise around her, telling her that she was never enough — that she was somehow less because of her blood status. And then to hear those same taunts pushed down on a child…

Without thinking, her robes whipped around her as she descended on Amycus, the tip of her wand digging into his chest. 'She might not be able to hex you, but I can.'

The muscles in his cheek twitched into a snarl that reminded her of a rabid bulldog. 'You're McGonagall's golden girl. You wouldn't dream of it.'

That's where you're wrong, she wanted to yell at him.

She was Snape's. She had always been Snape's.

Her pulse heavy in her wrists, she pressed her wand in deeper and tilted her head back, adopting the same expression Snape had used on her a million times before in class when he had disregarded her work in that cool, cruel way. 'You think so?' She cocked her head to the side. 'I'm not scared of you. Or your sister. Bella has already done her worst on me, or have you blocked out that memory so quickly? Because I haven't. I will never forget what she did to me.'

Darkness crept around the edges of her vision.

You could hurt them. You know the words, you have enough dark magic in you to make him scream if you wanted, Snape told her.

Her hand shook.

What do you want, Hermione?

It was all there, the magic she had read in Snape's books on the tips of her tongue.

Amycus eyes widened briefly as though he too could see the dark tendrils rising around them.

'Hermione, don't,' Ginny called softly.

Amycus blinked, and the spell was broken. Darkness turned to nausea and before anyone could say another word Hermione fled from the Entrance Hall.

Her hands were still shaking by the time she entered the vaulted room and tossed her wand on the workbench. Snape looked up at her, his expression muted through the thick steam.

'If you won't teach me the Dark Arts then I'll learn it myself. But I'm done messing with theory and child's play.'

Hermione forced her arms steady at her sides as he regarded her cooly before wiping his hands on a rag and coming to stand before her.

'You're quite serious, then.'

'You asked me what I want,' she told him plainly. 'I am so tired of being a pawn in this game. Dolohov, the Carrows, Bellatrix — I want to watch them burn.'

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the pale scar. Dizzy from the cauldron fumes and the intensity of his gaze she felt herself leaning into his touch. Snape's nostrils flared as he tipped his head forward, a sinister smirk twisting his lips and making her stomach flutter dangerously. 'And so we shall.'

Author's Note:

Yes, hello, hi.

Without getting into the dramatics and this becomine THAT author's note, life was very much being life and I took an unexpected but very much needed break. I hope you can all forgive me! Things feel marginally better now and I'll hopefully be back to a more regular posting schedule (she says). I really appreciate all the kind comments people have left over these past few months, I promise I will try to get to respond to all of them! And for those of you that worried, I have zero plans to abandon this fic. I have an ending. I know where I'm going. I will limp through this thing if it takes me another ten years but I will literally go down with this ship if it's the last thing I do!

Thank you for continuing to read, love and support this fic. It's a labour of love at this point but I adore it so!

Playlist:
The Wisp Sings, Winter Aid
Cruel World, Phantogram