A/N: Wow...over 2,000 reviews and over 1,000 alerts. That is awesome! Thank you so much! I look forward to reading more of your reviews - I'll consider them a slightly belated birthday present, and I will enjoy reading them as I cuddle up in my apartment tomorrow and avoid the 54-below temps outside.

A bit of emotion and strategy appearing here, and I assure you there will be some heat in the next installment. A confrontation or two are in the works as well, though I am attempting to figure out exactly how they are going to align with everything else.

Bound to Him

Chapter 46

"Severus!" Voldemort called from the head of the ballroom.

The wizard squared his jaw as he strode amongst the crowd of Death Eaters gathered at Malfoy Manor. He cast a withering glance at the giggle that spilled forth from Bellatrix LeStrange before clearing his expression upon reaching the front of the room. It did not escape his notice that those nearest him had casually formed a semi-circle perfect for viewing the show were the tyrant to be made unhappy.

"My Lord," he bowed respectfully.

Voldemort gave a bored sigh and leaned against the back of his chair. "I trust the matter has been seen to."

"It has, my Lord."

"The girl?"

"No longer at Hogwarts," he responded easily. "She has been sent where she belongs."

"And the doddering old fool?"

Snape allowed himself a smirk. "Sanctimoniously celebrating his helping cure the sudden bout of holiday loneliness incurred by one of his precious Gryffindors."

A devilish grin slid across the evil wizard's face, and he clapped his hands as he stood from the ornate chair. He clamped one frigid hand upon his spy's shoulder and exclaimed, "My loyal friend, I knew the task was not as impossible as you claimed it to be. Just required the right amount of encouragement, it appears."

At the chorus of laughter that erupted from the guests, Voldemort swung his arms wide and floated back to his chair. "Eat, drink, be merry – for the mayhem is yet to begin!"

The Potions Master watched out of the corner of his eye as the rest of the Death Eaters relaxed back into their earlier merriment. He waited patiently for a handful of seconds more before the Dark Lord swung his pointed red gaze to him.

"Severus, enjoy yourself, but you will not partake in this evening's field trip," he hissed. "You will return to clutch onto Dumbledore's robes before we commence."

"Yes, my Lord." The wizard dipped his head and slowly turned on his heel to join the rest of the gathering. He was in the midst of deciding just how long he was required to enjoy himself before he was allowed to leave when a drink was shoved into his hands.

"Severus, you look like shit."

Scowling, the man looked to the blonde wizard beside him. "Lucius, is that the celebrated tongue that has allowed you to woo so many of our esteemed Ministry officials?"

Malfoy snarled slightly under his breath and tossed back his drink.

"I take it from the fact we are gathered here today, that you've managed to whore yourself through the Auror's office and grease your way out of your surveillance decree," he muttered, glancing disdainfully at the rest of the night's attendees.

"And just look at all the good it's done me so far," he grimaced. "I think Azkaban would provide a cheerier holiday."

"My, my. Where has that nauseating optimism of yours gone?"

Lucius glared at him for a moment before grabbing another tumbler of firewhiskey. "I thought I would warn you, Severus, that the bitch has her sights set on deposing you from the Dark Lord's right hand. She's the one who had you summoned after she dragged it out of Draco that the mudblood wasn't on the train with Potter, and she's determined to ruin the success you're currently having."

With a raised eyebrow, the Slytherin Head carefully scanned the crowd and frowned when he failed to spot Bellatrix. After sipping from his glass, he glanced back at his former protector. "And just what is this warning going to cost me?"

The wealthy wizard remained silent for a moment as Rosier stumbled past with his arm draped around Alecto Carrow's waist. When they were out of earshot, he spoke quietly. "I require a favor of you."

"What sort of favor?" Snape inquired, setting his glass on the table beside him.

"I need you to keep an eye on Draco," came the whispered reply. "He's been charged with a task and may need assistance or protection that I cannot provide him."

The spy took in a slow breath and feigned disinterest. "And just what is this worthy task?"

"I cannot tell you."

Severus frowned and folded his arms. "Lucius, if you expect me to aid the boy, I would be better able to do so if I knew what the bloody hell it is I am to help him do."

"I know that," the man snapped bitterly. "If I knew what it was, I would tell you. But the Dark Lord has forbidden Draco from seeking my assistance. To my knowledge, he has not been forbidden from seeking your counsel. Narcissa wanted to consult you at the beginning of term, but the bitch has her under close watch."

The professor sighed in frustration. "And just where is Draco this evening?"

"Upstairs with his mother," Lucius replied quietly as he took another gulp from his drink. "He has not left his suite since Sunday night."

Snape's lip twitched in discomfort as he remembered groggily looking up from the floor to see the sheer terror etched in the boy's eyes as he watched Voldemort's preferred method of encouragement unfold.

"I would have asked you to take him with you now," the aristocrat added, dropping his voice even lower, "but his presence and participation have been demanded for tonight's festivities… in Diagon Alley and at the Bones residence."

The younger wizard immediately flicked his questioning eyes to the man's face. Lucius met his scrutinizing stare with a pointed gaze.

"If you care at all for my son, you will know what to do with that."

Severus cleared his throat and picked up his tumbler as he cautiously eyed the other attendees who all appeared wrapped up in their own conversations. "Can it be traced back to you?"

The blonde shook his head minutely. "Narcissa was informed by an elf who overheard a private conversation with the rat."

"I see," the spy mumbled, draining the remainder of his drink. "I will do what I can."

Lucius nodded with a forced smile. "It's all that I ask. Merry Christmas, Severus."

With a roll of his eyes, Snape sauntered inconspicuously toward the ballroom doors. When he pushed open the door and stepped into the main hall of the manor, he groaned loudly in disgust upon seeing Rosier with his hand up Alecto's skirt.

The man detached his mouth from the witch's breast and glanced back at him with a smirk. "Ten minutes, Snape, and then you can have a turn."

"I'd rather fuck a Blast-Ended Skrewt," the professor spat, ignoring Alecto's angered gasp as he turned on his heel. He only made it halfway to the front foyer, however, before he found himself pushed up against the wall.

"I'm not a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Bellatrix cooed. "But if it's the biting you're interested in, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

His eyes narrowed into a dark glare as he hissed, "I'd rather fuck Carrow."

"Oh come now, Professor," she purred, batting her eyes as she flirtatiously ran her hands down his chest. "It must get awfully lonely at the castle with no one there to… satisfy your needs."

"We mustn't touch what isn't ours, Bella," he sneered, slapping her right hand away. When she squeezed him through his trousers with her left hand he forcibly threw her smaller frame away from him. "And that certainly isn't yours."

"No wonder the mudblood screamed so loudly." The dark witch smirked as she eyed his crotch and then flicked her gaze to his face. She licked her lips slowly and leaned back against the wall in a seductive manner. "I could scream for you, Severus."

"I'm certain that your sister would appreciate me taking my leave before I vomit on her carpets," he jeered, straightening his robes. "Now, why don't you take that disgusting desperation back to the Dark Lord, because clearly if you were any good at servicing him, you would be his most trusted advisor and you wouldn't be trying to suck up to me."

The woman's eyes widened dangerously and she was visibly trembling with rage. "Fuck you, Snape!"

"I thought I made it blatantly obvious that the answer was 'No'," he derided, continuing in his path to the door. "Or are you as mentally retarded as you are deranged?"

When he could feel her attempting to pull her wand on him, he clucked his tongue in disapproval. "I would love to see you explain it to the Dark Lord as to why you attacked me without permission to do so when I am merely attempting to carry out his instructions. I'm sure he would also be more than interested in the motives behind your pathetic attempts at seduction."

The corners of his mouth turned upwards as he heard her erupt in a fit of curse words, and he quickly strode for the exit. As soon as he stepped out into the cold air, he apparated immediately to the Hogwarts gates. When he was certain no one was watching, he sent his Patronus to the Headmaster before sprinting down the lengthy gravel path as fast as his legs could carry him.

Less than ten minutes later, he burst through the door into the Headmaster's office and nearly collapsed onto his knees.

"Where?" Dumbledore queried in concern, as he stepped away from Fawkes. "When?"

"Soon," Snape panted, grimacing as he doubled over to catch his breath. "Diagon Alley….and the Bones residence."

"Which Bones?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know. I assume Amelia is the target, though any of them could be at risk."

The Headmaster nodded and sent a multitude of his phoenix Patronuses off into the night. When he turned back to the room, he eyed his spy carefully. "You are certain this will not jeopardize your position?"

Severus nodded and sank into one of the chairs. "The Dark Lord very explicitly told me to bugger off before he shared any information with the general population. Only Wormtail supposedly knew beforehand."

"May I ask how you gleaned the information, then?"

The man sighed and rubbed his temples. "Lucius is looking to keep his son out of it, and Narcissa has taken to elf-whispering."

"You trust that he is not setting you up for a fall?"

The dark-haired wizard nodded and leaned his head against the back of the chair. "Bellatrix undoubtedly is attempting to. The Malfoys, however, have requested that I provide Draco with assistance in his present venture that unfortunately appears to have been kept confidential between the boy and the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore frowned and took his own seat. "The boy has received training in Occlumency."

"No doubt thanks to dear, old Aunt Bella," the younger man sneered. "The woman has virtually no capacity to practice the art, but that has not stopped her from trying. I imagine that if Draco had any natural potential, she would be capable enough to coach him through it."

"Regardless," the elder wizard stated softly, "an indirect approach is unlikely to yield any answers. The young Mr. Malfoy will need to trust in someone if the nature of his mission is to be discovered before it is too late."

Severus exhaled loudly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and holding his head in his hands. "I do not exactly foresee Draco risking his mother's life to trust me."

The Headmaster tilted his head and adopted a contemplative expression. "I believe that, perhaps, you are overlooking some very significant factors in your assessment of the situation. I think you may be closer to gaining his confidence than you believe."

The Potions Master raised his eyebrows in confusion, but before he could voice his question, a silver lynx streaked through the window and came to stand in the middle of Dumbledore's large desk.

"Amelia Bones and her brother's family have been taken to a safe house," Kingsley Shacklebolt's strong voice sounded. "Order members and Aurors are stationed along Diagon. Will update regularly."

When the lynx disappeared into thin air, Albus steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Peter will bear the brunt of this treachery."

"I will not lose any sleep over it," Snape sneered, rising from his chair.

The bearded wizard nodded in understanding and placed his hands in his lap. "I, too, will sleep sounder knowing that it will not be you paying the price of Tom's failure."

The tall man swallowed uncomfortably before eyeing the door.

Dumbledore gave a small smile and dipped his head. "Good night, Severus."

Without saying anything further, the younger professor stole from the room and quickly descended the spiral staircase to the base of the tower.

As he walked through the darkened corridors, he attempted to process the night's happenings. When Voldemort had demanded that he leave prior to any information being shared, he had been frustrated that he would have nothing to report as well as concerned that perhaps the Dark Lord's trust in him was waning. It could have been possible that the tyrant was using that evening's activities as a test – he could not be blind to the fact that there was a leak in his organization – and he was likely attempting to eliminate his spy as the source.

Severus let out a deep breath and closed his eyes in a moment of gratitude for the Malfoys' love of their son. If the Dark Lord assumed that Wormtail was the only one privy to the information that was leaked, it was entirely possible that the rat would face extermination before the close of the holiday. He tried to find the glee he had always expected to find at the traitor's demise, but currently he could only find an exhausted acceptance.

If only it had been Bellatrix. He grimaced at the scene that had taken place in the hallway not even an hour before. If it had not been for Lucius's warning ahead of time, it would have taken him much longer than it had to figure out what the cold-hearted wench was up to. She obviously knew enough about the binding curse to know that unsatisfied sexual urges would weaken the dark magic at an increased rate, and so she had more than likely hoped to stir him up a bit before sending him away in need of release. Hermione would have paid the subsequent price, and as a result, he would have been scrambling to find a believable explanation that would not endanger his standing with the Order.

Though he hated to admit it, the dark witch was a formidable strategist even when deranged. She was ruthless enough to sacrifice Voldemort's success if it was necessary to place herself at the front of his ranks, but not reckless enough to risk his knowing it. Snape had bought himself some time by implying that he was aware of and would alert the Dark Lord to her underhanded motivations.

He was not ready to tattle yet, however. If Voldemort were to split his anger between Bellatrix and Wormtail, neither of them would be removed from the overall picture, and they both would continue doing everything they could to discredit him. With the tyrant's full wrath focused on Pettigrew, one menace would be eliminated immediately, and the other would be tempered somewhat by the looming threat of meeting her own comeuppance. Bellatrix would not surrender in her pursuits to sabotage the reconnoitering he was supposedly doing through Hermione, and he would make damn sure to bide his time until he could use it to his full advantage.

Until then, he just needed to watch his back – and apparently his front – around the crazy bitch.

At the feeling of being watched, Severus came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor leading to his quarters and cleared his throat. "You may come out now."

As a rustling sounded from the shadows at his right side, he calmly glanced in that direction and watched as a tabby cat sauntered into the moonlight and morphed into the form of the Deputy Headmistress.

"You know, for a cat, you're remarkably awful in the practice of espionage."

Minerva snorted and adjusted the bridge of her glasses. "Well, I can't help it if you're exceptionally paranoid, Severus."

"Is there a particular reason you're lurking?"

The woman took in a deep breath and looked him over in concern. "I saw you leave. Now that you're back, I wanted to make sure you received attention if necessary."

With a sigh, the wizard shook his head. "I am fine, Minerva. Nothing more than conversation and putting up with drunken debauchery, I can assure you. Not far removed from what I'm sure I will suffer through in the staffroom following tomorrow's feast."

McGonagall gave him a trying look. "I highly doubt the two of them are comparable."

"Oh, indeed, they are, Madam," he smirked.

The witch rolled her eyes as she began walking back to her own room. "There is next to zero risk of your being subjected to the Cruciatus if you fail to mingle."

"However, there is a risk of being scheduled to chaperone Hogsmeade visits," he added as he reached the top of his staircase. "I think I may prefer choking on my own tongue to keeping tabs on pubescent students trying to choke each other with their tongues."

"And yet you've willingly done them both recently when you did not have to," she grinned coyly. "Tell me, Severus, does Miss Granger know the extent of the suffering you're prepared to go through for her?"

The man froze mid-step and glanced over his shoulder. He was uncertain of what to reply, so he simply held her gaze for several seconds. When the muted sounds of clock chimes struck twelve times, he instinctively looked to the ceiling and then back at her.

McGonagall's smile softened and she took in a quick breath. "Merry Christmas, Severus."

"Merry Christmas, Minerva," he replied quietly, before giving a dismissing nod and disappearing down the dark stairwell.

Chuckling to herself, the elder witch whispered her password to the lion cub. When the door swung inwards to her quarters, she shook her head and shared a look with her painting. "How long do you think it'll take him to realize it, hmm?"

The lion cub peered out of the corner of his frame and wrinkled his furry nose. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he spun on his heels and stalked away with his tail swishing in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Potions Master's robes. He then abruptly peered over his shoulder and arched one eyebrow.

As the Deputy Headmistress loudly snorted in amusement, the cub came prancing back and collapsed with a sigh as he shook his head.

"I agree, Reginald."

XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX

"I think that goes right here."

Hermione startled slightly and then confusedly glanced at her father. "What?"

"The piece you're holding in your hand," the man explained as he pointed to a section of the puzzle that was unfinished. "I think it goes right here."

"Oh, sorry," she whispered, handing him the piece and then watching as he successfully put it into place.

From her seat on the red sofa, Jean lowered the novel she had been reading and cautiously eyed her daughter. When the girl returned to staring blankly at the table, the woman frowned slightly and, after marking her page, shut her book with a snap.

"Anybody interested in some hot chocolate?" she asked, rising from the couch. When her husband made an excited noise, she made her way toward the kitchen. "Hermione, would you care to help me?"

The young witch looked up in surprise, but nodded and followed her mother into the other room.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Hermione noticed her mother glancing at her in concern as she pulled supplies out of the cupboard. "Erm, yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

The woman shrugged as she set three mugs down on the counter. "You've just seemed terribly preoccupied since yesterday. I thought something might be wrong."

"Oh," she sighed, leaning her elbows on the countertop. "No, it's nothing."

"Hermione Jean Granger, do not lie to your mother."

The witch snorted and then took in a deep breath. "It's just… I'm worried about S—Professor Snape. He was… badly hurt a few days before he brought me here, and I just wish I knew that he was still okay."

Jean stared at her critically for a few seconds as she filled the teapot with water. After putting it on the stove to heat, she ushered her daughter to the kitchen table. When they were both seated, the woman rested one elbow on the table, and set her chin in her hand. "Can I ask you something without having you get upset?"

"What?" she asked slowly.

Her mother sighed and bit her lip for a moment before speaking. "Is there something I should know about…well, regarding you and your professor?"

"What!" Hermione's eyes widened and she straightened immediately in her chair as panic began to set in. "You think that he and I… that we… He hasn't taken advantage of me, if that's what you're implying."

"Darling, settle down," she sighed, placing a gentle hand on the girl's arm. "You don't need to get so defensive. I didn't mean to imply anything of the sort. I just meant that…well, with how worried you are, that maybe you were developing feelings for him."

"Mum!"

"What?" the woman protested. "It's a fair question. I don't see why you're getting so upset about it."

The girl shook her head. "Because you're asking if I have feelings for my professor!"

Jean laughed in amused surprise and grabbed hold of one of her daughter's hands. "Sweetheart, you do realize how commonplace an occurrence that is, don't you? It's perfectly normal for teenaged girls to crush on male professors."

"Honestly, Mum," Hermione grumbled, "it isn't like that! I'm worried for him because he's my professor and because he's my…friend, I guess. He's done so much to keep you and Dad safe and has been teaching me how to protect myself and –"

The whistling of the tea kettle interrupted her arguments, and her mother smirked as she patted her on the hand. Rising from the table, she quickly moved to take the kettle from the burner. "All the more reason for a woman to change her perceptions of a man, I would expect."

"Mum!"

The woman snorted at the indignant expression on her daughter's face. "You know, dear, if you weren't blushing so much, I might believe you."

The witch whimpered loudly and buried her face beneath her arms on the table. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I think I do," Jean chuckled as she stirred in the powdered chocolate mix to one of the mugs. "It's the classic Knight-in-Shining-Armor complex, isn't it? How do you think I ended up going with your father, hmmm? Granted, keeping me afloat through Organic Chemistry doesn't exactly compare to what the professor's done for you."

Hermione grimaced as she sat back in her chair. "Would you stop?"

Her mother smiled over her shoulder. "If I can't tease my own child, who can I tease?"

"Ugh," the girl wiped her face as she stood up from the table. "Just don't do it front of Dad, please. I don't need him thinking about it, too."

"Trust me, love," Jean murmured, picking up two of the mugs. "He's already considered it – from the professor's perspective, of course."

"What?" she stammered, grabbing the cup that was held out to her. "Why?"

"Because it's the classic Damsel-in-Distress complex," the woman responded, walking toward the door. "He wouldn't be doing a very good job as a father if he didn't consider it."

Letting out a huff of air, Hermione rolled her eyes and followed her mother out into the living room. She waited for the woman to leave a hot chocolate beside her father's elbow, and then the two of them moved toward the Chesterfield sofa.

"So," Jean smiled, sinking into the velvet cushion, "while we're on the subject of men –"

A loud groan emanated from the corner of the room, and the witch looked back to see her father scowling at the puzzle before him.

"See," her mother whispered, briefly leaning in closer. "So, how are Harry and Ron?"

With a slight grimace, Hermione relaxed against her mother's side and launched into an extensive account of the teenage drama plaguing Gryffindor Tower.

XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX

With a fire crackling happily in the grate and familiar holiday tunes spilling out from the radio, Hermione felt as though there had never been a better Christmas celebration in her family. She currently sat curled up on the couch watching her parents sway together in time to the music, and she smiled cheerfully when she heard her mother's laughter spilling out at something her father had whispered.

Resting her chin on her knees, she wondered off-handedly if she could ever find that easy sort of happiness with Severus. She supposed that if they were ever given the time, it was possible. Their precarious position in the impending war, however, made that possibility extremely remote.

"Hermione, come dance with your dad," Jean called, slipping out of her husband's grasp. "I need to sit down for a bit."

The young witch eagerly scrambled off of the sofa and accepted his out-stretched hand. She allowed him to pull her close to his chest, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they settled into a slow rhythm. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feeling of being tucked securely in her father's arms and tried to push all of her negative thoughts and concerns out of her head.

When the first few bars of "Jingle Bell Rock" filled the air, Sam immediately picked up the pace and began intermittently twirling his daughter about and dipping her nearly to the floor. By the time the song had concluded, she collapsed onto the couch next to her mother and had to catch her breath.

"Weaklings, the both of you," he smirked, turning the music down to a quiet level.

"Yeah?" Jean challenged, throwing her arms around her daughter's torso. "Well, I have a darling baby girl, and you don't."

The man adopted an expression of mock despair, causing Hermione to laugh and roll her eyes. It was something her parents had done when she was little – pretending to fight over her – and while it was somewhat embarrassing, it made her feel at home.

"Well, you could always share me," she sighed.

"Would you look at that?" Sam grinned, plopping onto the couch. "Brilliant, too. Must get it from her daddy."

His wife grinned before placing a kiss on her daughter's temple. "We'll just let him think that, won't we?"

Hermione nodded and tossed her father a playful smile as he pretended not to have heard his wife. She sighed happily, grabbing hold of one hand from each of her parents and relaxing against the back of the sofa. After several quiet minutes of watching the fire, she nervously cleared her throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear," her mother responded, squeezing her hand.

She let out a short breath and straightened in her seat. "What happened after I…left?"

"Oh, sweetheart –"

"Really, Mum," she interrupted softly. "I want to know."

The woman shared a look with her husband before nodding slowly. "We had a feeling you wouldn't make it the week without asking. I guess I can start at the beginning, then. When you ran out of the house, we nearly went after you, but then we decided you needed some time to sort things out. We knew it was more than likely that you had gone to the park – I mean, that was where you went when you were little and declared you were running away."

The girl grimaced mildly as she remembered the horrible bout of teasing she had endured from her eight-year-old classmates that had led to that action.

"When you weren't back in time for supper, your father went to look for you, but you were gone." Jean sucked in a sad breath and closed her eyes. "We hoped desperately that you had gone to one of your friends' houses, but we had no way of contacting them to find out. We were so worried about you, and we rang all of the neighbors and the police, but no one had seen you.

"We stayed up all night, hoping you would come back or contact us somehow. And then, in the middle of the night, there was a knock on the back door, and your professor was there. He told us that you had been…" she faltered, her voice cracking and her lip trembling, as she continued, "…taken and that you were…hurt. It was the worst moment of my life, and I remember screaming at him to take me to you. When he said he couldn't, I kept pleading with him, telling him that my baby needed me. He was trying so hard to calm me down, but I was going crazy. Finally, he grabbed my shoulders –"

"And then I nearly hit him," Sam interrupted.

"Oh, daddy," Hermione mumbled tearfully at seeing his pained expression. Briefly leaning away from her mother, she rested her head against his shoulder.

Jean pulled her daughter's hand close to her chest and sighed. "He somehow managed to sit me down. He looked so tired and defeated, but there was this look in his eyes that…oh, I don't even know how to explain it. But when he told me that you were safe and that you were going to be alright, I believed him. He made me a promise that he would do everything in his power to protect you, and just the way he said it made me trust him."

The witch nodded in understanding, remembering a number of occasions in which she had felt the same way.

"He explained to us that we were the ones in danger, and that we needed to leave that night," Sam stated, picking up the story when he noticed the look on his wife's face. "He gave us an hour to collect everything we wanted to take with us, so I gathered all of the photos, keepsakes, and necessities while your mother and the professor worked to pack all of your things."

"He took care of your desk, books, and school things, while I packed your clothes and toiletries," her mother explained.

Hermione gave a relieved sigh as she sat up. "Oh thank God. This whole time, I've had this horrible image of Professor Snape going through my underwear drawer."

Though her father grimaced, his wife laughed audibly and shook her head. "Absolutely not. Though, you should have seen that man trying to coax Crooksie into his carrier. You would have thought he was battling the devil himself."

The girl smirked briefly as she remembered seeing the scratches on the back of Snape's hand. "What happened next?"

"Well, he miraculously shrank all of our stuff into a manageable pile, and then he app-apparated – I think that's what he called it – us to another house. It was absolutely horrid – the apparating and the house – and I was sick all over the floor. I don't know how your father managed to not be sick."

"Stomach of steel," he muttered quietly.

"Yes, lucky you," she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, we spent four days unable to leave that dump of a residence in Cokeworth –"

"Which your mother insisted on cleaning during our entire stay."

"—before he came back. He gave us an update on how you were, and then apparated us again – this time to a village in Devon, where he had a large van waiting. He made our stuff normal sized again, loaded the van and then drove us here. We spent the afternoon unloading everything; he left us a sizeable amount of cash, and a set of instructions. He drove away with the van, and the next time we saw him was on your birthday. And then again when he brought your letter."

"Instructions?" Hermione asked curiously, glancing between both of them.

Her father sighed and gave her a light smile. "We are now Samuel and Jean Bakersfield from London, and if anyone we met remembered the professor, I was to claim that he was my second cousin. We can go into the village when we want, as long as we're careful about what we do and say. We're not to invite anyone to the estate, and we're not to mention you to anyone."

The girl fiddled with the edge of her jumper sleeves as she considered that information. After a minute she took in a deep breath. "Did you know our house is gone?"

"Yes," Jean nodded. "He told us that it would be destroyed, and that we would cease to exist as ourselves. It was difficult to swallow, but we're alive and that's what matters."

Her daughter took in a slow breath. "Until two months ago, I didn't even know you were alive."

"Oh, darling," the woman sighed, wrapping her arms about the girl and pulling her close. "I'm so sorry. Your professor didn't quite explain why it had to be that way, but he said that as soon as it was safe for you to know, he would tell you."

"He did?"

"Yes," she nodded, pushing hair out of the girl's face. "And then when we got your letter, we were so happy to know that you were at least safe enough to write us."

"I'm sorry I didn't write back," she whispered, "but I just couldn't make him sacrifice an entire day to deliver it."

Her mother kissed her forehead while her father rubbed her shoulder. "It's perfectly alright, Hermione. We much prefer having you here in person than having another letter."

"I didn't even know I was going to spend the holiday with you until you opened the door," the witch mumbled against her mother's shoulder. "He kept it a surprise until then."

"Did he now?" Jean raised one eyebrow and smiled knowingly as she caught her husband's eye. "Well, that sounds like he gave us all a very special Christmas gift, doesn't it?"

XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX

Severus sighed when a knock sounded on his office door. Without pausing in his note-taking, he barked out permission for entrance. When he flicked his gaze up to see the Deputy Headmistress closing the door behind her, he let out a small breath of relief. For a moment he had been concerned that Vector had grown bold enough to venture down to the dungeons.

"You left the party to mark papers?" she queried in disbelief. "On Christmas? I realize that you enjoy cutting down student work, but this is a bit excessive."

"Have you come to assign punishment for my inadequacies in mingling?" he sneered.

Minerva rolled her eyes as she collapsed into the armchair. "And indulge you in your comparison of staff meetings to Death Eater gatherings? I think not."

"How inconsiderate of you."

"Indeed," she stated, eyeing his quill critically as he dipped it into a well of black ink. "You're not marking."

"Clearly age has not diminished your powers of observation," he commented half-heartedly.

The witch raised one eyebrow and leaned forward, snatching the open book from his desk. "My age has not diminished my ability to duel either, so I would keep that in consideration if I were you."

Snape snorted and balanced his quill atop the inkwell. "Did you have a purpose for coming down here besides harassment?"

"It's Christmas, Severus, which means that this is considered visiting, not harassment," she remarked, glancing over the top of her glasses at the small print of the large textbook.

"I beg to differ."

"You don't beg, Severus. You bellow." She frowned briefly and then glanced up at him. "This is a Muggle Neurobiology text."

"Is it?" he asked, widening his eyes in mock surprise. "I had no idea."

McGonagall let out an irritated huff and dropped the book back on his desk. "Did the elves short sheet your bed? Or perhaps piss in your porridge? You're remarkably acerbic this evening."

The wizard rubbed his forehead and then stared harshly at the top of his desk. "Pettigrew is dead."

"What?" she cracked in surprise.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "There was to be a series of raids over the midnight hour, the details of which only he and the Dark Lord held in possession. I alerted Albus to it upon my return, and there was Order interference. If you did not yet know, you would have been told at tomorrow's Order meeting. Malfoy owled not long ago to inform me that Pettigrew was murdered this morning – strangled by his own hand – when he could provide no evidence of anyone else's treachery."

"Oh," she whispered. She stared at her hands for a moment before letting out a long breath. "I used to torture myself endlessly about how I treated that boy in my class when I thought he had been killed by Black. And then when I found out he had been the one… I felt disgusted with myself for thinking of him as anything more than the hero-worshipping coward he had always been. But now… now… I cannot help but wonder if there was something I could have done differently that would have prevented his sedition. Or something I could have done for any of you."

"It does not do to dwell on the 'What if's, Minerva," he muttered uncomfortably.

"I know," she agreed, "but knowing that and keeping oneself from doing it are two separate things."

She paused for a moment while watching his face. "Please tell me that you are not blaming yourself for his death. He sealed his fate the moment he resurrected You-Know-Who."

Severus shook his head. "I am not torn up over his demise, I assure you."

"Then what else is wrong?"

"Emmeline Vance was killed in the attack," he stated after a few seconds.

"What?" she gasped mournfully. "No."

Swallowing hesitantly, he hung his head. "I did not glean any more information on the location besides it being Diagon Alley, and they were spread too thin as a result. She was left to deal with Bellatrix and the LeStrange brothers on her own. She did not stand a chance."

The witch closed her eyes in sorrow at the news of the Order member's death. When she opened them again, she took in the pained expression on her colleague's face and then stood from her chair. She moved around the edge of his desk and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "It is not your fault, Severus. How many more would have perished had it not been for your efforts?"

"I know that," he snapped before running his hand through his hair.

"But knowing and doing are two separate things," she commented sadly, briefly squeezing his arm before making her way back to her chair. Reaching down to her bag, she pulled out a bottle with a bulbous neck and sat it upon the edge of his desk. "Well I had planned on a drink to celebrate the holiday, but I suppose we shall just have to toast to Emmeline instead."

Severus raised one eyebrow as he glanced at the bottle of Old Pulteney. "Muggle Scotch?"

"Muggle research; Muggle booze," she smirked, gesturing toward the textbook as she conjured up two tumblers. "It's something to remind me of home. The distillery was not far from there, and there was always a bottle or two stashed away in my father's study."

"I thought your father was a minister," he remarked, covering his mouth with his hands as he rested his elbows on the desk.

"Everything in moderation," she responded with a shrug. After filling the glasses, she passed one over to him. "Even sinning."

Snape snorted tiredly and accepted the drink.

"To Emmeline," the witch murmured, raising her glass. When he mirrored the sentiment, she took a slow sip and leaned back in her seat. "So, why don't you tell me what it is you're doing studying Neurobiology, hmm? Looking for a change in career?"

"Hardly," he scoffed, "though one would be more than welcomed."

"You say that now, but you know that you'd miss it," she smiled lightly over the rim of her glass.

The man sighed loudly and tapped his fingertips against his notebook. "There isn't anything written on the binding curse outside of its more visible symptoms. It quite obviously affects the nervous system, so I thought perhaps if I understood that better, there would be a chance of figuring out a counter-curse…or at least something that would insulate against the worst effects. Since the Wizarding World remains rooted in blissful ignorance, my only option is the Muggle realm of science."

"Well, Hermione seems to be handling it brilliantly thus far," she murmured in contemplation. "I know it isn't ideal by any means, but if there isn't anything to be done about it, I have faith that the two of you will get on well together."

"For how long, though?" he groaned, swirling the amber-colored liquid about in his glass. "What if I've sealed my fate already? I refuse to let her perish because of my youthful idiocy."

Minerva sighed loudly and shook her head as she leaned toward his desk. "Severus Snape, you have done no such thing. Your fate is your own to decide, so do not make the mistake of thinking otherwise. Peter Pettigrew chose to spend his life scampering about in the shadows of the wrong people and found his worth in doing everything he could to please them – generally at the expense of others.

"You may have done your fair share of following others blindly, but you have an exorbitantly intelligent brain in your head and a compassionate heart in your chest. You are more than competent enough to make the right decisions, and you are certainly strong enough and dedicated enough to see them through to fruition.

"Do not compare yourself to that vermin – you hear me? He was not one one-hundredth of the man you are, so stop dwelling on the 'What if's and wallowing in misery and self-pity. Everyone makes mistakes in their lives, and you have more than paid up for yours."

The wizard had remained silent through her lecture, and when she finished he took in a steady breath. Averting his eyes from her impassioned stare, he flicked his gaze down to his half-filled glass of Scottish whisky. "Everything in moderation, hmm?"

The Gryffindor head snorted in amusement and relaxed against the armrest. "Even self-pity."

Severus took a slow sip of his drink and then eyed her curiously. "Is this what you came down here to do? Shout at me and then liquor me up?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she smirked. "I had hoped that I could coax you back upstairs. I think Remus would be much relieved to have someone of his own decade with whom to chat."

"Absolutely not," he snapped, setting his drink down and folding his arms in defiance. "If Lupin is feeling that anxious, I'm sure that Vector would be more than willing to provide him comfort."

"What does Septima have to –" McGonagall trailed off mid-sentence, and her eyes suddenly brightened in realization. "That's why you dislike her? She made a pass at you?"

When he grimaced in disgust, but made no verbal effort at a rebuttal, the woman dropped her jaw in astonishment. "Severus Tobias Snape, when did this happen?"

Grumbling beneath his breath, he scowled at the top of his desk. "The first such occasion was five and a half years ago."

"Five years ago? The first occasion?" she stammered in disbelief. "Just how often has she propositioned you?"

"Whenever she gets bored, I suppose," he sighed.

Minerva eyed him in curiosity. "And have you ever –"

"Do not even suggest it, witch," he snarled, holding up a finger in warning.

"I'm not criticizing, Severus," she protested with a shake of her head. "It isn't as though it's against staff policy, the two of you are both adults, and she's a decent-looking –"

Snape cut her off with a loud groan. "She's a miserable wench with a superiority complex who is practically old enough to be my mother."

"Oh, she is not nearly old enough…" the woman paused abruptly as she caught sight of his pointed glare. Quickly, she scanned her memory and then sighed. "Alright, fair enough. It had slipped my mind that she and your mother were schoolmates. I apologize. I often forget that your mother was so young."

Well, I do not. He exhaled loudly and then downed the remainder of his Scotch. "Has that satisfied your need for mindless gossip?"

"If she is harassing you, Severus, I can –"

"No," he snapped. "I can manage perfectly fine without filing a complaint. I did not tell you this so you could take official action."

"You would not have told me at all had I not guessed first," she corrected sternly. "But because you did, I will accept your absence this evening. Thank you for showing up for the ten minutes you did."

"How considerate of you, and it was fifteen minutes," he smirked. "Now, shouldn't you make your way back upstairs?"

"But I haven't nearly finished liquoring you up," she mocked with a crooked grin.

Snape snorted as he reached for the bottle to refill his tumbler. "I will not hesitate to file a complaint against you, if that's what you're after."

"Ha!" she barked in unexpected merriment. "Don't be absurd, Severus. I really am old enough to be your mother."

When he opened his mouth to retort, she held up a finger in warning. "Don't you dare say another word, young man. I was barely twenty-four when you came screeching into this world. I'm not nearly old enough to be Hermione's grandmother, let alone yours."

"You wound me, Madam," he grinned, "for I merely meant to suggest that you only appear older than you really are."

"Oh, you really are a bastard today," she chuckled, shaking her head. After finishing her drink, she set down the glass and reached down into her bag again to extract a small package wrapped in shiny gold paper tied with a crimson bow. She tossed the gift onto the desk in front of him and then began pouring herself another glass.

Severus glanced down at the Gryffindor-inspired wrapping paper and rolled his eyes. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and paused briefly before grabbing a box wrapped in silver paper. Clearing his throat, he held it out for her to grab.

When it was in her grasp, the witch shook it gently and raised one eyebrow at the slightly muffled sound it produced. "Well, that rules out more jingle balls. Catnip mice, perhaps? Cat crunchies? Another collar?"

"Just open the damn thing," he muttered, watching her.

"Ever the charmer," she snickered, tearing off the paper to reveal a flat, black box. "I don't know why you're so bloody interested in my reaction. Because unless you've managed to stuff both Delores and Sybil in here, you're going to be sorely disappoint – oh, you RUDDY BASTARD! What the HELL have you done?"

She gaped at the pair of delicate, dangling emerald earrings and then up at his face. She flicked her gaze slowly towards his untouched gift and then back at him. Without a word, she suddenly launched out of the chair at the box only to have him immediately snatch it out of her reach.

"I think not." With an amused look on his face, Snape slowly untied the ribbon and removed the paper. As she stood by nervously watching him, he opened the white cardboard box and frowned in uncertainty at the appearance of bright-colored feathers. Narrowing his eyes, he lifted the clump of feathers out of the box. "What exactly is –"

The wizard barely had enough time to yank his hand out of the way when the large ginger cat, appearing seemingly from nowhere, suddenly flew through the air and tackled the pretend bird to the floor. He sat, stunned, watching Crookshanks bat the fluffy object about the entirety of his office floor, narrowly avoiding knocking over a shelf of glassware in the process.

"You bought me a cat toy?"

"Well, I had thought it an ironic turnabout after all these years," she commented quietly, fiddling with her bun. "I wasn't expecting you to go and be a fanny bawbag about my gift, now was I?"

The man frowned and crossed his arms. "I may be new to the task of buying women jewelry, but I don't think it's customary to be insulted for doing so."

"I'm sorry, Severus," she laughed quietly, raising the box to examine the gemstones better. "It's just… completely unexpected. Really, they're absolutely gorgeous, but you didn't have to do this. Catnip mice would have been perfectly fine. Honestly, it's too much."

"You know, a Slytherin witch would have accepted them without batting an eye," he scoffed, "but not the noble Gryffindor woman. Oh no. Her heart can bleed day in and day out, but don't you dare try to acknowledge her efforts. She'll cuss you out and then try to give back her gift."

"My efforts?" she repeated, staring at him in confusion. "If you're referring to my assistance with Hermione, it was –"

"And my mother," he interrupted quietly.

Minerva widened her eyes in surprise. "Your mother?"

"You were her favorite professor," he explained, staring at his hands, "even before you sat with her at her mother's funeral."

The witch blinked back tears as she set the box on the edge of his desk. "Severus Snape, you stand up out of that chair right now."

He snapped his gaze to her immediately, but he begrudgingly did as instructed. Before he had a chance to protest it, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him silently for several seconds before stepping back and touching his cheek in a motherly gesture.

"I would have been proud to have a son like you," she smiled before stepping away from him. Wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, she picked up her earring box, and glanced at him over her shoulder. "And for your information, I never expressed any intent of giving them back. You can take that image of grand nobility and stuff it."

Severus stared at her in surprise and then rolled his shoulders in discomfort. Fortunately for him, the tenderness of the moment evaporated further when the Deputy Headmistress picked up her bag and fixed him with a pointed look.

"And if you ever tell anyone that you made me cry, I will issue detention to every member of the Slytherin Quidditch team to be served on the day of every…single...match…for the rest of this year and next."

XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX

As Hermione lay in her bed that night, she stared up at the dark ceiling and pondered how her parents would handle the future. If she and Severus survived the war – and whatever fallout may arise over their connection – they would still be "forever entwined." Lying to her parents about their relationship seemed the preferable option, but would she be able to keep it up? And if they did tell them the truth, would her parents understand that he had never wanted to harm her?

As daunting as that set of questions was, the even bigger concern was what would happen to her parents if Severus did not survive. He was the one who was supporting and protecting them. If he was gone, who would be there? And how would they live with the loss of their only child? Would they hate him when they discovered why she was dead?

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

The girl snapped her gaze to the door where her mother's head was peeking in from the hallway. "Yeah, just thinking about something."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No, it's alright," Hermione responded, shaking her head.

Her mother gave a tight smile, but dipped her head in acquiescence. "Alright then. Good night, love."

As the door clicked shut, the girl bolted upright in bed. "Wait!"

"Yes?" Jean asked, an amused expression on her face as she opened the door again.

Her daughter bit her lip and sank back to the bed in uncertainty. "About Professor Snape…what if I do… what if I do have feelings for him?"

The woman let out a long breath and leaned against the door jamb. "Well, I suppose that would depend on the nature of those feelings. And on any feelings he may have for you."

"And if we both do?"

Her mother narrowed her eyes slightly and cocked her head in contemplation. "I think that may be a bridge to be crossed if ever we come to it."

"Mum," she groaned quietly. "That isn't an answer."

Jean sighed and crossed her arms. "Hermione, how strong are these feelings you have?"

The witch paused momentarily and sucked in an unsure breath of air. "I don't…erm…I don't know."

"Are these the fleeting fancies of a seventeen-year-old girl?"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don't think they are."

The woman blew out a tired breath as she stepped into the room. "I assume there currently isn't a Mrs. Professor Snape."

When the girl indicated a negative response, Jean wiped her face with one hand and closed her eyes. "And how old is he exactly?"

Hermione hesitated, thinking back to the articles that had been written about Sirius during her third year and doing some quick arithmetic. "Thirty-seven, I think? Give or take a year."

"Wow," her mother murmured. "Twenty years is quite a gap, Hermione."

"Aunt Moira always says that age is just a number."

Jean snorted under her breath as she perched on the edge of the mattress. "Yes, but twenty is a big number. And my sister isn't exactly the best source for advice when it comes to love or men."

"I suppose not," the witch sighed morosely.

Her mother patted her arm supportively and then shrugged. "Then again, love doesn't always work out the way you expect it. And if you really do love him, your father and I will just have to get used to the idea. It might be a bit easier to do, though, since we already know he is capable of protecting you."

Jean smirked as she leaned forward and placed a kiss on her daughter's head. "Plus, it always helps to have a son-in-law who is still at least a decade younger than you are."

"Will Dad see it that way?" she queried in concern.

Her mother grinned and sighed. "You worry about keeping focused on your school work and everything else you need to do. Let me worry about your father and his reaction to what happens after you graduate."

Hermione smiled and giggled softly. "Yes, Mum."

"And who knows," she commented, waggling her eyebrows, "maybe if we use you as collateral, he'll knock a couple zeros off of our rapidly accumulating debt."