AN: Thank you for your continued reading and support. And let me just say-it is very strange to write a Christmas chapter in Summer, but here we are. :)

Chapter 18: Felix Natalis

Hermione was sure to act appropriately surprised when McGonagall arrived in her dorm at seven in the morning to relay the news. The woman looked a little worse for wear, fly-aways sneaking out of her usually tightly controlled hairstyle and lilac shadows rimming her eyes. With a gesture like an afterthought, she dismissed Lavender and Parvati to leave them to talk alone.

"When can I go see them?" she asked her head of house.

"Unfortunately, not until term is officially over," McGonagall said, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. It is very likely Mr. Weasley will make a full recovery. We just can't have Umbridge aware of any...additional...movements of the students. You will go down to Hogsmesde with the rest of the students and take the train. Once everyone has cleared away, you can summon the Knight Bus to take you to Headquarters."

Job completed, McGonagall gave Hermione a final pat and a sympathetic look before she left the dorm. Hermione sat in bed until the door clicked shut, then bolted for the bathroom, eager to avoid the other girls and their questions. She turned on the tap, and then examined herself in the mirror. No wonder McGonagall had looked her over so shrewdly. She looked as if she had barely gotten a wink of sleep and, Hermione supposed, that was probably very nearly true. Shadows filled in the space beneath her eyes, but as she evaluated herself, her reflection gave her a small, knowing smile.

Mr. Weasley was going to be okay. Her and Snape's work had seen to that. In little more than twenty-four hours, she would be with everyone again. She nodded at her reflection and got into the shower.

For some strange reason, she found herself humming.

Hermione whiled away the rest of the day attending a few classes, poking with boredom at her food, and chatting with Neville in the common room.

"It's unbelievable. I really think my Impedimenta's improved," he was saying quietly in the corner they'd found away from the rest of the students. He glanced around the room to be sure no one was listening. "Thanks for everything."

"Harry's the one-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah, he's leading the lessons. But you convinced him to do it, didn't you?"

"Well, I..."

But Neville's eyes glimmered conspiratorially and he leaned in closer. "Listen, do you think it's possible? I mean, is this all really preparing us for the war?"

Hermione's brows rose. "Of course, Neville. It's like Harry said: we need to prepare ourselves for what's out there. And..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think it's coming...a lot sooner than anyone expects."

Neville nodded, serious. "Yeah. You can kind of-I don't know, feel it in the air, can't you?"

The pair looked around the room. While the rest of the students were chatting excitedly about holiday plans or rushing up and down staircases looking for misplaced items to pack, there was a palpable tension among the older years. Angelina smiled as Katie retrieved her scarf from between the sofa cushions and held it in the air triumphantly, but as Katie ran back up the stairs, Angelina's smile flattened into a pinched expression not infrequently seen on Professor McGonagall's face.

Or see it in real time. Hermione let the thought go unsaid, but Neville seemed to pick up on it.

"Hey, could you bring Ginny her present from Michael? He asked Luna to ask around among the Gryffindors and I guess she found me first. Anyway, I figured you'd be going straight to the Weasleys when term is over, given..." He gave her a significant look.

"Absolutely," Hermione said, accepting the small red wrapped box Neville pressed into her hands.

"She's a good girl, Ginny. It's funny," Neville said. "She went to the ball with me last year, and now she's seeing some Ravenclaw bloke." When Hermione sat waiting for him to elaborate, he fidgeted and continued. "I just thought, well, she and Harry, actually..."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked around, as if expecting Michael Corner to swoop down on him from out of the shadows.

Hermione eyed the boy sitting in front of her. His hair was the same mousy color it had always been; the smattering of freckles across his face had increased over the years, presumably from the time he spent tending to his Herbology plot at the weekends. The baby fat in his face had melted away a little, revealing a square jaw beneath the last bit of adolescent roundness that was still clinging on with all its might. He had grown a few inches since last year and had the look of a lanky puppy finally growing to match its paws.

"I'm sorry, Neville," she said suddenly. His brows rose on his head. "For all those years ago, when Harry, Ron and I were after the Sorcerer's Stone...and I petrified you."

As one, their faces turned, as if drawn by some force, to the spot where a pajama-clad Neville had been left lying ont he floor. Hermione hadn't spared a thought for him after that. He must have lain on the floor for hours, perhaps until the first student came down for breakfast.

"It's alright," Neville mumbled.

"No," she pressed, voice quiet but firm. "It wasn't." She let her words hang in the air for a moment. "Dumbledore was right. It was very brave of you to stand up to us that day. I'm sorry.

"And I don't think it's unbelievable, you doing so well in the DA. You're a very capable wizard, Neville."

Pink flooded the boy's cheeks.

"Thanks," he said shyly to his feet. After a moment, he looked up. The pink in his face had diminished, and he was beaming at her. "You have a good holiday, alright, Hermione?"

"You, too, Neville."

Hermione's first order of business upon arriving at Grimmauld Place was tracking Harry down, a task that took remarkably little time and what she hoped was a more believable set of lies than what she had told her parents.

"Skiing isn't really my thing. Only don't tell Ron. He was having such a laugh about it, I had to pretend I was really looking forward to it."*

As she sat with Harry, Ron, and Ginny in the boys' room, something unsettled and off balance clicked back into place. Maybe it was being out from under Umbridge's watchful eye, or maybe it was that they were helping Harry open up. Despite the fact that they were only gathered at Sirius's because of Mr. Weasley's injury, there was something that felt very much like being at home.

That Sirius was thrilled they were staying was a fact lost on no one. He bound up and down the stairs, singing loud enough that-had the wards not prevented it-the Muggle neighbors surely would have complained to the police. Two days into the holiday, Sirius had howled with laughter when Harry stopped walking with her suddenly in the hallway, having been rooted to the spot by magical mistletoe hanging above his head.

"Don't look at me," she'd said, raising her hands palms forward, as Harry scowled, face red.

"Don't worry, pup," Sirius had said. A moment later, a large black dog pounced, paws on her best friend's shoulders. The dog gave the side of Harry's face one big lick, offsetting his glasses.

"Padfoot, gross!" Harry had protested, pulling off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his shirt.

The dog barked and ran circles around his knees, full tail swishing from side to side as a game of tag began between the two. Harry's grin was the largest she'd ever seen it. Hermione had had to turn away, eyes stinging. Only when Sirius filched Harry's wand out of his back pocket and went tearing down the hall did she look up. Harry had yelled, Sirius had barked, and Walburga had hollered for the next twenty minutes.

Christmas morning dawned and Hermione's peek through the curtains revealed a world covered with a light dusting of snow. The London streets and buildings sparkled, and she smiled contentedly. While she hated to be cold, observing the snow from inside a warm house was a pleasant, somewhat contradictory experience.

She turned back to the room to find Ginny still asleep, but piles of presents at the foot of both of their beds. She rummaged quietly through her pile, hoping, hoping... Her heart stopped, and then it immediately restarted at an increased pace. There was a present. From him.

She traced her fingers over a flat box wrapped in silver paper. A black H had been inked into the center of the paper. Hermione made quick, quiet work of the unwrapping. A small piece of parchment fell out as she pulled the last of the paper away to reveal a smooth wooden box. She picked up the parchment.

Find enclosed two gifts, for the box itself, crafted from cedar, will open only to your touch. It is a safe place to store valuables, and can hold much more than it appears capable of.

Inside, you will find your second gift, which I expect you to wear at all times. When you return, I shall test whether you have discovered all of its secrets.

Hermione folded the note and set it aside, then turned to the box. It opened easily and silently under her fingers, revealing a bundle of straps inside the black lining. It took her a moment to realize, and when she did, she let out a soft laugh. She lifted the wand holster out of the box and slipped her arm through. Immediately, it resized to fit her arm. Hermione flexed her arm this way and that; the holster fit like a second skin, not bunching up or pinching anywhere. She retrieved her wand from underneath her pillow and slipped it through. The holster also adjusted with the shape of her wand. She flicked her wrist and her wand was released and rushed into her hand.

"Excellent..." she whispered, pushing her wand back into place.

"Wha' are you grinnin' like an idiot for?" Ginny mumbled from her bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, dropping her arm down by her side. "Just excited it's Christmas."

"Ooh, presents," Ginny said, sounding much more alert and tossing the covers off.

"Oh, that reminds me..." Hermione jumped up, throwing her long-sleeved dressing gown on as she strode to her trunk. She popped the lid and rummaged around until she found the small box. "Michael wanted me to give this to you," she said, tossing it at Ginny.

Ginny caught it with Seeker reflexes. A licorice wand was already hanging out of her mouth from her first unwrapped parcel.

"Oh no," she said around the wand, then took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "You don't think it's jewelry or something, do you?"

Hermione eyed the box. It was small, and probably the perfect size for something small and glittering, but Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. You haven't been together that long, have you?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not that long."

They both sat and stared at the present. Ginny had just raised a finger to begin picking at the spellotape when Hermione said, "Hey, Gin."

The redhead looked up. "Yeah?"

"How did you know?" At Ginny's slight scowl of confusion, she clarified, "I mean, how did you know you liked Michael? Was it just...did you wake up one day and realize you fancied him?"

"No..." Ginny said, setting the present down into her pile of presents. "He and I got chatting at the Yule Ball, actually. Later he asked me to Hogsmeade and I said yes. Figured it'd be nice to go with someone who asked. And things just sort of...happened from there. Why?" she asked, suddenly hawkish. "Do you fancy someone?"

Hermione hesitated too long, and then Ginny was squealing.

"Who?" She grabbed Hermione's arm and shook it. She stopped suddenly. "Only please don't say it's my brother."

"Which one?" Hermione asked, and laughed at Ginny's slack expression. "I'm kidding. No, it's none of them. I actually don't even know if fancy is the right word..."

"Do you think about him when you're not around him?"

"Er...sometimes," Hermione said. Did it count if it was a memory?

"Do you make excuses to be near him?"

"Ah...no?"

Circumstances happened to throw them together fairly regularly, but none of that was because she was trying to see him. She had to for classes. And for private lessons. And to heal him. And to save her best friend's dad. And sometimes she saw him at meals. But really, other than that, they barely saw one another.

"Well," Ginny said. "Do you want to...you know..."

Hermione blinked at her.

"Is he...has he ever given you any indication that he...would you?"

"Maybe," Hermione said slowly. "Yes. He's very confusing. I don't know."

Ginny stared at her. "I'm sorry, was that an answer to one question or to all of them?"

Hermione threw her hands over her face. "I don't know," she groaned into her palms. "Forget I said anything."

Beside her, Ginny shook with laughter and pulled the wrappings off of a new deep purple Weasley sweater.

"Oh, Hermione. You think there's a gnome's chance in my mum's garden that I'm going to forget this conversation?"

Wonder of wonders, Severus let himself into his house before sunrise on Christmas morning, bearing no bruises or broken bones. While the Dark Lord hadn't been pleased about failing to acquire the ultimate prize he sought, it was a large consolation to know that he had struck a blow to the Order's defense. Severus knew that this meant the Order would need to regroup and adjust the guard schedule, and he knew that it was a hit to morale. But he couldn't help but feel relief-the barest level of happiness-that it had not resulted in his own punishment. Especially seeing as Severus had been partly responsible for Arthur's recovery.

He shut the door firmly behind him, kicked off his boots, and padded into the kitchen, intent on a cup of tea before crashing for the rest of the morning. He had no one to celebrate Christmas with, and that was quite alright by him. Peace and quiet and a lack of punishment was more than he could reasonably expect. He had every intention of enjoying all three for as long as possible.

He rummaged around in the cupboards for some bags, fixed himself a builder's tea, and ascended the stairs. He pushed open the door to his room to find a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. Tilly, no doubt.

Sipping at his cup, he crossed the floor and examined the pile curiously. Tartan wrapping on what proved to be a metal tin after he tapped on it. Biscuits from Minerva. Something squashed and covered in confetti wrapping paper. Socks from Albus. An oddly misshapen bundle which he did unwrap out of curiosity, and which turned out to be a simple climbing vine from Pomona. His fingers drifted through the pile, identifying and categorizing, until they landed on a hard gold-wrapped package. There was a small brown card attached, which he instantly unpeeled and opened.

Sir,

To replace what I stole. Thank you for everything, and I'm very sorry if I invaded your personal space.

You will also find four vials. They are enchanted with an Unbreakable Charm, their contents can't be tampered with, and they will resize up to triple to contain larger batches.

I hope you have a very merry Christmas wherever you are.

x H

Severus finished the note, then read it a second time. His thumb brushed across the inky black x.

Is an x a hug or a kiss? But then he shook his head. Whichever it was, she surely didn't mean it that way.

But she did hug you.

Only because we had just-oh shut up, he snarled at the voice in his head. I'm not doing this again.

He ripped away the paper to reveal four crystal vials, which had been adhered by a temporary sticking charm to a bottle of Ogden's. Despite himself, he felt his lips twitch. To replace what she stole... When in fact he wasn't certain that he'd felt at all that she had taken anything from him that he couldn't bear to part with.

He scooped up his presents and arranged them into a neat pile on the floor. He would get to them later. For now, he would get some much needed sleep. When he got into bed and closed his eyes, all he saw was the small, two stroke x.

Augustus Pye, my foot! Hermione thought irritably as Mr. Weasley gave credit for the stitches idea to the trainee.

Ah well. Did it really matter how the idea had gotten implemented, if at least they had tested it? It was a shame they hadn't worked, though...

It was an even bigger shame discovering what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to Neville's parents. She had shaken Augusta Longbottom's hand in greeting and then felt her stomach drop when the woman explained about Frank and Alice Longbottom. Neville looked at the ceiling, or the floor, anywhere to avoid looking at them. Hermione felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

This was what she was fighting to prevent, she thought, watching as Neville's mum retreated back to her bed, watched Augusta's lips purse, watched Neville pocket the gum wrapper. But what had she done over the last several months? Hidden away to read books? Brewed a single helpful potion? What was her work doing to aid the war effort?

She returned with the rest of the Weasley's to Grimmauld Place and made her excuses to escape upstairs. It was time to make real plans.

At the close of the meeting, Severus climbed the stairs and followed the sound of laughter and conversation to the Black library. He hovered at the edge of the doorway. Potter and Weasley were engaged in a chess match. Granger and the Weasley girl sat beside Potter on the sofa, watching as one of Potter's bishops took Weasley's knight.

"Nice jumper, Hermione," the Weasley girl said, touching the sleeve. "It's so soft. And the perfect color for you."

Much better than red, Snape thought, eyeing the navy blue.

"But that's Ravenclaw's color, 'Mione," the youngest Weasley boy whined from across the table.

"I almost got it in green," Granger said coolly. "Would that have been better, Ronald?"

The boy sputtered. "S-Slytherin-"

"Does not have a monopoly on the color green. Besides, Mrs. Weasley has knitted Harry green jumpers before and you never take issue with him," Hermione replied, shutting her book.

"That's different," Weasley said. Severus spied the tips of his ears turning red.

"Why?" Granger asked archly. "Because he's a boy?"

"Yes," Weasley said, and then he must have realized how odd that sounded, because he quickly added, "I mean no. I mean...his eyes are green, it's different."

"Oooh, his eyes are green," his sister said, elbowing the brunette in the side and giggling.

"Didn't know you cared so much about my eyes, mate," Potter said, head bent to the chessboard. "Rather you didn't, to be honest."

The girls burst into louder laughter, and heat flooded the back of Weasley's neck.

"Oi, at least I haven't written any poems about Harry's eyes," he said, and his sister immediately stopped laughing and gave him a thunderous look. Weasley began singing in a falsetto. "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad-"

"I was eleven!" the girl protested.

"His hair is as dark as a blackboard," Potter muttered, and Weasley guffawed. Potter gave the redhead girl a smile, and Severus was surprised to find that it wasn't mocking. "It's alright, Gin. That was really brave of you, even for an eleven year old."

Severus rolled his eyes so hard he thought they almost got stuck. Granger must have felt a similar exasperation, for she shook her head and, in doing so, looked toward the door and spotted him leaning against the door frame. She tucked her chin almost imperceptibly in a nod. Snape backed up against the wall, listening to the rustle as she gathered up her things.

"Well, Ron, I can like green if I want to. In fact, I may just write mum right now and ask her to pick up the green one next time she's out. Excuse me."

Severus didn't move as he heard the padding of her footsteps approach closer and closer. Only once he heard a huff and a firm closing of the library door did he lift his eyes from the floor. Her face was lightly flushed and she scowled at the door, as if her gaze could pierce through the wood and strike the object of her annoyance. She had slipped her book between her knees to hold it while she brushed through her hair with her fingers until all of it was gathered at the top of her head. As she bundled it into a bun, she finally met his gaze and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" she asked, tone defensive.

"Nothing," he said.

An errant curl spiraled over her cheek, but she seemed oblivious to it as she glared up at him and bowed slightly to retrieve her book. At his side, his hand clenched. He shoved it in his pocket.

"It's good you're here," she said. "I've been wanting to talk to you for ages. Shall we go up?"

"Up?" he asked.

"To my room. Ginny won't interrupt us, she's meant to play winner of the match. Plus, it's closer."

Closer was good, and it meant they didn't have to dodge anyone else lingering about after the meeting to get down to the lab. Snape nodded and gestured for her to proceed. She led the way up the stairs and into the first bedroom off the landing. Upon entering, he was met with a faint floral scent and, apart from a few sweets wrappers, a fairly tidy room. Both beds were made and there was a single desk, where it was clear Granger had set up her work. Granger crossed the room to grab a pouf from the corner of the room, leaving the desk chair for him. Before he sat, he examined the desk's surface.

Organized chaos was again the term that entered his mind. A pile of notes with color coded tabs was spread out on the right hand side. A crystal paperweight held open a book, the text of which was written in French. Three quills next to three different colored bottles of ink were strewn across the surface. Half a dozen books were piled on the desk with bookmarks in various spots. As he sat, he read the spines until he reached a small black book with no writing. His fingertips tingled and he found himself pulling the volume out of the pile and opening the front cover. The title was in German. He flipped through a couple of pages, and he felt his pulse thud in his ears.

"Where did you get this?" he whispered.

She drew closer to him to see what he had picked up. "Viktor," she replied.

He looked up at her from his chair, the book still open in his lap. There was no line in her face to communicate worry or defensiveness. She was open, calm.

"Viktor Krum sent this to you?"

"I think he stole it from the Durmstrang library," she said, matter-of-factly. "I haven't asked, but then I figured this isn't the kind of book you ask questions about, is it?"

"What have you told him?"

"I've been vague enough in case the letters were intercepted, if that's what you mean," she said, setting down the pouf and sitting next to him. It was lower to the ground, so she sat a couple inches below him. "I said enough for him to read between the lines. He's actually quite clever, if you can look past all that Quidditch stuff."

All that Quidditch stuff. He snorted internally. That's exactly what had attracted all the girls when he had been in school. His finger stroked the page he had opened to absentmindedly.

"Anyway, I've had an idea." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Viktor's invited me to his teammate's wedding next Summer. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to try out Anne's disguise."

His finger stilled. "Your research?" he asked.

"Coming along alright," she said lightly. "My aunt has sent me pictures of my hometown, not that she realizes that's what she's done, but that's all for the better. I'm meeting Fleur next week to discuss Beauxbatons. And-"

She jerked her head at the desk. He turned his head to follow her movement and looked at the open book again. It was in French, but what of it? He was about to open his mouth to ask precisely this question, but then he froze. The writing hadn't been printed by a press. It had been handwritten in dark blue ink, the same color as one of the bottles on the desk. He wasn't fluent, but read enough to catch the main ideas. Hospital visit, Christmas, Arithmancy project... She was keeping a journal.

His eyes slid back to her. She was smiling up at him crookedly, a little expectant. The book was warm under his hands.

"Clever."

Her smile widened.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said. "Now you need to hold up your side, sir, and teach me about Monsieur Blanc."

Slipping her cool hands beneath his own, she began to withdraw her book, but he seized her wrists and squeezed. As she winced, he hissed, "Do you realize that this book is a dark artefact?"

He had pulled her closer as he'd clamped down on her wrists, and she knelt on the floor between his legs, hands trapped by his, elbows digging into his knees. She set her chin stubbornly.

"I cast several revealing charms on it, there's nothing-"

"It is no exterior charm. It's within the pages themselves," he said.

"Viktor would never-"

"I can feel it," he said, and pressed her hands into the pages for emphasis.

Even through her hands, he felt a rush, as if, having given words to the nature of the book, it had responded by sending out its own aura to the closest dark object it could find. Namely, him.

The Dark Mark was not merely a brand on his arm. Like a magnet, it attracted other dark objects, called to them with its own siren song. And the ritual to gain it had not just involved his arm, no. The magic of it had twined with his own, had merged itself with his very body, was pulsing even now in the presence of a book filled with instructions on how to cause some of the worst pain, some of the most horrific deaths possible from potions.

Warmth radiated through her cold fingers, latching onto his own skin and traveling up his arms. Severus closed his eyes as he felt the foreign magic inebriate his own system, stroke his nerve endings, curl around his heart.

"Oh..."

His eyes snapped open, as electricity shot down his stomach. Granger's mouth was still parted with her moan.

"Is this how it feels?" she asked, raising her eyes to his. "Dark magic." There was a glint to her eyes, a knowledge that hadn't been there before.

Heat rose within him, his muscles tensed, and his hands clenched hers tightly. She didn't wince or withdraw. Her gaze slowly refocused from the space between them to fix upon his eyes, and she wet her lips. Heartbeat roaring in his ears, Severus snatched the book from his lap-knocking her backwards in the process-and threw it across the room until it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a solid thunk.

"It is much better..." he said, breathing shallowly as if he had just run. "And much worse."

He stared at her, knowing his eyes were wild, feeling the thrum of dark magic under his skin, pressing him, urging him. To do what? The girl blinked and got to her feet.

"Granger..."

She turned from him and walked over to the book. His heart began to thud.

"Granger," he said firmly.

She knelt down to pick it up.

He got to his feet. "Hermione!"

She stood, too, the book held lightly in her grip as she turned to face him.

"It's alright."

She returned, setting the book on the desk. He swooped to her, grabbing her face and tilting it upward so he could examine it. Her eyes had lost the glint in them. She only regarded him patiently as he scoured her face, her skin slightly too pale against the deep blue of her top.

"It doesn't affect me," she said simply, as he traced his fingers down her jaw, turning her head this way and that. "Not without you also touching it. That was the first time that's ever happened."

"Are you sure?" he demanded.

She raised a hand and pressed it against the one he had splayed over her throat. Her fingers curled around his, and she gently loosened his grip, then brought his hand down to their sides.

"I'm positive. Okay?"

Severus regarded her for a moment, eyes flashing between her brown ones, then nodded, lowering his other hand. "Okay."

Her fingers twisted within his and they both looked down as she rotated his limb until his forearm was facing the ceiling.

"I wonder..." she said. And then she was pushing at his sleeve.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step backwards and almost toppling the chair, attempting to pull his arm out of her grip. She must have known how he would react, though, because she held his hand all the more tightly.

"Testing a theory," she said, head bent. She rolled the sleeve of his robes up to his elbow. "If I let go of your hand, will you let me do what I'm attempting?"

"That depends entirely on what you're attempting," he said honestly.

She huffed a laugh, but let go of his hand, using both of hers to undo the buttons at his wrist.

"Granger..." It was almost a growl of a warning.

"You called me Hermione earlier," she mused, undoing the last button. "I'd rather hoped you'd start getting into the habit of doing so."

That was never going to happen. It was bad enough that she'd said his name-did she even know she had done so? Now she was undressing him and asking him to call her by her first name?

"Only because I thought you were going to get yourself possessed," he said stiffly.

"Hmm," she said, but didn't elaborate. She was too busy rolling up the sleeve, revealing inch by inch the ink tattooed into his arm, until finally, the whole thing was on display.

A sour taste of disgust flooded Severus's mouth. It was disgusting, a symbol of all the terror and hatred the Dark Lord had fostered among his devoted followers and unleashed upon an innocent, unsuspecting world. How many bodies of beloved family members had been discovered under this mark? How many homes and livelihoods, minds and souls had been destroyed in the name of this mark? As he looked, the Mark pulsed as if it had a heartbeat of its own, expanding slightly and then retracting on his own skin.

"If you can leak dark magic into mine..." she said slowly. She traced a line down his arm, and, despite himself, he shuddered. "Do you think it works in reverse?"

Before he could say anything, she closed her eyes and flattened her palm over his arm, covering the Mark completely. Severus felt a rush of warmth, but he couldn't tell whether it was just the effect of skin on skin. But then, the warmth increased. It wasn't the greedy furnace of heat that had radiated off of the book's pages. It was softer, yet just as all-encompassing, as if he was being wrapped in blankets or laid out on some tropical beach. He felt no dark tendrils seeking for cracks in his defenses to slip into. It felt like being pressed down, not suffocated, but secreted away. Everything was safe and golden.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Minutes or days later, he felt her stumble against him and the warmth of her magic retreated, even as he held her body within his arms. She smiled sheepishly at him. He blinked the stars out of his eyes.

"You've exhausted yourself," he accused, and the tranquility he had sunk into evaporated.

He was now practically holding her up against him. He felt the movement of her head as she nodded against his chest. Looking around wildly, he half pulled, half carried her over to the bed he guessed was hers based on the number of short orange cat hairs clinging to the sheet. With stilted movements and a number of wandless spells, he helped her sink down into the bed and pulled the covers over her. Then he cast a diagnostic over her. He was right: the runes above her head indicated a decreased magical core reserve, but they floated in the usual lazy circle, indicating that, with rest, she would recover. He knelt at her side while she blinked at him.

"That was incredibly foolish," he scolded her, peering at her intently. "Why did you do it?"

Granger reached a hand out and settled it on top of his, fingers weakly twining with his.

"Worth it," she mumbled.

He snorted. "How could it possibly be worth it to deplete your magical core and waste it by testing a theory on me?"

She closed her eyes, too weary to keep them open any longer.

"Proved it works."

Hermione shook soot off her robes after stepping through the fire. Around her, glasses clinked and voices chatted merrily in the Leaky Cauldron lunch rush. She peered over the heads at the tables until she finally found a flag of silvery blonde in the back corner, and she weaved briskly through the tables.

"Fleur, hello," she said brightly, and the woman at the table looked up and smiled gently. She got to her feet in one fluid movement and embraced Hermione, greeting her with a kiss at each cheek.

"Bonjour, 'Ermione. You 'ave perfected la bise. That is a start, non?"

The two women sat down and Hermione immediately took note of Fleur's clothes. While she was not planning for her alter-ego to be richâ"in fact, it was better for her class ranking not to be too high, or else it might be odd that people hadn't heard of her-she knew that the French sense of simple, elegant style was something she would need to imitate. Fleur was dressed in professional wizarding robes in a soft ivory color. What appeared dull on first glance proved itself to be fine craftsmanship. The robes were tailored perfectly to Fleur's figure, and a shimmer of lilac danced through the fabric when she moved, pulling out the cool tone of her eyes.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Fleur," Hermione said. "How are you liking Gringotts?"

They chatted for some time about polite subjects and placed their orders. Only once their food arrived-soup for Fleur and fish pie for Hermione-did their conversation turn.

"Now, I know you deed not ask me 'ere only to discuss work and school. 'Ow can I 'elp you?" Fleur asked, stirring her soup to cool it.

Hermione chewed her bite, then set her fork down delicately.

"It is school that I'd like to talk about," Hermione said. "Beauxbatons, not Hogwarts. I'm...doing some research. I need to know it, see it, as someone who actually attended."

Fleur took a careful spoonful of her soup before replying. "What kind of research would require such an eentense study?"

Hermione glanced around them, and Fleur smiled.

"Act natural and eat your food. I am not theenking wrong," she said. "To find us a table in the back, non? I have some idea of what you are up to."

Hermione's hands began to sweat and she wiped them against her jeans before picking up her fork again. "Um...you do?"

"You are not the only one who 'as been keeping in touch with Viktor." Fleur smiled, and Hermione glimpsed the clever, powerful girl who had been chosen to represent her school in the Triwizard Tournament. "Do not worry," Fleur added. "I am not eenterested in him, that way."

"I don't-I'm not-"

Fleur ripped a bite-sized piece of bread from the roll that had been served with her soup.

"I remember you from last year," she said conversationally, tearing off more pieces. "'Ead always in a book. Always looking for ways to 'elp 'Arry." Her dark blue eyes flew up and Hermione felt like an insect pinned to a board in a display case. "You 'ave not changed in that respect."

"No," Hermione said.

"What do you need?" Fleur asked.

Hermione took a bite, chewed carefully, and swallowed before responding.

"Memories," she said. "I need your memories."

When Hermione stepped back through the flames to Headquarters a quarter of an hour later, it was not to an empty kitchen as she had suspected. Sirius sat at the worn wooden table, staring down at the mug between his hands. Upon her entrance, he looked up.

"Hi, Sirius," she said lightly, fighting to keep her face free from surprise. She shook soot out of the hem of her robe. "Where is everyone?"

"Garden," Sirius said.

There was a dull edge to his voice that told her all she needed to know. Now that most of the festivities were over, the end of break was looming like a storm cloud. The man practically glowered into his tea. She gave a quiet but long sniff. If tea it was.

"And where have you been?"

The question was asked so suddenly that Hermione didn't have the wherewithal to control her expression. Her eyebrows did rise this time. "To...see my parents," she said, hoping the hesitation was slighter to his ears than to her own.

Sirius cocked his head to the side, like a dog straining to hear more.

"That's interesting," he said, tilting his mug first this way, then that. "I could have sworn I heard you say 'Leaky Cauldron' when you left."

How long has he been sitting here? her brain asked in alarm.

"My parents are Muggles," she said. Sirius's expression didn't change. There was a sharp, analytic glint in his eyes that struck her as particularly wolfish. "Meaning," she continued patiently. "That they don't have a floo connection. We had to meet somewhere else."

"And you had lunch with them?" he asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

"That's right," she said, forcing her shoulders to relax.

"What did you have?" he asked brusquely.

"Fish pie," she said honestly.

"And your mother?"

"Onion soup," she said, now bizarrely imagining her mother's face on Fleur's body, then Fleur's face on her mother's body.

"And your father?"

"...Nothing."

Sirius raised his dark brows. "Nothing?"

Hermione tried to remember all the rules she'd drafted for spying.

"Nothing," she confirmed. "Last time we were there, Tom was experimenting with a hopping toad-in-the-hole." And she felt confident, because such a thing had occurred when she and her parents had come to Diagon alley before second year.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. "I've never heard of Tom making such revisions to his menu."

"Well, you wouldn't have," Hermione said, feeling some of her impatience leak through. "It was before-"

But she stopped, feeling heat creep into her face. Before you broke out, she'd wanted to say.

Sirius's face had gone paper white and his grip tightened around his mug.

"Anyway, I've got studying to do," she said briskly, finally taking her first steps away from the fireplace. "You should go outside. I'm sure Harry would appreciate it."

And with that, she left the room.

Near the end of break, their group of four sat together, girls watching on as the boys played chess. Hermione was relieved they'd be going back to school shortly. Even having a conversation with Moaning Myrtle sounded appealing right now. If she had to sit through another chess match, she thought she might go spare. Crookshanks squirmed in her arms, and his tail flicked every time the pieces obediently skated across the surface of the board.

There was a knock at the door, but only Hermione looked up.

"Harry, dear, Professor Snape's here to see you."*

Hermione froze. Snape was here? To see Harry? Her grip slackened and Crookshanks pounced, sending chess pieces flying everywhere. Harry left and the three of them exchanged glances.

"What do you suppose Ol' Snape's doing here?" Ron asked, scooping the pieces into a pile.

"No clue," Ginny said, then she peered at Hermione. "Are you alright? You don't look well."

"I'm fine," she said automatically. "Crookshanks. He kicked me in the stomach. Let's go downstairs and see what's happening."

But when they made it to the ground floor, the front door opened and the twins came in, pushing between them a pale but cheerful looking Mr. Weasley in a wheelchair.

"Dad!" Ron and Ginny cried. Ginny threw her arms around her father as George shut the door on the swirling snow beyond.

"Bloody mad out there," Fred was saying as he took off his hat and shook it out. "Even with apparating, I feel like I've walked a mile-"

"Or ten," George added.

"Uphill."

"Backwards."

"Just to get to and from school each day," Fred said.

"But you tell the young people of today that, and do they believe you?" George asked.

"No, no," the twins said together, pushing Mr. Weasley down the hall.

Their group was laughing when they entered the kitchen, but at the sight of Sirius and Snape facing off against each other with Harry caught somewhere in the middle, their grins fell.

"Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter," Snape said, and then he pushed past them.

"Excuse me," Hermione whispered to no one in particular, and then she turned down the hall herself.

Snape was almost to the door when she finally caught up with him.

"Sir, wait," she called, then lowered her voice, seeing the heavily curtained portrait. "Just...wait a minute."

Snape turned suddenly on the spot to face her and she almost ran into him, bringing up her right hand to steady herself on his arm as she skidded to a halt. It had only been a week since she'd last seen him, but there were haggard shadows in every nook of his face. Stubble lined his jaw, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was lank as if he'd had his head over a cauldron for three days straight. There was a deep scowl on his face as he glared down at her.

"What?" she asked in a small voice. "What's the matter?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if forcing himself not to speak. But after a moment, his expression slackened and he sighed.

"I hate him," he said lowly.

Hermione started and gripped the fabric of his robes tightly.

"Who, Sirius?" And then she added, "Harry?"

He nodded. "Both. And Dumbledore and the Dark Lord and-" But then his voice gave out and he bowed his head.

Hermione's eyes scanned over the little of his face she could see through the heavy fall of his hair. He was breathing in heavy, stilted pants, like a runner whose breath was just about to turn over from gasping to calm. Like he was too tired to keep fighting and just wanted to rest.

"You don't hate everyone," she said.

"I do," he murmured to the ground. "I do."

She stepped closer, placing her free hand on his upper arm. Muscle jumped beneath her touch, and she thought he might rip his way away from her, but he stayed rooted to the ground. Taking a tremulous breath, she tried to smile.

"Do you make a habit of giving Christmas presents to people you hate?" she asked.

Snape lifted his head enough to look her in the eye. He began to nod slowly, and she frowned. He stopped nodding. "No."

She continued to frown at him thoughtfully. "Has he called you?" she whispered.

"Twice this week. Last was worse than the first."

"When? When was the last time?"

A shudder went down his spine that rocked his entire body. He looked away then, as if ashamed that his body had betrayed him.

"Today?" she asked, brows raised.

"This morning," he confessed.

If he was feeling aftershocks this long after, he must have been under the Cruciatus several times. For the second time over break, Hermione felt tears stinging at her eyes. They were already standing so close, already half in shadows. Everyone else was downstairs...

She leaned forward, snaking her arms around him, one at his waist and one up to the middle of his shoulder blades. She felt him shake again in her embrace, but she just held him tighter. His ribs expanded beneath her cheek as he inhaled and she mimicked his breathing. They exhaled through a third shock, and then he was still.

"I wish this was over," she murmured against his chest, breathing in herbs. "I wish he was gone. I...I hate him, too."

His hands lighted upon her and she jumped. He immediately froze, but she tightened her grip, trying to communicate that it was okay, she was just surprised. His hands began to move, echoing her positions. She breathed into the hand he pressed against her shoulders, and as she exhaled she felt him settle his head on top of hers.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "After..."

"I'm fine," she said. "Ginny took it upon herself to serve me breakfast in bed the next morning. I wonder where she got the idea."

"Sounds confunded," he muttered, and she laughed.

"Are you alright?" she asked. And then, "Of course you're not. Don't answer that."

He hesitated. "All things considered-"

"All things considered, you're still bound to a maniac," she spat.

"Don't think of him," he murmured into her hair.

"I'll continue to think of him as long as he continues to threaten everyone I care about," she said fiercely, lifting her head.

Shocked gray eyes blinked down at her in the darkness.

"Yes, well," he said, and he began to untangle himself from her. "You had better get back. It looks very...celebratory in there."

Hermione felt cold as he retreated and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to trap any of his residual warmth to herself. When his hand lighted on the doorknob she said, "I'll see you soon." It was almost a question.

He paused and turned back to her. His eyes looked hollow again, weary, but he nodded once. "See you soon."

Then he turned and left.