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Chapter Text

She hadn’t prepared for how hollow, how empty, how purposeless her life would be when it was all over. For the last seven years her entire existence had been so focused on Harry: getting Harry through the year alive, trying to get Harry to pay attention in lessons and develop his skills for the inevitable, spending hours in the library gathering knowledge that would help Harry along the way, helping Harry practice his spells so he was a better duellist. It had come and gone and now all that was left to do was recover and rebuild.

But nobody really wanted her -- or them -- to do anything other than be a nice face for the front of the Daily Prophet and utter a few words for some morale. Hermione had never known so few words to be embellished upon so much unless it was by Rita Skeeter’s quill. Days where they did not make any sort of appearance or statement didn’t deter them either: the newspaper was daily filled with recaps of their exploits over the past seven years.

To be fair, they had tried to find purpose, but it seemed that everyone was preventing them from doing anything further, despite their own expressed desires. Harry was desperate to help round up Death Eaters for the Ministry, but he was only asked to relay what little he had witnessed in the final battle. He was instead used as the face for “carrying on” for the wizarding community. Ron was a bit listless, in shock from the loss of poor Fred, and did his best to stick with Harry. When home, though, he seemed to be endlessly engaged in Wizard’s Chess or Exploding Snap with whoever would sit with him. Hermione did her best to try to involve herself with the rebuilding of Hogwarts, her home -- the place where she truly flourished and learned to be herself -- but she was always told she had done enough and no one expected her to do anything after they had done so much.

She didn’t expect the restlessness, the lack of occupation that came with the completion of their task. It had started soon after the Battle of Hogwarts, as soon as the dead were dealt with, and they didn’t need to appear at so many funerals or formal interviews at the Ministry. She felt like a worm on a hook: wriggling, always trying to free herself or find some occupation or something to take her mind away from itself. She couldn’t even settle with her beloved books. When she tried to sit and read, little bits of information that she wished she had known popped up or she was reminded of something she knew and lamented her lack of use of when surviving over the past year. Her one source of solitude was now a source of distraction and regret. It was infuriating.

Hermione didn’t expect the nightmares, either. She thought they had disappeared with the destruction of the Horcrux and the end of the conflict, but they returned with a vengeance. As soon as she closed her eyes at night, she kept finding herself in the midst of the final battle, staring at Harry’s dead body in Hagrid’s arms. Other times she would have Greyback in her face, his warm, rancid breath wetting her cheeks as he questioned her in the dark of the forest. Sometimes as she was drifting to the edge of consciousness, she could feel Bellatrix above her, the silver knife pressed against her throat, followed by the thousands of shards of goblin glass from the chandelier embedded in her back. The visions and feelings broke through the nightly doses of Dreamless Sleep that were offered to her. There were nights she woke up in terror clawing at her chest, her fingers trying to dig the Horcrux away from her only to find that there was nothing other than the trails of blood she left and her whole being filled with that voice whispering her name, every syllable of it sliding into her ears and eyes and through her brain and out her nose, filling every one of her senses with its tangy darkness. The healers she spoke to said they couldn’t give her anything stronger for fear of damage. Apparently only time would heal her wounds, no matter how invisible they may be.

And, worst of all, she didn’t expect to keep re-living Severus Snape’s last moments over and over. Her brain continuously cycled through the images of the enchanted cage, the snake, its fangs, the blood -- so much blood, and so many memories -- so much gluey silvery blue substance flooding out of him. They came to her when she least expected -- when she took her first sips of tea in the morning and allowed her mind to go blank, she was assaulted. When she stepped into the bath and gloried in the luxury of the warm water after camping for so long, her thoughts turned to her ex-Potions Master and how that would be something he would never get to experience again. Severus Snape, who had given so much of his life to the war would never get to experience a world without Voldemort. His death was such a waste. Such a horrible waste.

There were many injustices she felt from the war over the past few years, but this one struck her the most. How terrible to live one’s entire life trying to atone for a mistake. How awful to be so close to freedom and to have it snatched away. How dreadful to have one’s life end in such a horrifying way, caught between the orders of two madmen. Why did wizards like Lucius Malfoy and witches like Dolores Umbridge get to keep their life when men like Severus Snape no longer had theirs? No, Severus Snape wasn’t the most pleasant of men, but after the life he had lived shouldn’t he have been allowed to live the life he wanted? What would he have done with it had he survived?

And, most importantly, why hadn’t she tried to save him? She had potions. She had salves. She had carried them for months. She thought quickly enough to conjure a vial for Harry to collect those memories, but nothing for Snape. No dittany, no blood replenishing potions, nothing. Even if she couldn’t have done anything to stem the flow of death, she should have at least made the effort to.

The guilt hit her to the point where she found it difficult to breathe at times. Harry had been bitten by Nagini, and she used dittany right away -- she had saved Harry with it. Why of all things could she only think to conjure a bottle for Harry to retrieve Snape’s memories and not use any of the dittany or other supplies in her bag to help save him, little though they may do? What must he have thought of her while he was gasping for breath in his dying moments? She was a witch -- she had the resources at hand, but did not think to use them, and her failure in that bothered her deeply.

Hermione tried to seek solace from sources other than her books. She and Ron ended up sharing a few more misguided kisses in those few weeks after before they -- or at least she -- decided it wasn’t to be after all. She was looking for a distraction, and felt cruel because she knew she was using him to try to feel something rather than investing in any sort of real relationship with him. Despite years of wishing he would return her feelings, she no longer had an interest in sharing any sort of romantic relationship with him. She knew that she would never forgive Ron for leaving her -- them -- in the forest, despite the Horcrux’s influence. They all took turns wearing it, didn’t they? And she and Harry didn’t decide to run away.

Even worse was that people seemed to expect it of them. Harry sought comfort with Ginny, and it only made sense for she and Ron to turn to each other. However, as the weeks passed, they sought each others company privately less and less until they only really spent time together when Harry was in the room. Ron didn’t seem to mind. The fanmail that was delivered from the Ministry weekly seemed to lessen any sort of heartache that she thought he might experience. And it seemed to do some good for him -- the emotion that was missing began to return, and she began to see smiles on his face again.

As May rolled in to June, she did track down her parents in Australia. With Mr. Weasley’s connections at the Ministry, it didn’t take long. It wasn’t until she visited them under the guise of selling them a home alarm system that she discovered that memory spells were a bit trickier to undo than they were to cast. She had spent a considerable amount of time padding out her presentation, trying to discreetly cast spells at them to no avail. Her parents stubbornly remained Wendell and Monica Wilkins, recent retirees. In her desperation to send her parents into hiding, she had done her job a little too well, and had hidden their memories so deeply that they were having trouble being recovered. Hermione spent a few weeks in Australia, stalking her parents from afar, trying everything she knew to remove the false memories before eventually resigning herself to the fact that she did not have the knowledge or skill to do so. She was consulting with a healer at St. Mungo’s for the best way to go about recovering the memories and re-introducing her parents to their life in England. It wasn’t going well, but the healer assured her they would keep her abreast of any new developments.

When she returned, desperate for something to do, she had a sudden desire to redecorate Grimmauld Place, and posed the question to Harry. He was not opposed to it -- and actually seemed excited by it. The house wasn’t destroyed as they had feared after it had been discovered. That may have been the one positive thing that Bellatrix Lestrange had done. The house was too full of Black family memories -- an old pureblood family -- and too important, too vital to be destroyed. It appeared to have been saved to be released to her and her bloodline had Voldemort won the war. There were signs that she had at least made an appearance in the house in their absence. Now it was handed back to Harry once it had been cleared of dark magic by Aurors, a surprisingly quick release, no doubt sped by the fact that he had finally defeated Voldemort. One good thing the Aurors had taken care of was the portrait of Walburga Black. It was now mysteriously gone from the front entry, though it looked like a large portion of the wall needed to be removed to accomplish that feat. Mr. Weasley, having worked on the Burrow for years, stepped in to help them with any structural repairs.

And so their days went by, once again exploring all the dark cupboards and crevices of Grimmauld Place to remove any nesting doxies from the tapestries and expelling any boggarts hiding in cupboards. They sought to rid the house of anything the Death Eaters may have stowed away that the Aurors didn’t see fit to remove. It appeared that the permanent sticking charm that had attached the Black family tapestry to the wall was another thing the Aurors or the Death Eaters had solved -- it had been strewn across the floor when they first came across it. Harry was about to vanish the family tapestry when Hermione broke in. “How about tucking it away? Someone writing about the war may want to see it someday.” Harry shrugged and let her direct her wand toward it, carefully twisting and flicking her wrist so that it folded itself into a neat rectangle and placing a preservation charm on it. “You have plenty of rooms to set things aside in where you don’t have to look at them.”

The remaining Weasleys and members of the Order popped in every so often to help as well, though she thought the visits were more welfare checks on the three of them rather than really stopping by to help put the house back together. Their efforts worked, and, after a few weeks, the air of Voldemort and malice that had permeated the house had begun to disappear. New paint covered the walls, curtains were removed, and the dark rooms were transformed into welcoming spaces. Furniture was reupholstered to replace dark colors with light ones. Woods were transfigured from ebonies and darkened oak to light mahogany. Harry even let Ron decorate a room in violent orange to celebrate his love for the Chudley Cannons. It was a novelty for Harry, having so much freedom over his living space, and he chose to share it. He let her have reign over the drawing room, which she chose to decorate in light blues to brighten the room.

It was towards the end of June when she was in the middle of packing away some of the darker tomes of the library that Hermione was struck by a thought that took her breath away.

Why did Snape have to suffer the end that he did?

Why shouldn’t he be given the opportunity to live a master-free life?

Her brain never would have entertained the thought of something so ambitious, so impossible, but the past year -- making it through alive against all odds had given her the hope that maybe more impossible things could be achieved. Her heart took hold of it and wouldn’t let go.

Why not? Why not? Why not?

Why couldn’t she save Snape?

Why couldn’t she change the outcome? She couldn’t change what had happened -- of course not, but if it had already been changed, it would have already happened, wouldn’t it? How would she know if she succeeded if she didn’t at least try? Her brain kept cycling through these thoughts and she became a woman obsessed.

Hermione knew the consequences of playing with time -- she had learned all about it in her third year, and again at the Department of Mysteries. And she needed a bit of respite, she decided. Grimmauld Place was beginning to feel a bit constrictive. Australia would only frustrate her. She could still go travelling with Luna, but she really needed to be somewhere where she could use her time constructively. Where could she go where she could quietly influence the outcome of Snape’s fate and work on the problem of her parents memory?

She paced up and down the stairs and corridors of Grimmauld Place, mulling over her options. She had made her way up to the attic and caught sight of an old Gryffindor pennant of Sirius’ when Harry’s voice came to her unbidden, an echo of their first year, explaining that there was no safer place than Hogwarts. Hogwarts would be perfect… but when? Obviously not in the last few years. She didn’t want to risk it at any point while she was alive, really, she knew she would be too tempted to go spy on herself and her parents. That left a window of about eight years in which she would be able to attend Hogwarts with Snape, but the first few really wouldn’t do, would they? She was too old.

She crossed to a mirror and studied her reflection. Her face had filled out a bit over the past few weeks. She had regained some of the weight she had lost over the past year, but her eyes betrayed her. They were just a little too creased to pass believably for anything below a sixth year.

She did the maths quickly. She would need to go to 1976, and that meant she would just be leaving the peace from the aftermath of one wizarding war and jumping right into the thick of another. But she would have Hogwarts, safe and complete and whole, and she would be learning, her favorite pastime so far… That was it, then.

She was full of adrenaline, now, her thoughts were moving so quickly that she could feel them overlapping -- how to do it, how to explain her presence, how to discreetly warn Snape, how to begin to research helping her parents, and even then, how to return to actually apply that knowledge. Her mind was working constantly, trying to come up with solutions to these problems, and she moved through the house almost constantly like a ghost, always half somewhere else, only supplying non-committal noises to Harry and Ron when they asked her a question.

How would she do it, though? All the time-turners she knew of were broken at the Department of Mysteries. The Daily Prophet even reported it. And she highly doubted, considering her role in the destruction, that the Ministry would be quick to hand her another. It was possible that Dumbledore would have kept the one that she used in her third year, or even that someone would have had one illegally secreted away. Weren’t the Ministry still confiscating items from the homes of known Death Eaters? She had gotten her wand back once they had done a sweep of Malfoy Manor. If they had found that, they must have uncovered plenty of other interesting things. Surely there must be something somewhere...

Hermione tucked herself away into the redecorated drawing room, reacquainting herself with her books now that she had a purpose once more. She pored over anything that looked as though it might remotely relate to time travel. The Black family didn’t seem to be big collectors in magical time-travel, but what there was frustratingly pointed her toward time turners. Thankfully though, one of the books, Magical Inventions of the 19th Century, did discuss a bit of their creation, but other than the history, it didn’t give any details on how to actually create the time turners themselves. Then came the discussion of the different types of time turners: devices that transported one hour, five hours, seconds… The standard rule that one could only go back in time five hours without making a massive alteration to the timeline was gone through over and over again. One book in particular, Traversing Time for the Tired Traveller, led her to the discussion of the use of a magical object to transport oneself back in time, and the transference of the magic from the user of the object to the object itself. That discussion led her to a book about spells placed on objects that infused them with magic that allowed objects to be transported. Magical Movement and its Everyday Uses led her to research on transporting oneself. That led her to Portkeys, and their creation, which led her to --

“I got it, Crooks.” Hermione nearly jumped from her seat, kicking over the stack of books at her feet. Crookshanks sleepily raised his head and gave her a slow blink from his position on the sofa next to her.

She would create a portkey and adapt it.

Thinking it best to start with the basics, she first studied how to create portkeys. Nevermind the fact that she would be playing free and easy with the laws for their creation. The Ministry weren’t watching them too closely, and the debacle with Barty Crouch, Jr in their fourth year confirmed that there was no actual way to track any sort of unauthorised use.

Much like apparition, for the creation of portkeys there needed to be a destination and determination in mind that the object absorbed when the spell was cast. When she felt confident that she had more than a grasp on how to produce one, she cast her eye about her bedroom for something appropriate to charm.

No, not a book, she didn’t want to risk anything happening to it. And definitely not a chair, that would create too much noise when it landed. It felt as though it was the first time she had properly looked at her room in weeks. There was a pile of folded laundry waiting to be put away, and a trail of discarded clothes leading from the door to the bed that spoke of how her mind had been uncharacteristically elsewhere.

No time like the present for a tidy. Hermione waved her wand across the mess, taking pleasure in the flight of the various items of clothing as they folded themselves into drawers and tucked themselves away into cupboards. Surveying the room once more, a lone sock caught her eye, half concealed under the wardrobe.

Perfect.

“Accio sock,” she commanded, reaching out to catch it as it launched toward her. Small and light enough to not create a disturbance and substantial enough to hold, she found the item to create her first portkey.

Thinking very hard of transporting the sock to the drawing room, Hermione tapped her wand to it. “Portus.” She said the spell with conviction, careful to remember the slight twist of the wrist required at the end of the cast. The sock glowed appropriately and she had to stifle a whoop of celebration.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out to touch the sock, anticipating the pull below her navel that she had come to associate with portkey travel. However, when the sock glowed again and disappeared, she remained stubbornly on her bed, her hand stretched over an empty space of air. How inconsiderate of it to leave without her!

She jumped off her bed and ran across the hall to the drawing room to investigate. There was nothing on the floor at first glance, but as she took a few steps into the room, she saw the sock lying on the floor between the blue chintz settees, mocking her.

While not a complete success, it was not a total failure. She had the intention of transporting an object, and she had done just that. The problem was that she hadn’t taken herself with it. She kicked herself mentally as she went over her actions, realizing that when she cast the spell, she had been rather more intent on sending the sock to the drawing room than herself. She crouched down and tapped it again, imagining it transporting her to her bedroom with as much determination and deliberation as she could muster. It glowed once more and she reached down to touch it.

The missing feeling of tugging at her navel materialized and she barely had a chance to grin in satisfaction before she found herself falling forward on her bedroom floor, landing on her shoulder with a thump.

“Everything okay?” she heard Ron shout down the stairs.

She jumped up and opened her bedroom door, rubbing her shoulder.

“Absolutely fine -- sorry!” she called.

After that, Hermione couldn’t help herself from practicing repeatedly, tapping random objects with a destination in mind and uttering “portus”, receiving small rushes of satisfaction when they successfully transported her from the drawing room of Grimmauld Place or her room and back again. She highly expected that if Ron and Harry knew what she was up to, she would receive just as much ribbing for her actions as Fred and George did for apparating everywhere after passing their exam.

She doubted that it would work, but after a few days of success, she thought to try to create one that would transport her through time. It was the destination and deliberation, after all. If she thought of the appropriate time and place, in theory, she should end up there. So, with a deep breath, she thought about the kitchen downstairs ten minutes before, where she knew Harry and Ron were eating a lunch of cold roast chicken, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. “Portus” she whispered, thinking with all her might about how much she wanted to be there with them and in the kitchen as well, and the book she had tapped with her wand glowed blue. She grabbed it, felt a tugging under her navel that she had grown accustomed to, and caught herself against the sink when she landed.

There was no sign of Harry or Ron with the exception of their dirty dishes left at the table. She flicked her wand at the plates in disgust, half at them, half at her failure, and levitated them to the sink.

It was no use. No matter how hard she wished, no matter her intentions, she would need to augment the spell, to add something that would allow it -- and her -- to go to the past. She would need some time sand, the one magical ingredient that allowed time to be manipulated. It didn’t use to be a difficult ingredient to come across -- it was after all one of the main ingredients in aging potions and though it was highly controlled by the Ministry, Hermione recalled using it once or twice in their potions classes at Hogwarts. She remembered Professor Snape making his way along the brewing stations, carefully counting out the grains of sand each student would need. However, because of their escapades in the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry locked their supply up tight until they could navigate the creation of more time sand, and it looked as though she would need to make a formal request for some of their supply.

A request that Kingsley Shacklebolt immediately denied, even when she coaxed Harry into asking for her.

“Are you mad?” came the reply, Kingsley looking shocked at the three of them as they dined together one evening at Grimmauld Place. Well, maybe she was a bit. Living under constant stress and then finally having nothing will do things like that to you. “It’s volatile. And we don’t want to risk anything.” He shook his head in disbelief as he speared a roast potato, shaking it at Harry in his explanation.

“But it’s for Hermione, I’m sure she’ll --” Ron began, looking to Harry for reassurance.

“No. No, absolutely not,” Kingsley interrupted, a note of finality to his voice. They did not dare broach the subject again.

Hermione felt a bit dejected at Kingsley’s refusal to even consider her request, but she was confident that there were other avenues for her to pursue. She just needed to find them.

Another opportunity unexpectedly presented itself a few days later when she was reading through the texts on travel once more. There was a familiar crack of apparition from downstairs.

“Hello?” called Mr. Weasley’s familiar voice. “Delivery!”

Hermione jumped up and stuck her head over the banister. Mr. Weasley was standing in the entrance, his travelling cloak dripping from a summer storm. His arms were laden with a massive hamper.

“Hello!” she greeted, nearly skipping down the stairs to meet him. “Just off work?”

“Yes, but Molly wanted me to drop this by. I’ll need to go back later. We’ve just got another tip on a property in Norfolk that needs to be searched,” he sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “No rest for the wicked.”

“Mr. Weasley,” she began, taking the basket from him, “The ministry raids… do you keep an inventory of things that are found?”

“Oh, thanks for that -- Molly sends her love. Er, yes, we do keep a record,” he answered, shedding his travelling cloak. He paused, raising his eyebrows at her. The action caused his glasses to slide down his nose. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if any time turners or time sand had been confiscated?” asked Hermione, doing her best to sound as nonchalant as possible.

She thought she did a reasonably good job, but Mr. Weasley’s face turned serious. “That’s a very specific question, Hermione,” he said, pushing his glasses back into place. There was an air of suspicion in his voice.

“It’s to do with my parents,” she lied, rushing to get the explanation out. She hated being dishonest, but found that the excuses flowed more easily off her tongue than they maybe would have at one time. And it wasn’t even an outright lie -- she would use the time to constructively for her parents. “I thought that maybe there was something I could try that might bring their memories back.”

It worked, though, and his face softened into a look of fatherly concern. “Oh, Hermione…” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a comforting hug, guiding her toward the kitchen as he spoke. “Kingsley had mentioned you were interested in some. I’m afraid to say that any that had been retrieved has been taken to the Department of Mysteries. Lots of old families had some in their possession. The Malfoys, for instance, and the Lestranges. I’m sure I even saw a vial of it in Dumbledore’s office at some point, but who knows where that ended up.”

Hermione nodded. It was a start. She gave Mr. Weasley a bright smile, and heard Harry and Ron’s familiar footfalls making their way down the stairs. She set the hamper on the table, satisfied with the thud that it made from the weight inside. “Dinner’s here!” she shouted.

Although not as easy as she hoped, it provided her with a place to start. The Department of Mysteries was completely out of the question. She had no desire to ever visit there again, and although she was sure she could infiltrate under the guise of pursuing employment, it would take too long. She wasn’t going to go tromping around the countryside again looking to comb over pureblood families secret treasure troves. Shops like Borgin & Burkes had quickly been shut down, so there would be no luck there. Even if she went in to ask -- who would sell something like that to one of Harry Potter’s best friends? So that left one place: Hogwarts. She knew she could look at Hogwarts.

The next day Hermione wrote to Headmistress McGonagall, begging for an opportunity to visit the school and have tea with her, hoping that she wouldn’t turn her down.

She had tried to visit the school on several occasions previously. Her prior letters to the Headmistress were met with pleas for postponement, citing that the school was too unsafe to visit. She had even thought to drop by unannounced to see exactly how dangerous it was, but she didn’t make it any further on the grounds than the Quidditch pitch. She was easily spotted without a hard hat and a hi-vis and quickly escorted back down to Hogsmeade by Hagrid. The sight of the school covered in scaffolding, pockmarked with damage that revealed a few of the many rooms inside had brought tears to her eyes.

She was pleased that it only took McGonagall a few days to reply, and that the response was warm.

Dear Miss Granger,

How lovely to hear from you. I’ll be delighted to welcome you on the morning of the fifteenth of July if that is acceptable to you? Ten o’clock should be perfect.

Also, please do call me Minerva. I appreciate the formalities, but I am no longer your professor.

Awaiting your reply,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

She would be going to Hogwarts, and she would be bringing time sand back with her if she had to comb the castle from turret to dungeon.

Chapter Text

Hermione apparated into Hogsmeade a week later, wanting to appreciate the slow appearance of the castle above the lake as she walked up from the village. The view did not disappoint. Though it was scarred, it was just as breathtaking as ever. A majority of the scaffolding-like structures that had been hastily erected in the days after the battle had been taken away, revealing a patchwork of multicolored stone where the exterior had been repaired. If anything, it made the building more imposing. Here was a castle that had stood for a thousand years, and would continue to stand, no matter how many madmen were determined to destroy it.

Minerva was waiting at the gates when she approached and the smile that broke out on the older woman’s face filled Hermione with a warmth that she had not felt since her parents left for Australia.

“Hermione, my darling girl!” She stepped forward, enclasping both of Hermione’s hands in her own. She pulled her into an embrace and kissed both her cheeks. “How are you?” Although she and Minerva had always been somewhat close while she was a student, the genuine affection that radiated from her surprised Hermione, though it was not unwelcome.

“I’m well, thank you,” Hermione replied, looking the headmistress over. The harshness that had occupied the older woman’s features the last few times she had seen her seemed to have eased away. “And you?”

“As well as I can be. Shall we?” Minerva gestured towards the castle and at Hermione’s affirmative answer, linked her arm through hers. They chatted comfortably, the headmistress pointing out various repairs around the grounds as they made their way toward the castle. As they drew closer to the school and began to see more and more workmen, though, Minerva’s attention began to drift. There were wizards in official looking robes with a company logo emblazoned on the back (“Beeton’s Builders: Building Wizarding Britain!”) who were milling around the front of Hagrid’s hut drinking cups of tea. Another group had large rolls of parchment showing plans of the castle suspended in the air in front of them and were pointing enthusiastically to different areas. One of them called out to Minerva as they passed, motioning her towards them.

Minerva sighed heavily.

“You go on ahead,” offered Hermione, motioning to the builders, “I’ll just have a walk around the grounds and maybe a word with Dumbledore’s portrait, if possible? We can meet up a little later for tea once you’ve settled this here.”

Minerva gave her a quick nod and a relieved look. “I’m so sorry -- there have been some unexpected setbacks, apparently,” she shook her head in disapproval. “McVitie’s will see you through the guard,” she added cryptically. She turned her attention back to a group of wizards in hard hats who were levitating a mass of stone, directing them towards the castle, and began walking towards the men at Hagrid’s hut with a stride of determination.

Hermione resumed her walk towards the castle, meandering off the main path and taking a scenic route through the grounds. The smell of fresh cut grass filled her nose and reminded her of all the times she and Ron and Harry had spent on the grounds in the warm sunshine.

She walked alongside the Forbidden Forest towards the greenhouses, and passed the Whomping Willow, its branches swaying lightly in a breeze. She paused and looked back toward the village, remembering their third year and the anxiety of making it through the tunnel hidden below, chasing after Ron and Sirius. Just on the outskirts of the grounds, over the boundary wall, she could make out the high gables of the Shrieking Shack, and her mind jumped to the last time she had been there.

Her stomach immediately turned, and she could feel herself go cold despite the warm sunshine. What if Snape still lay there? Panic nearly seized her. No one had ever asked what had come of him after it all was said and done. What if --

She shook her head, trying to cast out those thoughts. Harry wouldn’t let that happen, but she had never confirmed if anyone knew what had happened to Snape. She had always been afraid to ask out of fear of making the nightmares worse. His wasn’t among any of the many funerals they had been asked to attend.

It was that thought that strengthened her resolve for what she needed to do.

She turned determinedly toward the castle again and passed through the greenhouses, pleased to see that they had been quickly repaired by Professor Sprout. The plants inside had recovered well, it seemed, already climbing up the glass panes and doing their best to peek out of the air vents above. One particularly cheeky iron-jawed snapdragon did its best to nip at her through the glass as she passed.

She made her way up the stone steps of the entrance, her heart rising as her feet ascended, and stepped through the front doors into the entrance hall. Some of the plain-glass windows had been replaced with stained glass representations of the house crests, and the sunlight passing through them created an effect that covered the hall with a burst of color. The rainbow of colors dappled across the paintings and staircases and the effect took her breath away with its beauty. At least the damage had allowed for some improvements.

She passed Minerva’s old office on the first floor, climbed several moving staircases and passed through a corridor lined with mullioned windows, thinking of the hundreds of times she had walked through these halls, rushing from one class to the next. Some of the windows here were still missing a few panes of glass, and she could still see bits of stonework that needed to be repaired here and there.

She knew if she turned right there, it would take her up a few more staircases to Gryffindor Tower, and she idly wondered if the portrait of the Fat Lady still guarded the entrance. There was no time to find that out now, though -- she had a purpose today and she needed to carry that out before she did any other exploring. She turned left and approached the corridor where the entrance to the Headmistress’ office lay.

Hermione could hear the sound of bagpipes from halfway down the corridor and was greeted by the rather amusing sight of a gentleman in a red tartan with his cheeks rounded from the effort of playing his instrument. Ah, this must be the guard McGonagall referred to. She peered around and spotted the stone gargoyle still in pieces nearby, tucked into an alcove.

She waited a moment for the piper to acknowledge her, but when it became clear he was too involved in his playing, decided to interrupt. “Erm, I’m sorry to bother you, but --” she began, but one of the portrait’s hands left the pipe for a brief moment to hold its palm up in a gesture for her to wait.

Hermione crossed her arms and looked awkwardly around the corridor. The piper continued to play for a further three minutes before the bag was allowed to deflate. Surrounding portraits gave less than enthusiastic applause. The piper looked at Hermione expectantly.

“Password?” he asked. He trilled his ‘r’ almost comically.

“McVitie’s,” she answered, pleased when the wall swung forward to reveal the rotating stone staircase that would lead her to the Headmistress’ office. She stepped on, hoping that the gargoyle would be repaired soon. Although Minerva may enjoy the portrait, having to wait every time she wanted to see the Headmistress would drive her mad.

The headmistress’ office was a far cry from how it appeared when Dumbledore was headmaster. Gone were the many spindly tables with their clicking and whirring instruments, replaced by glass cases situated around the edges of the room that held various trophies and awards. The stone walls were now clothed in rich tartans, reds and golds that provided the tower with some much needed warmth. The chairs arranged around the room were overstuffed and inviting.

Hermione moved to inspect a case that held an Order of Merlin, First Class that matched her own when a familiar voice broke her from her thoughts. “Rather garish, isn’t it? And so obviously… Gryffindor,” they added with distaste.

She looked around the room to see which of the many portraits had spoken to her.

Headmaster Black was peering at her from his frame. “You know, if you wanted to have a word, you could have just replaced my portrait in my ancestral home,” he smirked, stroking his silver beard.

“I’ve had rather enough of you, I’m afraid,” she retorted, slightly satisfied at the look of offense the portrait gave her.

A low chuckle sounded from behind Minerva’s desk. Dumbledore, who had been absent when she entered the room, had re-entered his portrait. He smoothed his robes and took a seat in a wingback chair, wiggling slightly until he was comfortable.

“Don’t mind him, Miss Granger,” he gave her a bemused smile. “Phineas has been rather bored now that all the excitement is over.”

Hermione contemplated Dumbledore’s portrait for a moment, trying to figure how best to approach the subject of Snape and highly controlled potions ingredients.

“Did you want something from me?” he prodded, leaning forward slightly in his chair as though to get a closer look at her.

“I do,” she confirmed, tapping a finger to the bottom of her chin while she thought. “I have a few questions, Headmaster. What happened to your possessions when you died?” she inquired, gesturing to the office that obviously did not house his belongings anymore.

“The Ministry gathered everything that I bestowed, of course, and inspected it before it was doled out. I expect that my brother declined to collect everything else that remained. Minerva didn’t touch anything, and when Severus was appointed Headmaster, he stored most things that were left. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were still somewhere in this castle,” replied Dumbledore. She noticed some of the other portraits were awake now, and nodding in agreement with his statement. Hermione felt her stomach drop in horror, praying that his belongings had not been in the Room of Requirement when the fiendfyre burned everything. Some of it must have registered on her face, because he paused to allow her to gather herself before he continued. “Some of them have been placed in that cabinet over there,” he gestured.

He was pointing towards the glass cabinet she had noticed previously. She walked over to it, examining it quickly. It contained various medals that Minerva had been awarded over the years, but on the lower shelves, there were a number of little trinkets that did not appear to be of any great value. Nothing that looked like it would house any sort of potions ingredients.

She swallowed, hesitant to ask her next question. If Snape had stored Dumbledore’s belongings, he would know where they were, and if there was a record of Snape…

Hermione turned back to Dumbledore. “Does Snape have portrait, sir?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and clasped his hands together. “That is an interesting question, Miss Granger. A frame appeared a few weeks ago but has since vanished within the last few days. Severus never made an appearance in it, though.” Hermione’s heart started beating quickly at this information. If the portrait disappeared… No, no, she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Nothing had happened yet. It didn’t mean anything. There were lots of people moving in and out of the castle. Any one of them could have secreted away the frame somewhere. “I’m very disappointed. I was rather looking forward to seeing him again,” Dumbledore finished wistfully.

Hermione began pacing the room, wondering where she should start looking. It would take days -- weeks, even to try to search every room in the castle, and the rooms moved around so much, how would she even know she had searched all of them? She could borrow Harry’s map, but that still wouldn’t be much help. She could start at the most basic of places -- the potions classroom, to see if there was any left there. But Snape wasn’t Potions Master -- would he even have kept stores after he vacated the role? Would he --

“I find it coincidental you have expressed an interest in Severus so quickly after the portrait has disappeared, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“So do I,” she agreed. “Did Professor Snape leave any potions stores?” She might as well start at the most logical place.

“What is it you are looking for, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore questioned, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

“I think Professor Snape may have left something behind -- something that I might be able to use.”

“Severus had his own potion stores, and he kept them when he was Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Headmaster as well. Minerva has still not had the chance to go through the potions room, and as Horace has vacated the position, I doubt it will be gone through until a new professor is hired.” His answer gave her hope. She last remembered using time sand in their sixth year with Slughorn, and with any luck it would still be tucked away in the potions supply room.

Hermione turned to leave the headmistress’ office but before she reached the rotating staircase, Dumbledore’s voice stopped her. “Might I ask again what it is you are looking for?”

Hermione turned and stared at the portrait for a moment, and he returned her gaze over his half-moon glasses. His painted eyes had stopped twinkling, now a flat icy blue that she could still feel the penetrative force of. She had a feeling that if he could, he would be performing Legilimancy on her.

“I may come speak to you again, Headmaster,” she said, declining to address his last inquiry. He frowned at her and she quickly took her leave of the tower.

She had a suspicion that Dumbledore would follow her. She gained the confirmation of that suspicion when she heard a cry of “I beg your pardon!” from a landscape filled with bathing nymphs in a corridor she just passed through.

She had not devoted many thoughts to Dumbledore over the past few months, if she was honest. Harry spoke of him sometimes with an air of reverence, but Hermione always declined to contribute to the conversation. The man waited for the right moment to provide Harry with the information that he needed to face Voldemort, but withheld the fact that he was being saved as a sacrificial lamb. She was also fairly certain that when Dumbledore planned his death with Snape, he knew that he was signing Snape’s death warrant as well. She felt her anger rise and quickened her pace, eager to distance herself from him. The Greater Good, indeed.

The ever-present chill of the dungeons began to seep through her robes as she approached the door to the potions classroom. The door was ajar, allowing the herby smell from inside to creep out into the corridor. She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers as she pushed the door open.

The classroom was just as Hermione remembered. The walls were lined with jars of pickled ingredients. Cauldrons were stacked at the back of the classroom next to the student supply cupboard. There was even a lesson plan written on the blackboard at the front of the room, though it looked as though Peeves had gotten to it -- there were rude words scribbled around the border. It looked as though a class could arrive at any moment, and Professor Snape would come marching in through the doorway, flicking his wand at the board to reveal that day’s potion instructions. She ducked through the door that she knew led to the instructor’s private potions stores -- ingredients that were too valuable or rare to be doled out casually.

She surveyed the small closet, immediately noticing doorway that had not been there previously. This must have been Snape’s additional entrance after he vacated the dungeons. She turned her attention to the shelves. Slughorn didn’t seem to have bothered rearranging the ingredients after he took over the class -- they were still ordered by Snape’s system. The rarest ingredients were stuffed away in dark corners where they were less likely to be noticed or disturbed. Hermione’s fingers passed over a phial of Lobalug venom, a carafe of Pritcher’s Porridge. There was a small box labeled “Unicorn Hair” that was clasped shut, and there, tucked behind it, was a phial marked white spirit.

She paused. White spirit wasn’t a potion ingredient, or at least one that you would ingest. It wasn’t even rare. Her fingers passed over the phial again and as she picked it up, she noticed that the label flickered under her touch. She walked out of the office and into the light of the potions classroom.

The label couldn’t seem to make up its mind. One minute it declared its contents were white spirit, then it was vervain, then aconite, then toadflax, and then it began cycling through again. Whatever spell had been cast on it was weakening desperately.

“Finite incantatem,” Hermione murmured, flicking her wand at the phial.

The phial stopped its shifting and lengthened in her fingers. A familiar spiky scrawl appeared on the label, declaring it to be “Tempus Pulvis” -- time sand. Golden grains of sand glowed gently from within.

She gasped in delight, thanking whatever deity had allowed Severus Snape to still have time sand -- and quite a bit of it, too -- in his potions stores. She was absolutely relieved that she would not have to search the whole castle. She quickly tucked the phial away in her pocket and waited a few moments to compose herself before she left the confines of the classroom. Hermione knew Dumbledore would be waiting for her the first portrait she passed. She wasn’t wrong.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Miss Granger?” He tried to keep pace with her as she quickly walked along the corridor. It was somewhat unnerving to have him in a portrait alongside and then to be conversing with her from eight feet ahead.

“Yes, it was as I had hoped,” she spoke to the corridor ahead of her.

“Hoped? And what is your hope?” Dumbledore’s voice carried from behind her as she passed him.

Hermione hesitated in her answer, wondering if she should add another lie to her story. How much would Dumbledore try to interfere if she were honest? “I hope to give a future to an ill-used man,” she replied. Let him make of that what he would.

Her words had an immediate effect.

“Miss Granger -- Hermione -- whatever it is you plan on doing -- do not -- you cannot --” he stammered. Even through the paints, she could tell that his mind was racing, trying to decode her meaning, and she felt her anger return.

She stopped and faced the portrait he was now occupying. He had squeezed himself in to a painting of a laughing viola player who had paused his music to take a sip of absinth.

“I know perfectly well what you think I can and cannot do, Dumbledore,” she said, holding her head high as she addressed him. Even if she were not entirely confident, she could at least give the impression of it.

“Miss Granger, please -- let us return to the Headmistress’ office where we may have a bit of privacy, if you don’t mind. I would appreciate you discussing this -- whatever this is -- with me,” he pleaded. He almost sounded worried.

“Still trying to play the game, Dumbledore?”

He gave her a stern look.

She had said too much. If only she had just taken the sand and left and sent her regrets to Minerva. She had no doubts that Dumbledore would be trying to pull all strings possible to interfere with Hermione’s plan if she left now.

She sighed. “I will meet you upstairs in about five minutes.” The viola player lifted his glass to her and elbowed Dumbledore out of the way so he could begin playing again.

She made her way back to the Headmistress’ office, once again uttering “McVitie’s” to be admitted, pleased she did not have to wait for music to end this time. Dumbledore was pacing the short space of his frame when she arrived in the office. The headmistress had not yet returned.

Dumbledore wasted no time in beginning his reprimands. “Miss Granger, I assure you, Severus knew full well what the outcome of the war would be. He knew there was a probability that he would not survive.”

He stopped in his pacing and let this knowledge fall upon her, expecting the weight of it to cause her to reconsider. When she did not obviously react, he opened his mouth to continue. Hermione could not help interjecting. “Does that not make it any less a crime? That you, yourself, practically ensured that he would die?”

“Is it not a crime that others died? Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks? Fred Weasley? Colin Creevey? Even Bertha Jorkins. There are sacrifices that are made. It is -- was -- war. You cannot go changing things to bring about a different end. The final goal was achieved -- Voldemort no longer exists -- and we cannot risk not having the same outcome.” There was a slight edge to his voice now, and Hermione was sure that if she were still a student she would be feeling very sheepish.

However, she wasn’t a student. She was a woman who had lived through things that many of the wizarding population couldn’t dream of. She took a deep breath before she responded, once again squaring her shoulders and tilting her face up to face him full on. “Professor Dumbledore, I hope that you believe that I am responsible enough to be fully aware of the implications of time travel considering you approved for me to have a time turner, one of the most exclusive magical objects in the Ministry’s possession, at the age of thirteen. You have shown before that you have complete confidence in myself and my abilities.” She raked her eyes along the wall. She had the full attention of many of the portraits as well as Dumbledore’s. “Not to mention that you, yourself, encouraged me to use it to change the outcome of certain events -- to save an innocent man’s life, if I remember your words correctly,” she finished, letting the corner of her mouth quirk upward in a smile. At least two of the portraits nodded in agreement with her statement, remembering the incident as well.

Dumbledore’s eyes had widened at her mention of time travel. “Please explain your plan to me.”

Hermione hesitated, wondering where to begin. Should she begin with the Shrieking Shack and the sleepless nights? Or should she go back even further to when she replaced her parent’s memories? Or should she just stick to her research about time travel in general and her hypothesis about portkeys?

He mistakenly took her silence as a dismissal of his plea. “If you do not, I have a portrait in the ministry. I will not hesitate to alert Kingsley Shacklebolt of what I suspect you are up to,” he threatened.

Hermione pulled up a chair and sat herself down in it as steadily as possible. After having her request declined by Kingsley, she knew that if Dumbledore went to him, it would completely erase any possibility of her succeeding at all.

“I am going to time travel… somehow,” she began, twisting her fingers and lowering her gaze to them. “I am going to create a type of portkey that will send me back in time to 1976. I am going to do my best to interact with Severus Snape. I am going to do what I can to befriend him, or at least be easy enough acquaintances that he will remember my suggestions regarding poisons and snake bites. In the meantime, I am going to research memory potions, charms -- anything related to memory loss that will help me restore my parents memories, because I’m on the verge of losing them all together if they do not get their memories back soon,” she finished, finally raising her eyes to meet the portrait’s once more.

He contemplated her over the tips of his domed fingers. The stillness in the room was broken only by one of the portraits sniffling and dabbing at her nose.

“Severus Snape was not as easy person to get to know his final years of Hogwarts. He just lost one of his closest friends. He had nothing to lose when he decided to join Voldemort,” Dumbledore stated, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m well aware of that. I didn’t expect he would be, but I am patient, Headmaster. And I am determined --”

“And you will need my help if you want to be accepted in the community of Hogwarts at all. Do not forget that we were at the height of the First Wizarding War, Miss Granger. Everyone was suspicious. What do you suppose I would do if a strange young woman showed up at the gates of Hogwarts hoping to enroll as a student?” His voice was lighter now and taken on its familiar tone of nonchalance.

“Well, I had hoped -- I had thought -- I, well, the Order --” she faltered. She had thought to figure that out if -- when -- she was ready to travel. There were a number of things that she had thought to try, the strongest explanation being a mission from the Order, but there were still some creases to iron out and some back-up plans to form. She bit her lip and met the portrait’s gaze once more.

“First, I may be more susceptible to believe you if you are honest with me. Miss Granger, if you open that glass cabinet to the left of the door, you will find a small figurine. Bring it here, please.”

Her heart nearly stopped beating at his words. He didn’t shut her down immediately -- he was actually engaging with her. It took her a moment before she found her voice again.

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione rose and walked to the cabinet his portrait has gestured to. It was the same one she had inspected for rogue potions ingredients earlier. Her eyes searched the display and she spotted a small figurine of a ballet dancer with a broken leg nestled behind a worn velvet box holding a medal and a porcelain cat figure. She gently removed it and held it up to the portrait as she resumed her seat.

“My sister Ariana was making that figure dance when she was attacked by a group of Muggle boys,” he explained, a slight melancholy tone to his voice. “If you are successful and do find yourself in the past, please give it to me and I am sure that I will be more willing to accept what you say. Also, do not be surprised if you find yourself under the influence of a truth potion. I wasn’t averse to using it as often as I needed to in those times.” Hermione nodded and conjured a handkerchief, wrapping the figure gently before tucking it away in her pocket. Dumbledore watched her movements closely.

“Sir, I’m having a bit of trouble --” Hermione began, but she was interrupted by Minerva entering her office, clearly exasperated. Her heart sank in disappointment at the headmistress’ appearance. When would be the next time she could be alone with Dumbledore?

“I’m so sorry for that, Hermione --” she said, somewhat breathless.

“Nevermind, Minerva,” she said, forcing a smile. “Dumbledore and I were just having a pleasant catch up. How are things going for the castle? Do you think you will be able to reopen for September?” The Daily Prophet speculated that it wouldn’t be, but no official announcement had been made yet.

“Oh yes, these things go quite quickly when you have someone such as Minerva in charge,” replied Dumbledore.

Minerva slumped into the chair behind the claw-footed desk, her usual decorum tossed aside in her annoyance. “You would think that the urgency of the completion would be impressed upon them considering many of their own children will be attending!” She conjured up a tea tray and a plate of biscuits and poured herself and Hermione cups of tea. “Not to mention we still need to find several new professors. How Dumbledore did this every year, I’ll never know.”

“That many?” asked Hermione, pouring milk and sugar into her cup.

“Muggle Studies, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Cuthbert Binns seems to have finally decided to move on -- he hasn’t been seen since the Battle, so we’ll need a History of Magic professor as well,” she ticked the posts off on her fingers as she listed them, before shaking her head and waving those worries to the side. “Nevermind me. How are you, dear?”

By the time Hermione left the office, she had been promised fortnightly visits by the headmistress and Minerva had hinted several times that she wouldn’t mind seeing her application for any of the vacancies she needed to fill. If it had been a month ago, she would have applied in a heartbeat, but now -- now she had something to do, now she didn’t know where -- or when -- she was going to be in two months time.

“If you’ll remove this portrait, Miss Granger, I would like to escort you somewhere.” Dumbledore’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as passed along a second floor corridor. He tapped the side of his frame.

She gently removed it from the wall, taking a thick layer of dust with it. Whatever in the world had Filch been doing for the past twenty-odd years?

“Yes, let me get my bearings, things look so different from this point of view… Ah, yes, up this corridor to the left, please.” He directed her through gaps in tapestries, up and down spiral staircases, through heavy doors with old-fashioned iron locks and through much newer doors that she had to cast open. The passages became darker and dustier as they made their way to wherever they were going.

They finally arrived at one of the most unassuming doorways Hermione had ever seen. It looked like every other classroom door in the castle.

“Ah, yes, this is it,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. He uttered something in a language she couldn’t quite place. It didn’t sound like a spell -- it didn’t sound like anything, really, and when he was done, she couldn’t quite remember what the noises he had made sounded like. The door cracked open a sliver.

“You may go in, Miss Granger,” he invited. She pushed it open.

It looked like a museum.

Tomes had been shelved with care, though the sunlight streaming in through the window revealed a thin layer of dust on them. There were numerous wardrobes bursting with colorful hats and robes on one side of the room, and even more shelves full of little contraptions on the other. She moved closer to those shelves and spotted carefully stored potions ingredients, including the time sand Mr. Weasley had recalled seeing.

She set down the painting Dumbledore had commandeered and leaned it against the door frame so that he would have an adequate view.

“Severus stored some of the older volumes in the case on the left --there should be one called Time Immemorial. That would be a good start, and then I would also take The Prophecies --”

“Why are you helping me?” she interrupted, finally able to address his change of heart.

“You are right. Severus should not have met the end that he did. And if you could do something to remedy that -- or something to try to -- I owe that to him.”

She nodded, and when she left the castle, her pockets were considerably heavier with a number of books he recommended she take.

Chapter Text

The volumes that Dumbledore gave her were… mind boggling, to say the least. Hermione thought she had an excellent grasp on magical theory, but this was overwhelming. Many of them held long discourses exploring the theory of time travel before they got to practicalities. They described wand movements for spells and ingredients for potions listed that she had never come across before. She often read late into the night, afraid to put the book down for fear of losing the thread of the arguments and explanations.

One of the books that he recommended, Time Immemorial, explained how witches and wizards had been playing with time for hundreds of years. The first spell used to alter time was invented by a witch, Chrysogona Baker, who often lost track of time and, in order to prevent being punished for the amount of bread she let burn, invented an early time turner that would rewind time by five minutes. These eventually fell into the hands of the Department of Mysteries and used in the development of the time room. Unfortunately, the book did not describe how Chrysogona did this, so creating a type of time turner was out.

Another book, Chronic Calamity, was a bit more explicit on the mishaps of time travel than the ones she had read in her third year. One chapter related how a wizard had sent himself back to the 1100’s, and his friends and family only knew he survived because a cult arose and existed for about three hundred years, devoted to him and his stories of the future. His followers were kind enough to leave behind records of his prophecies and his stories of ending up in the past: The Revelations of Roelandt.

Wait - hadn’t she seen that before?

Hermione slipped out of bed and padded into the sitting room, scouring the shelves by the light of her wand, doing her best to keep quiet so that she wouldn’t wake Harry and Ron. Yes -- she remembered seeing the title next to that chair… She lifted her hand to her hair, curling a strand of hair around her finger, searching her memory. She’d had the book in her hand -- she had been packing it away. She had been packing it away the moment she decided to pursue this.

Her gaze fell to the corner of the room, where the box was thankfully still sitting, forgotten with her new pursuit. After a few moments digging, she produced a slim green volume that matched the one in her memory. Sighing with satisfaction, she returned to her room to delve in.

Now that she knew the background of the book, the contents were fascinating. Poor Roelandt had travelled six hundred years back in time by complete accident. He had created a potion to use alongside a portkey to take him a considerably longer distance than usual -- but rather than being space, it had been through time. What a surprise he must have had when he expected to go to Africa and ended up in the Dark Ages instead.

At least that confirmed her hypothesis was correct. A type of portkey would be the way to go. Now she just needed to figure out how he did it, and how not to replicate it quite to the extent he did.

The wizard who transcribed this particular volume did not have the most legible handwriting, and considering the antiquated language, the instructions took a while to decipher.

“He… oh, what does this say?” Hermione squinted at the text in frustration, her quill poised above a piece of parchment, ink threatening to spoil her perfect transcription so far. “He hath taken the herb of remembrance, a feather of pride, a twisted spyke…”

The list of ingredients was unlike anything she had heard before, and though the methods he used to brew the potion looked familiar, there were a few steps that she found to be confusing. One thing was clear -- he had dumped a whole phial of time sand into his cauldron, mistaking it for crushed dragon claw.

She spent the next few days musing over the meaning of the instructions, lying on the sofa in the sitting room, staring at the ceiling. She kept replaying the words in her head, going over them over and over, combing her mental library for anything she read that sounded close to what he had written. By the third day, her brain felt like wrung-out sponge.

Crookshanks jumped up next to her sofa and she turned on her side to allow him room to lay alongside her. She dug her fingers into his fur, letting her eyes roam over the bookshelves once more. They now held a perfectly respectable mix of muggle and magical books -- things that she thought that Harry would find helpful or interesting. She had gone over them hundreds of times by now. Surely if there were something useful, she would have remembered it.

She was about to roll onto her back once more when a collection of new looking quartos nestled on the bottom shelves caught her eye. The complete works of William Shakespeare.

She sat up. Crookshanks gave a mewl of protest.

Hamlet. What was it Ophelia had said? Rosemary for remembrance, pansies for thoughts, fennel was for sorrow, but violets were innocence and love. They were all also potions ingredients. Her eyes roamed the shelves once more. She knew there was a Victorian gardening book somewhere… And there it was, tucked away at the top of the shelf. She knew if she pulled it down that she would find hundreds of meanings for every herb and flower imaginable. The muggles weren’t as stupid and clueless as wizards thought -- they had picked up on a good portion of flowers and their meanings.

How could she be so stupid? She had been deliberating over every rare potions ingredient she had ever come across, and it was this simple. The names were just altered a bit. She pulled the slim volume of Roelandt’s prophecies to her once more. A feather of pride -- that had to be a hippogriff feather. And twisted spike had to be… What was a synonym for twisted? Gnarled. Knarl quills.

She ran to her room and rummaged through the bottom of her wardrobe, pulling her cauldron and potions kit from within. There was a small desk in her room which would provide an adequate workspace and within a few moments she had a potions base that she was eagerly adding ingredients to.

A few calculations had given her a start for quantities needed and she was thankful that she didn’t need to try to come up with ingredients on her own. Developing potions from scratch was not her strongest talent. Memories of potions with Professor Slughorn crept into her mind and she thought of trying to put together an antidote from nothing and being so annoyed -- so utterly annoyed -- that Harry had gotten away with doing no work at all while she was wracking her brain for possible solutions and combinations of ingredients.

Rosemary, Queen Anne’s Lace, some finely diced knarl quills and some shredded horklumps all made their way into the cauldron. When she finished adding the last of the horklumps, there was a small puff of smoke that gave her hope. Adding the knarl quills to the vegetative mixture meant that it needed a few minutes to simmer before anything else could be done.

She was about to add a hippogriff feather when the potion suddenly boiled up, threatening to escape the confines of the cauldron. She vanished it quickly before it exploded and ruined the desk.

Her calculations needed some work.

She spent the rest of the week brewing, often disappearing and reappearing with small cases of ingredients from Diagon Alley.

“Are you opening a brewery, Hermione?” joked Ron one day when she appeared in the entrance hall holding a crate of fresh ingredients from the apothecary.

“Don’t be silly,” she answered, kicking her shoes off at the door. “I’m working on something for my parents.”

“Oh,” he colored, looking a bit embarrassed. “Yeah -- sorry. Do you need any help or anything? I might not have been great at potions, but I can sure chop ingredients.”

“No, no -- Everything’s under control, thank you,” she disappeared upstairs, the jars in the crate clinking with every step she took.

Harry and Ron took turns knocking at her door over the next few days, checking on her and reminding her to eat.

It had been nearly two weeks before she felt like she was really getting somewhere. She had a good feeling about this batch she was brewing -- it was orange, which was usually an alarming color, but nothing else about the potion suggested that it was poisonous or harmful in any way. She was happy with it, but had an irritating feeling that there was something else she should try before adding the time sand.

She thought over Roelandt’s description once more and consulted her notes. “The lyte went int’ brew,” she muttered. The light… did he cast a spell on the potion? On a whim, she pointed her wand at the potion. “Portus.”

Nothing happened.

The light went into the brew… The light, the spell, it needed to be infused into the brew -- but how? She didn’t want to submerge her wand and risk it -- the stirring rod? Would that work?

She held the stirring rod firmly and tapped it with her wand. “Portus,” she commanded again. A flash of blue light went through her wand, through the stirring rod, and into the potion, where it began to fizz and suddenly turned bright yellow.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered. Should she dare? Was it worth the risk?

She was surprised her hand wasn’t shaking when she picked up the phial of time sand. She carefully measured out a single grain and added it to the potion. It began to glow, then melded into a mercury-like silver, and begin to emit little puffs of steam. Whatever she had done from all signs had been a success.

She began to write down everything she had done -- every small step. Her usually neat handwriting was nearly illegible in her haste to get everything down.

When Hermione met with Minerva for tea a few days later, she was nearly bouncing in the overstuffed chair out of impatience to get Dumbledore alone. Minerva attributed her energy to her enthusiasm over some of the new staff she had hired. Hermione did her best to nod and smile and not sigh with relief when she was able to make her excuses two hours later. Dumbledore winked at her as she left the headmistress’ office and met her in a corridor, directing her to an empty classroom with a landscape portrait he could converse with her from comfortably.

He listened patiently as her explanation of the past few weeks burst from her. She had no idea how long she talked until she ran out of things to say.

“You’re intending to return how?” he asked when she finally trailed off.

“I plan on taking something from 1976 to help me get there -- the portkey will be essential to getting me to the time period I want to travel to. I’m going to take an object from today, or the time I leave, and activate it as a return portkey so that I can return when needed,” she explained, rather proud of herself for that idea. She had gained inspiration for it from a book on magical transportation. When wizards moved houses from one location to another, having something from the location they intended moving to helped strengthen the magical bond to the place and ensured the house wouldn’t become splinched mid-transport. It certainly wouldn’t hurt when moving through time.

“And the potion will be suitably altered? The ingredients will not work allow it to work the same way in both directions,” he pointed out, but this was something she had already caught in her calculations.

“Yes -- the knarl quills are meant to reverse. I’m countering it with crushed billywig crowns which are meant to advance,” she nodded.

Dumbledore took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m very proud of you, Miss Granger, but this hasn’t been tried before. Are you prepared to accept the consequences should you fail?”

This was something she had considered frequently over the past few weeks. What would she do if she remained in the past and could not come back once she had completed her mission? What would become of her life here if she could not return to it? Would she pop up again, twenty years older and re-integrate herself into Harry and Ron’s life?

“I’m prepared to stay if I’m unsuccessful, and I will do everything I can to help the Order.” She met his gaze as she finished her statement.

Dumbledore gave her a thoughtful look.

But she was. She loved Harry and she loved Ron -- but without this, without a chance to return to the past and change something that was plaguing her, haunting her with her guilt, she didn’t know how she would carry on living. And if she couldn’t cure her parents...

“You’ll have to be careful that no one else stumbles across your portkey forward,” he warned.

“I did a decent job of hiding Harry and Ron for a year in England, I think I know how to cast a few charms.” Hermione felt the corner of her mouth quirk in a smile.

He gave an answering one in return. “Now, how do you plan on testing this?”

She left Hogwarts stuck on this question.

How should she test it? Dumbledore had made a few suggestions, but she wasn’t happy with any of them. She needed something trackable, and she was loath to use human subjects. Inanimate objects were out of the question because they were just a bit too easily mobile. Living at Grimmauld Place over the past few years had been proof enough of that for her. How many times had they had clear-outs?

And she wanted to test it on something living and breathing. It wouldn’t do any good to go through all this effort just to end up a slug at some place and time because the potion didn’t work correctly.

She looked around her room, hoping it would give her an answer. A quaffle flew past her window and she crossed to it, taking in the view. Harry and Ron were in the garden, zooming around, tossing the ball back and forth to one another. Ginny was getting ready to join them.

She ran downstairs. “Need another?” she asked.

Ron’s face brightened. “Yeah, sure -- you can play with me.” He summoned an old Cleansweep from the broomshed.

She was not the best player. Memories of leaving Privet Drive and Gringotts still made her feel uneasy in the air, but she was able to catch and toss the Quaffle to Ron a number of times before they decided to call it an afternoon. Harry and Ginny had completely quashed them.

They all retreated into the kitchen and eagerly snacked on the tea and biscuits that Kreacher had set out for them. It wasn’t long before talk turned to the coming year.

Ginny would be returning for her final year of Hogwarts. She wasn’t very excited to attend.

“It’s a shame you lot won’t be back. I’d have counted on you, Hermione,” Ginny remarked, taking a bite from a custard cream.

“Oh, no. I’m far too busy. I may ask McGonagall if I can sit NEWTS at the end of the year, though. That might be fun.”

Harry shook his head in amusement at her before he launched into his plans. He had been offered an entry level job for the Ministry -- finally. Ron began speaking about his work with George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He and George were beginning to plan a line of products in Fred’s memory. “We’re going to try some type of crumpets -- that reminds me, I’m hungry.”

“What about you, Hermione?” Harry asked. “NEWTS aren’t everything.”

“I don’t know. Minerva said there were some vacancies at Hogwarts. I wouldn’t mind teaching, and they’re still in need of a new Muggle Studies professor. But my parents -- I don’t know how much time I would get away from that to work on my parents.”

Harry nodded sympathetically.

Ron rose from his chair and opened a cupboard. His face immediately took on a look of disgust. “Ugh, Harry -- I think Kreacher needs a bit of a kick. It looks like we have mice again.” He pulled out a bag of sweets that had a hole chewed through the bottom and lifted them up for all to see.

Hermione nearly bolted out of her seat. “Sorry -- Ron, you’re a genius.” She hugged him, causing the sweets to fall to the floor and ran upstairs.

“First time we’ve seen you in days and you go off and leave us again!” he shouted after her.

But it didn’t matter -- mice. They were living and breathing and perfectly trackable.

She apparated to Diagon Alley the next morning. The pet store, thankfully, was one of the few shops who did not suffer under Voldemort’s reign. People wanted pets and needed to feed them regardless of blood lineage. Wanting to own a pygmy puff did not make one any less a death eater than owning a horned cobra.

“Can I help you, Miss?” Hermione recognized the girl behind the counter as she stepped inside. She had been a Hufflepuff who was two years ahead of her. What was her name? Hermione’s eyes flickered to her name badge. Sarah -- that was it -- Sarah Phillips.

“Yes -- do you have any mice, please?” she inquired.

“Magical or non-magical?” Sarah gestured towards two large glass cases in the shop. One case held mice that were doing perfectly ordinary things: nesting, running on wheels, eating. The other case held a rainbow of mice: some who were purple and shot sparks from their tails, ones who sported polka dots that changed every few moments, and others who were whistling through their tiny teeth.

“Oh, non-magical, I think, please.”

It wasn’t long before Hermione was on her way back to Grimmauld Place with six lovely white mice in tow.

It had worked out perfectly. She was scheduled to visit Hogwarts again the next day, to see Hagrid this time, and she could test out the potion at the castle.

She brewed the time potion again the next morning, carefully adding ten grains of sand. It glowed the same yellow, then turned silver. She bit her lip to keep herself from beaming. She wasn’t done yet. She still needed to bottle some of it.

She was slightly hesitant to touch the stirring rod and had to remind herself that it was a conduit for her spell -- simply an extension of her wand. She grabbed a dropper and siphoned a small amount of potion into a phial, securing it away in a pocket before leaving for Hogwarts.

There were always mice running around the corridors near the owlery -- it was one of Crookshank’s favorite places to go when he resided at the castle. The small cage was easy to conceal when she arrived and headed up towards the towers, ducking into a long disused classroom near the turret. She plucked a few small hairs from each of the mice. She would need them to track their lineage.

Hermione extracted an old magazine from her pocket. Someone across the square from Grimmauld Place had been having a clear-out and some discreet accio’s produced a copy of The Lady from 1988.

She pulled out the dropper and began squeezing the potion onto the magazine.

It did not absorb into the pages as she expected. It sat on top, a frustratingly separate entity, so she kept adding the potion. After adding a few more drops, it abruptly spread out and enveloped the whole magazine. That was enough.

“Okay, guys, with any luck, you’ll have no idea what’s happened and I’ll see your descendants in about ten minutes,” she explained to the mice. Hermione took them carefully out of their cage and placed them on the magazine. Nothing happened, and the mice were beginning to get skittish. If nothing happened soon, she would have to make quick work of retrieving them.

“Maybe…” She tapped her wand to the magazine and whispered “portus” just in time for one of the mice to make its escape and for the magazine itself to glow blue and disappear. “There always has to be one,” she remarked as she watched it scurry to the corner of the classroom. Well, that was successful, at least. She looked around the room once more. What was that sticking out from under a pile of books? It hadn’t been there a moment ago. She crossed the room and pulled it out from its hiding place.

It was the magazine, though its pages were more curled than they were when she sent it back. She flipped through the pages. And it appeared that at least one student had gotten hold of it -- there were several women who had the added illustration of mustaches and a few choice words written on some of the articles. Her heart leapt in her chest.

She made her way to the corridor again and waited for the mice to make an appearance. She didn’t have long to wait -- she had been there for all of five minutes when she saw two peek their furry little faces out of a gap in the stone to survey the corridor. Without the usual student and cat population, they were exhibiting far more bravery than she had ever witnessed from them. “Accio mouse.” She opened the small cage and motioned inside with her wand. Another ten minutes provided her with two more candidates.

“Now, let’s see if you four are exactly who I hope you to be.” She made her way back into the classroom where she had the fur samples waiting. She tapped her wand to the first mouse and then to the first hair sample. Nothing. She repeated it with the second. Again, nothing. And nothing again from a further two tries. When she tapped the sixth sample, her wand glowed blue.

It was at that moment that she wished she had someone to share her triumph with. She wanted to cry with her success. It was one thing to send an inanimate object back into the past, but a living,breathing being going that far back and continued to be as living and breathing as they left? Extraordinary. “Pull yourself together, Granger,” she wiped her eyes quickly and turned back to the testing.

The second mouse revealed nothing, and the third and fourth were descended from another of the mice she caught. She released them all back into the corridor, free to get on with their little lives.

When she was walking back through the corridor, she heard a throat clear to her right.

“Shall I offer congratulations?”

She couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “The test was a success. Thank you for your help.”

“Then I expect I shall be seeing you soon, Miss Granger.”

“Indeed, Headmaster Dumbledore.” she responded.

He nodded his head toward her and she descended the staircases to head to Hagrid’s hut.

She was in such a pleasant mood when she arrived home that evening that even Ron and Harry remarked on it.

“I’ve had some success on my trial potions,” she explained.

“That’s fantastic!” exclaimed Harry. “I’m so proud of you. How soon before you test it out?” he asked.

“I think I’ll leave sometime this week.”

The next week was spent preparing for her departure to the past -- cleaning out her beaded handbag of all the little things she had accumulated during their year away and replacing it with other things: enough gold to tide her over for at least a year, a few changes of clothes, some pages of research she had done on her parents memory problems, and the recipe for the portus potion. She brought two phials with her anyway, one with the potion to take her back to the present, made with a small change to her original potion. She couldn’t think of much else she needed to bring. Hogwarts had books aplenty.

The night before she left, she snuggled Crookshanks close -- she didn’t know when she would next see him. She had toyed with the idea of bringing him along, but he was so content here that she was loath to upset him.

Hermione rose early the next morning and made her way downstairs to eat breakfast alone. The boys were still asleep. Her thoughts turned again to Snape. “Not long now, Professor,” she said to the empty kitchen, taking a sip of her tea. All she had to do was brew the potion, and she would be ready to go.

The base did not take long to create, and she let it sit on her desk while she double checked that she had everything. When she was certain she wouldn’t be leaving anything behind, she added twenty two grains of sand to the potion. It began to glow the same bright yellow as it did for her test, then shifted to silver, and the steam rose in little puffs. Perfect.

“Right…” she took a few drops and spooned it onto a news clipping that had been left behind in Regulus’ bedroom. It sat awkwardly on top for a moment before it glowed and absorbed the liquid. Now she would just need to tap it, and then… Poof, back in the past twenty-two years. She repeated the same with a copy of the Daily Prophet she had received that morning.

All that was left to do was say goodbye to Harry and Ron. She didn’t know how long she would be gone. Hermione was guessing at least six months to a year. She didn’t think that Snape would easily form an acquaintance or even a friendship with her, especially after having such a rough fifth year. Nearly being killed by classmates and then having his best friend turn her back on him would make for a rather surly sixth year. He had branded himself the Half-Blood Prince by then, created a new persona for himself, and must have fully thrown himself into his studies, judging by his notes in the Potions textbook that Harry had inadvertently come across. She was curiously excited to see what awaited her in the past.

She had heard the boys rise while she was brewing and decided to make her way downstairs. There was no time better than now. She quickly vanished the remaining potion, flicked her wand toward her room to clean it, grabbed her beaded bag and headed downstairs.

Harry and Ron were seated in the front room playing Wizard’s Chess. She waited in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and watched them for a while. It took a few moments before Ron looked up and noticed her standing there.

“I’m off to Australia to see my parents again and try something else. I’ll be gone for at least a week,” she explained.

Harry gave her a small smile as he stood up to give her a hug, “I wish there was more we could do, Hermione.”

“I know. But I’m doing my best and hopefully it will take this time.”

Ron stood up from the chess set as well and joined them in a three-way hug. “I won’t tell you to be careful because I know you’ll best anyone who tries anything with you.”

She squeezed them both. “I love you both. Now, don’t forget to eat, and Ron, don’t forget the owl back the ministry about patents--”

“Yeah Hermione, I know --”

“Ginny will be around to take care of us,” Harry cut in. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Weasley begins coming around more often. Mr. Weasley hinted that she has cleaned the burrow from top to bottom and was starting to begin again.”

“All the better for you two. Well, I’m off!” She could feel herself begin to tear up. She gave them both one last squeeze each and withdrew, securing her drawstring back around her wrist. She made her way to the entryway, did a quick turn, and with a crack found herself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, near the stile where Sirius had requested to meet them in their fourth year.

Hermione took a deep breath and tapped the newspaper clipping. It was dated August 22nd, 1976, and, with any luck, that was where she would be next. It glowed blue and with a shaking hand, she reached out to touch it.

With an almighty pull at her middle, she began spinning.

Hermione’s fingers gripped the article tightly, feeling the centrifugal force attempting to rip it out of her hands. She felt as though she were spinning for ages, for aeons, and just as she felt she was either going to be incredibly ill or pass out, she was thrown into the ground, clouds of dust kicking up around her and obscuring her vision. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the blood pulsing in her veins. Her eyes felt like they were on the verge of popping out of their sockets, and her head was absolutely pounding.

But she felt grass beneath her fingers and that meant that she had really survived.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger was alive and at that moment deeply regretting her life choices.

The grass felt surprisingly cool beneath her and she clung to it, gasping for breath while she waited for the world to settle around her. It felt as though she was never going to recover, but slowly, after a good number of minutes, her lungs began to feel as though they were no longer about to burst and her heartbeat slowed. She could no longer smell dust in the air and chanced opening her eyes once more. Her vision was slightly blurry, but she could make out a blue sky above her. She decided to chance sitting and braced herself against the ground, slowly lifting herself to take in the sights around her.

It was not a good decision.

A wave of dizziness hit her, sending her forward to put her head between her knees to empty her stomach. Dear Merlin, she felt rough.

She reached for her wand, muttering a quick “evanesco” to clear the mess beneath her, and a “tergeo” at her mouth to clear any remaining bile. It was another moment before she felt well enough to lift her head once more. Her vision had cleared fully now and a glance next to her showed her the stile, looking as though it they had been constructed sometime within the last ten years rather than the last fifty. She turned her head in the other direction toward the village, and just up the path she could make out the familiar sight of Hogsmeade. There were a few less shops and houses, but there were the same turrets and spires and high gables that gave the little village its character.

Hermione braced herself against the lower step of the stile and lifted herself to her feet, leaning heavily against it. Her legs still wobbled beneath her and while she waited for them to adjust to her weight, she made a mental note of everything she’d experienced so far, promising herself that she would write this all down when she was able. Not that she ever planned on doing this again -- ever. Her thoughts jumped to her return visit home and her stomach turned again.

It didn’t take long to regain her composure, and she cast another quick cleaning charm to remove any debris from her robes. She double checked the contents of her beaded bag and, when she was certain that everything was in order, began to make her way down through the village towards the castle.

Hogsmeade wasn’t too dissimilar from the last time she saw it. A few of the shops had windows boarded up. What people she saw on the streets seemed to walk with blinders on -- heads down and doing their best to avoid the gaze of others. Though it was the second largest shopping destination in wizarding Britain, it didn’t have the same hustle and bustle as when students had their weekends out. There was a definite tension in the air.

She stopped outside the post office where there was a display of Daily Prophets available for purchase and glanced quickly at the date on the top copy: 22nd August, 1976. She looked down at the browned article she still clutched in her first. They were the same. Absolutely identical.

She had done it. She was successful. She had travelled twenty-two years through time to the past, without the approval or knowledge of Ministry officials, with only the help of one other individual -- and they weren’t even alive! Tears sprung to her eyes with pride in her success, and she quickly wiped at them, trying to focus on the headlines of the newspaper before she made her way to the castle gates. They weren’t much different than what she had grown used to seeing over the past two years: people upset with the minister, Voldemort on the rise, people missing and feared dead, dark mark sightings.

Hermione clutched her bag more tightly and made her way to the school where she was met with the sight of closed gates flanked by the stone winged boars. She was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. She hadn’t expected the gates to be open and welcoming, but surely there was a way to notify the headmaster of her arrival?

She reached out to push the gates open, but found them unyielding to her touch. A gravelly voice to her right startled her. “Business?”

An upward glance revealed the questioner. One of the stone boars had turned its head towards her. “I wish to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore, please,” she requested.

The stone boar flapped its wings and rose from the pillar, flying towards the school. She watched it hover around the tower that she knew housed the headmaster’s office. After a few moments, the gates swung open and the boar winged its way back to its pillar, landing with far more grace than she expected. “The headmaster will meet you at the doors,” it informed her, resuming its original pose.

She nodded at it and began her ascent towards the castle. “Thank you.” Well, that was one thing that Hogwarts, a History hadn’t prepared her for.

As she approached the huge oak front doors, they opened and she was greeted by the sight of Albus Dumbledore in sea green robes dotted with silver stars. His beard was maybe not as long as it was in her time, but for the most part, Dumbledore looked very much the same as he had the first time she saw him at the head table in the Great Hall. After conversing with him in portrait form over the past weeks, it was striking to see him in the flesh once again. He still cut an imposing figure that she could not help but be intimidated by.

“Good afternoon,” he called to her as she approached, watching her with curiosity as she climbed the last few stairs.

“Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore,” she returned, stopping a few paces away from him.

“May I help you, Miss...?”

“Granger, Hermione Granger. I’m very pleased to see you, Headmaster.” She reached out her hand and he grasped hers in return. “I know it’s odd me showing up, but I’m trying to think of the best way to explain my presence, if you forgive me. It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t think I should say too much, really --”

“It’s always best to begin at the beginning, is it not?” he interrupted. He did not seem amused by her rambling.

Best to get straight to the point with the safest excuse she had to offer. She took a deep breath. “I’m here on business for the Order of the Phoenix, if you will. Well, residual business. And a somewhat personal mission.” She rocked nervously on her feet as she finished speaking.

“I’m afraid, Miss Granger, that your statement poses a problem. I myself am head of the Order. I know every member, and I do not recall inducting you in to any sort of meetings, nor can I say we have ever crossed paths.” Dumbledore’s wand -- the elder wand -- appeared in his hand now, seemingly out of nowhere. A darkness was beginning to set in his eyes. “Has Tom sent you?”

“No, no -- forgive me, I’m a bit scrambled -- I’ve had a long journey, you see. Here, I was told to give you this,” Hermione felt her face flush and was doing her best not to get flustered, but failing miserably. She nearly ripped open her drawstring bag in her haste and fished deeply into it before she removed the well-wrapped ballerina from within. She quickly removed the layers of handkerchief, trying her best to stop her sweat soaked hands from trembling, and held it out to Dumbledore who eyed it suspiciously.

“Where did you get that?” His voice was slow and deliberate.

“From you, sir. You can check it, if you like.”

He passed his wand over it before he took it from her and inspected the figurine, touching his long fingers against every notable feature of it: its angle, its broken leg, the small chip on the toe of the shoe. He gazed deeply at her and Hermione felt a prickling over her mind before he turned. “Come in, Miss Granger.”

He guided her through the hallways, and up several staircases in silence before approaching the corridor with the gargoyle. “Jelly babies,” was the password he uttered to admit them, and they finally arrived at his office. He stopped to inspect a cabinet beside his desk where an identical ballerina figurine sat behind the glass.

“Maybe you should begin again, Miss Granger,” he said, turning to her once more when he was satisfied that the figurines were indeed identical. He gestured to his desk and waved a hand, seating himself behind it. A teapot and two teacups appeared. Hermione set herself down opposite his desk, and watched as he poured them both tea and added a few lumps of sugar and milk to each.

She fortified herself with a sip before she began again, surprised at how easily the words flowed from her. “I come from the future. Nearly twenty years in the future. It’s a long story, but you gave me books to help me figure out how to come here and fix something that went wrong -- or that I thought went wrong,” she began, doing her best to keep eye contact with him. She felt a slight tickling over her brain as though someone were running their fingers over it, tapping lightly, every time their eyes met. He must be performing legilimency. Though every time he seemed to reach a memory or something that he felt might be vital, she felt him withdraw lightly before plunging in along another line of thoughts and memories. She felt giddy from it.

“But Tom is gone?”

“Yes,” she said, incapable of saying much else with his intrusion.

He pursed his lips in seeming dissatisfaction at her answer, withdrawing from her mind fully.

“Please, I’m not here to change anything drastically. I just need to plant some information somewhere. With someone here at the school. And it may take some time -- but that’s all. That’s all I plan on doing. Oh, and some research. I really, really messed up a memory spell, and I’m going to try to figure out how to fix it.” She blushed at her own revelation, embarrassed at admitting her mistake so easily, but she attributed it to the truth potion that the tea must have been laced with.

Either her answer fully reassured him or he finally showed a modicum of confidence in his future self and decisions, because he relaxed back in his. “I believe you, Miss Granger.”

She gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her own chair.

“Now, Miss Granger, what shall I do with you? You indicated that to accomplish this that you would like to be at the school. I’m afraid that I have all my staff positions filled for this year. Would you be willing to enroll as a student?”

She could not help breaking out into a massive smile. “That is exactly what I was hoping, sir. I wasn’t able to complete my final year, but I would welcome a refresher on my sixth year, if possible. It was considerably disrupted,” she explained. “I was in Gryffindor.”

“Ah, a Gryffindor. I had my suspicions, and am happy to hear them confirmed. Yes, that’s suitable. I’ll have arrangements made for an extra bed to be placed in the girl’s dormitory. I’m assuming you don’t have a place to reside at the moment considering you just travelled twenty years through time?”

“Thank you, Headmaster. No, I don’t. I was hoping the school would be able to accomodate me.”

“I’m sure it would be acceptable to remain here before term starts. And while you’re here, I believe we should meet fortnightly to discuss your progress. I will send a message when we are to meet.”

“Yes, certainly,” she agreed.

They spoke further about her arrangements at the school. Hermione’s presence would be explained only in the barest of details. She would have previously been under the private tutelage of her parents who could no longer care for her and her education transferred to Dumbledore. It was not unheard of, and the current political climate provided even stronger evidence for her sudden appearance.

“And your name,” he began. “Would anyone recognise another Hermione Granger?”

Hermione frowned. “Yes, unfortunately, I think so.”

“Well, Granger is not an uncommon wizarding surname,” explained Dumbledore. “But your first name, as lovely as it is…” he trailed off, motioning toward her.

Hermione cursed her parents for thinking they were being clever when naming her. Why couldn’t they have given her an unassuming name? Why couldn’t they have just switched her middle and front names and made her life -- and a few others -- so much easier?

“Would I be able to go by Jean?” she asked. It wouldn’t be too much of a change, and it was her mother’s name, after all. How many times had someone said it around her and Hermione lifted her head to see who was trying to get her mum’s attention? It wouldn’t be too unfamiliar.

“Of course. Perfect. No one will hesitate to assume you’re a relative in the future,” he nodded, scribbling it down on a scrap of paper before turning his attention to her once more. “I’m sure I have no need to remind you that these are dangerous times. Please do your best to be on your guard,” Dumbledore warned her.

“Of course.”

“Also, Miss Granger, one last thing. I feel as though the temptation laid out before you may be too much for you. After all, it only takes one friendship, one friendly piece of advice to change the outcome of the whole future. I understand that you are here to plant some information, however I do not expect you to tell me nor anyone else what lies ahead of them. I will not request an unbreakable vow from you, but I do think a wand oath would be advisable.”

“Yes sir -- I understand.” She had read about wand oaths. While not as serious as an unbreakable vow, they were still useful for creating binding agreements and were often used alongside contracts. The participants wands would signal when the oath had been violated.

He lifted his wand and waved it about in a complicated fashion, muttering a few words under his breath. She held her wand out and he met the tip of hers.

“Do you solemnly swear not to divulge any privileged information from the time you’re from?”

“This I so swear.”

Their wands glowed for a moment, a yellow light encapsulating them. When it abated, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Now, I don’t think it would hurt to test it. If you could, Miss Granger, please tell me a Christmas gift that I am to receive in the future, if you can.”

She tried to recall Christmas at Grimmauld Place, the only time she could remember seeing Dumbledore receive any gifts during the holidays. She remembered Mr. Weasley handing him something, but what had it been? Ah, yes.

“Mrs. Weasl --” Hermione had meant to say “Mrs. Weasley’s firewhiskey cake,” but found she could no longer speak. Her tongue had rolled to the back of her mouth, much like it had upon re-entering Grimmauld Place after the order abandoned it. The tip of Dumbledore’s wand sparked red.

“Oh dear. That works rather splendidly, doesn’t it?” he asked, an amused smile on his face.

It took a moment for her tongue to relax. “Yes, I would say so,” she agreed when she could speak again.

“Very well, that takes care of that. Thank you for your cooperation.”

With a nod, Hermione fished a packet of flying saucers out from her drawstring bag that she had thought to pack for Dumbledore and handed them to him. His face lit up as he opened them and popped one into his mouth, which promptly tightened with the sourness of the sherbert inside. “Absolutely delightful -- have a good evening, Miss Granger. Do let me know if you need anything. I think the new password to Gryffindor Tower is ‘dungbomb.’”

She was thankful to have a few days to herself before the start of term. Though she was idle, it didn’t create the same sort of restlessness she experienced at Grimmauld Place. She spent her time absorbing her surroundings and becoming reacquainted with the castle once more. As teachers arrived to prepare for term time to start, she grew more and more excited.

Hermione wasn’t sure if it had to do with being at Hogwarts, but her nightmares didn’t persist in the same way they did back at home. Maybe it was the comfort of the bed and the red curtains around the four poster, or maybe the familiarity of the corridors acted as a cloak of protection around her during the day, but her nights of waking up screaming seemed to have abated. She didn’t fall asleep and relive scenes from the Battle of Hogwarts and she didn’t wake up absolutely encompassed in stress from just having dreamed that she was back in the tent and on the run again. Her days and nights were relatively calm and as close to normal as she had felt in a while.

The spare time also gave her the opportunity to think more on Severus Snape and how she was going to try to integrate herself into his life. She didn’t know much about him, but from what Harry told her, he didn’t have a very nice home life and his childhood seemed relatively unhappy with the exception of his friendship with Lily Evans. However, that friendship would have ended just a few months ago. She also knew that he had been bullied by Harry’s father and his friends. Remus and Sirius’ stories of their time at Hogwarts gave her just enough information to gather that, and didn’t they complain that he was too curious for his own good and always sneaking around?

She hoped her appearance at the school would be enough to pique his curiosity about her and begin an acquaintance. If that failed, she knew he was a brilliant student -- at least in potions. Maybe she could try to partner with him in their shared classes and strike up a conversation with him. Perhaps she could ask him for some book recommendations under the guise of her education being spotty.

How would her schedule would align with his? She had requested most of the classes she had taken previously: Herbology, Ancient Runes, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts… What did one need to become a master of potions? Is that what he aspired to be before he began working for the Order and teaching at Hogwarts? He would be taking potions, of course, she knew that from his old textbook, and most subjects only offered one class for sixth year students as they were no longer compulsory after fifth year. Hopefully they would share at least two or three classes.

And what would she do about Harry’s mum and the Marauders? She would be sharing a dormitory with Lily Evans! She got on with her dormitory mates in her years at Hogwarts, but she was not especially close with any of them. She spent her time in the library or with Harry and Ron, and they spent their time pursuing their interests. While she still expected to spend lots of time in the library doing research, she wouldn’t have Harry and Ron to keep her company. And, if Lily was anything like Hermione was as a prefect, she would be checking up on her to make sure that she was getting along alright.

And the Marauders! She knew three of them in her time. From the conversation she inadvertently overheard in the Three Broomsticks in third year, they were quite popular and were always up to something at the school. If she kept a low profile, she hoped that she would be able to keep herself out of their general orbit. General interactions with them shouldn’t be enough to have too much impact on the future. She hoped.

The week passed quickly. A trip to Hogsmeade with her school list provided her with everything she needed, and she was pleased with how thrifty she had been with her school supplies. There was no reason to go over the top to buy anything brand new if she wasn’t going to be here for very long -- why invest it if she only planned on leaving it behind? And it helped her story as well if she was now a ward of the school. She couldn’t see them splashing out too much money on a student.

Hermione was full of nervous excitement when the first of September finally arrived and it seemed as though she wasn’t alone. The castle was abuzz with energy. The ghosts floated through the corridors chatting excitedly, making wagers on which house would gain the most new pupils. Peeves seemed to be on top form, creating a barricade made from suits of armor that blocked off everything past the second floor. When that was taken care of, she helped Professor Flitwick hang decorations in the Great Hall before the feast, and did her best to avoid Filch, who was making his way through the halls gleefully hanging long lists of forbidden objects.

Around six o’clock, she finally changed into her school robes and began making her way through the corridors down towards the entrance hall. As she descended, a cacophony of voices rose through the stairwells, announcing the arrival of the rest of the students. She thought it best to approach the crowd from a side corridor and blend in. It didn’t matter, though. No one noticed her -- the students were all excitedly shouting at each other about their summer holidays and quidditch finals and squealing in delight when they caught sight of someone they hadn’t seen for a number of weeks.

She earned a few curious looks as she slid into the middle of a bench towards the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the door. She made sure to face the Slytherin table to try to spot Snape, but as the table grew more and more full, people couldn’t avoid sitting next to her and she found herself surrounded by a pack of inquisitive second years.

“You don’t look familiar,” a girl with dark hair and glasses declared in an accusatory tone. She was sitting across from Hermione, and the students on either side of her nodded in agreement.

“Well, neither do you,” Hermione replied. “I’m pleased to meet you, though. I’m Jean. I’m going to be in my sixth year.”

“New to Hogwarts? Shouldn’t you be up there, then?” asked a boy with sandy brown hair on the girl’s left. He was pointing towards the front where the first years were lining up in front of the staff table.

“Oh, no,” she answered. She leaned slightly closer to them, conspiratorial. “I was able to get sorted privately. I had to go to Dumbledore’s office and everything.”

He gasped in excitement. “You got to go to Dumbledore’s office? I heard he has his own sweet shop up there! Is it true?”

“Only stocks it with the very best,” Hermione heard a confident voice answer from behind her. “I should know, the number of times I’ve been in there.”

When Hermione glanced over her shoulder she was met with the sight of Sirius Black. Young, handsome, carefree Sirius Black. She groaned internally.

“Hello, doll. I don’t believe we’ve met.” His eyes twinkled mischievously at her. “Didn’t see you on the train.”

“No, my friends here were just saying the same thing,” she answered, gesturing to the second years across from her.

“Sirius Black,” he tilted his chin up in a greeting, an arrogant smile curling his lips. “I’ll be happy to give you a tour after the feast.”

Hermione gave him a tight lipped smile, hoping her lack of enthusiasm would discourage him. “I think my friends here were just offering to do the same for me. First come, first serve, I’m afraid.”

The girl with the glasses couldn’t help but hide her pride at being chosen over a sixth year.

Sirius leaned forward, bracing himself against the table next to her and with a smirk responded, “Oh, but I know all the best hiding places.”

Though he paid her one of the biggest compliments of her life calling her the “brightest witch of her age,” as she got to know him, Hermione was not a huge fan of Sirius Black. If this had been her first impression of him, she would have absolutely loathed him. She did her best to remind herself that he was Harry’s godfather and of how much he did for the Order and for Harry.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to show me some other time.” Hermione’s eyes glanced up the table where a gaggle of girls were eyeing her suspiciously. “They look like they’re anxious to learn your secrets, though. How about you give them a tour, and I’ll hear the reviews before I decide?”

Sirius turned his head towards the girls who dissolved into giggles and simpers at his look.

“Some other time, then,” he winked, pushing himself off from the table. Hermione’s eyes followed him to a seat he took beside a young man she knew to be James Potter, considering he looked so much like Harry. And there, next to him, was Lily, her thick red hair cascading down her back. Peter and Remus sat across and eyed her inquisitively. She gave them all a small smile and turned her attention back to the second years.

Hermione’s companions introduced themselves as Maeve and Alpheus (“but you can call me Alfie”) before their attention was diverted to the front of the hall for the sorting. Gryffindor gained fifteen new pupils, and when the final first year was sorted into Slytherin, Hermione took the opportunity to scan the table for familiar faces. There at the back, almost even with her, was the round-shouldered figure of Severus Snape, politely applauding the final addition to their house, looking nowhere near as intimidating as she was used to in his Hogwarts robes. A boy with heavy brows next to him was running some sort of commentary that caused him to smirk.

Her attention was diverted as Dumbledore stood for his announcements, and Hermione braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of attention. “And lastly, please give a warm welcome to new Gryffindor Jean Granger, who is joining us for her sixth year.” Every eye in the Great Hall turned in her direction and there was a smattering of applause, loudest from the Gryffindor table, of course. Hermione did her best not to blush, but felt an incredible heat at the top of her cheeks. She did her best to sweep her eyes over everybody, returning the smiles that were directed toward her. She was never more thankful when Dumbledore clapped his hands and said “And now, we dine!” and a smorgasbord appeared before them.

Hermione spent the rest of the evening nodding along to the information that Maeve and Alfie regaled her with: shortcuts to classes, pointers on which professors to watch out for, when the best meals were served. They lamented the fact that she would get to visit Hogsmeade, a privilege they still had another year to wait for. She was in the middle of promising to bring them back something from the joke shop at the first opportunity when dinner finished and everyone began to rise from their tables. Alfie grabbed onto the sleeve of her robes and began to guide her towards Gryffindor tower, but it wasn’t long before a flash of red appeared next to her.

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Jean! I’m Lily -- we’re in the same year. I’m also a Prefect, so feel free to come to me if you have any problems,” Lily launched into a lengthy explanation of house points and etiquette and Hermione nodded as though she had never heard it all before. The second years were quite put out that Hermione’s attention had been taken from them, but she heard snippets of them passing on their privileged information they had gathered from her over dinner to their housemates.

Lily spoke constantly, guiding her through the portrait hole and up to the dormitory where she introduced Hermione to the other occupants: Mary Macdonald, and Sita Chawla.

It was past ten by the time Hermione cast a silencing spell around her bed, leaving the other girls to their conversations about their respective summers. Despite the flurry of thoughts running through her head, it did not take long before she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning when Hermione received her schedule over breakfast, she was pleased to see that her first class of the term would be Potions that afternoon. The morning was free for her to do what she wished, so she went to the library.

The Hogwarts library was the one thing that could always be counted on. It looked just the same as ever, and the scent of the books and the wood polish conjured up memories of revising late into the night. She had been worried -- there were whisperings about Peeves and dungbomb explosions from the Hogwarts ghosts that coincided with the library being closed for some sort of refurbishment over the past week. The stacks were just as full as ever, waiting for her to explore them.

A majority of the tables she passed were free, but she headed straight to the table she usually shared with Harry and Ron and spread her parchment and texts out around her. It wasn’t long before more bodies draped in black began to wander through, chatting excitedly in low voices and earning themselves harsh looks from Madam Pince. She didn’t pay them much attention, but it was difficult to ignore when one body in particular came to a halt next to her table.

Hermione lifted her eyes from 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi and her notes on the restorative properties of mandrakes to meet the black eyes of Severus Snape. The younger form of her potions master appraised her, taking in her unfamiliar person and the books spread out before her. She gave him a hesitant smile. He didn’t quite sneer at her, but his expression made it clear that he wasn’t pleased. His nostrils flared before he turned his attention to the next table along and took a seat, carefully removing his books, parchment and quills.

Hermione bit her lip, turning back to her work. That went better than she was expecting.

It was suddenly difficult to concentrate on the notes on restorative plants she had been meticulously copying out. Having him this close was infuriatingly distracting and she found she could no longer make sense of what she was reading. She looked up from her book periodically, running her quill over her lips, doing her best to appear deep in thought while she watched him out of the corner of her eye. The same oily black hair hung around his face, bouncing with every movement of his head as he consulted the books spread out across the table. He was deeply involved in his work and, although Hermione shouldn’t have been surprised, wasn’t hesitant about making liberal notes in the margins of his textbooks. She did notice that he seemed especially aware of Madam Pince and refrained from doing this whenever she passed by, covering up the offending pages with rolls of parchment.

She reluctantly left the library just after midday, assuring herself that she would see him in class within the next hour. Her thoughts remained with him, though. All through lunch, she kept going over all of the possible conversation starters she could have. Should she pretend to run out of ink and ask to borrow his? Maybe a quill… She really should have a closer look at the books he was using -- maybe they would need to reference the same texts and she would conveniently need to sit at the same table to share them. No -- that wouldn’t work. She couldn’t see that going over well at all.

She spent so long musing that by the time she pulled herself back to reality, she had to dash down to the dungeons to make it to potions on time. As she approached, she could hear students rummaging through their rucksacks and Slughorn addressing the class. When she hesitantly snuck into the room, though, Slughorn very happily broke off his speech.

“Ah, Miss Granger! What a pleasure to see you. No worries, no worries -- this castle is confusing at the best of times, but you’ll get used to it very quickly, I’m sure. You’re in luck because there’s a spot ready for you next to my best student! He’ll help you along if you have any troubles, of course.” Slughorn gestured to the back of the room where Severus Snape was the sole occupant of a table, and there definitely was not a spot ready for her next to him. Snape gave her an unblinking stare as she walked to the back of the room to take the seat beside him. He grudgingly cleared space for her, drawing his book and his parchment and materials back toward himself. She was slightly mortified at Slughorn’s comments and gave him an apologetic smile. It wasn’t returned.

They spent the remainder of the class in silence, each quietly observing the other and comparing their progress through side glances. She happened to catch him as he discreetly swept spare potions ingredients into small envelopes and tucked them away in his pockets. Slughorn walked by and complimented them both on their progress before moving on. It was clear Snape wasn’t going to offer help and she wasn’t going to dare ask -- not that she needed any.

When they were requested to take their finished potions up at the end of class, Slughorn couldn’t resist another quip. He picked up her flask. “Perfectly brewed, just as I expected!” he exclaimed. “I’m sure Mr. Snape was happy to guide you along, hm?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond when a voice spoke up behind her.

“I think you’ll find that Granger’s accomplishments are her own, Professor. She was quite capable. Perhaps she deserves her own workspace, having proven herself.” It was the first time she had heard him speak and she was surprised to hear the traces of a midlands accent that did not exist in his later years.

“Oh, no, I think this is working out perfectly!” Slughorn set her flask back down and beamed at her. “Very impressive, indeed! It looks like you may give Severus a run for his money as star brewer of the class, Miss Granger.” He wagged his finger at her. “You and Miss Evans will make it a close call!” Hermione blushed as Snape leaned past her to place his bottle on Slughorn’s desk before quickly exiting the classroom. She nearly had to run to catch up with him.

“Thank you for that back there,” she said, slowing once she had pulled even with him.

He gave her a side glance and kept walking.

“I’m Jean, by the way.”

“Yes, I know. I was present for the Headmaster’s announcement,” replied Snape, his response clipped.

“Where are you off to?” she inquired.

“My next class.”

“Well, considering I was late for Potions, I’m still learning my way around, and if we were heading in the same direction --” she began, giving him a hopeful glance, but he was quick to cut her off.

“I’m sure members of your own house would be more pleased to help you.”

“Well, maybe, but I haven’t really --”

“Excuse me.” He quickly ducked down a side corridor and was halfway down the passage by the time Hermione brought herself to a stop.

Oh Merlin, what had she done? She felt her face flush with embarrassment. She had come on too strong -- approached him too quickly -- oh, Merlin. She knew that he would be difficult, but she didn’t anticipate outright coldness.

And his pointed remark about her house! What had she done? What had she been thinking? She felt like an idiot.

She made her way to the Ancient Runes classroom and spent a majority of the class kicking herself mentally over her mistake. Later when they passed in the corridor, she even had to turn away from him out of fear that she would blush again.

By dinnertime, she could almost call the incident to mind without wanting to crawl into a hole and hide for the next year. She still didn’t want to come across him in the Great Hall, though, so she decided to go to the library to continue her research.

An hour later, eyes deep in theoretical memory charms, she was pulled out of her notes by someone clearing their throat nearby. She looked up and around only for her eyes to meet Snape’s, once again, at the next table down from her. She felt her stomach drop and immediately turned back to her work.

But he clearly wasn’t avoiding her. That was reassuring.

She decided her best course of action would be to do nothing -- at least for now. She wouldn’t force their interactions. Seeming too eager, being too friendly hadn’t worked, especially as she was a Gryffindor. She had to remind herself that acquaintances, even friendships, took time.

When Madam Pince began clearing the library, Hermione packed up her things and made a hasty exit so she didn’t have to cross paths with him once more.

She was bombarded by the friendly second years when she entered Gryffindor tower, inquiring how her day was, and how she found things around the school. They were really lovely, but slightly too overwhelming after a very unexpectedly trying first day. She grabbed a seat furthest from the fire in the common room, thankful when they departed to play exploding snap.

“Is this seat taken, Jean?” Remus Lupin gestured to the chair next to her. She groaned internally, cursing her luck, but still managed to give him a smile. She had expected him to be nearer the fire with James and Sirius. Peter was polishing a set of gobstones nearby.

“No, you’re very welcome to sit,” she offered, removing her rucksack from it.

He returned her smile. “I’m Remus. I’m a Prefect -- I just thought I should introduce myself, as we’re in the same year.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip, her mind racing for something to say to him. Thankfully, Remus beat her to it.

“What brings you to Hogwarts?”

“I came here to finish my magical education,” she answered, supplying him with the generic answer that she and Dumbledore had agreed upon.

“Oh, did you go somewhere else before?”

“Well, I was educated in Britain. It was decided that I would come here after my parents met with an accident.” It technically wasn’t a lie.

“Oh,” there was instant sympathy in Remus’ tone. “I’m so very sorry.” He leaned nearer to her and lowered his voice. “Was it You-Know-Who?”

Hermione hesitated with her answer, hoping it appeared sincere. “Well -- yes.”

“Sadly, we’re starting to hear more and more of stuff like this -- it’s getting bad,” Remus explained, shaking his head. “The Daily Prophet isn’t reporting it all, of course, but -- my father works for the Ministry, and he’s sent out on cases all the time.”

“Oh? What does your father do?” she asked out of genuine curiosity. She had never heard him speak of his family.

“He works in Magical Creatures. He’s a specialist in spirits, actually, but he’s getting sent out on cases more and more to do with dementors and werewolves and trolls. You-Know-Who isn’t afraid of contacting them and trying to recruit them.”

Hermione couldn’t hide her surprise. “I never would have guessed -- how fascinating!” It certainly explained Lupin’s ease with the magical creatures he taught them about in their third year. “You’ve always had creatures around then!”

“It was -- yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair. “My dad was always bringing things home in cages -- but he was an expert at non-human spiritous apparitions.”

She flipped through her mental index of what that would include. “So -- dementors?”

“And poltergeists, too. I have a special relationship with Peeves.” He gave a small laugh.

“I’ll be sure to call you if I have any trouble.” She was glad the conversation came to a natural lull, and was about to reach for her rucksack and make her excuses to head upstairs when he spoke again.

“I just wanted to let you know that if you needed any sort of help on anything, I’m happy to help. Except for potions. I’m rubbish at potions.” He continued to speak, but Hermione became distracted by his hair -- it began to slowly rise and stand on end as though he had encountered some sort of shock of electricity. A quick glance behind him showed James, Sirius and Peter giggling, Sirius’ wand pointed at Remus.

Hermione broke into a yawn, cutting him off. “Oh, dear. I don’t mean to be rude -- it’s just been an achingly long day. I think I’ll go up to bed.”

“Oh -- yes. Well, goodnight!”

She had barely started descending the stairs when she heard a whooping and laughter behind her. She turned at the noise. James and Sirius had descended on Remus and were giving him more than a good teasing by the looks of it. Remus’ head appeared to be caught under James’ arm.

Transfiguration was on Tuesdays first thing after Herbology, and she tried to make it early enough that she wouldn’t be forced to take a seat next to Sirius Black. He wasn’t being very discreet over breakfast with his plans to ‘show Hermione a thing or two’ in class. James kept winding him up while Lily kept telling the two to quit being idiots, and Hermione did her best to pretend she couldn’t hear them at all.

Hermione was able to corner herself with two girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff by the time James, Sirius and Peter entered. Lily trailed behind, rolling her eyes at them. Snape had entered earlier and was sitting somewhere near the back of the room.

They were beginning conjuring spells. McGonagall specifically requested that they conjure chairs from thin air -- extra points would be given for comfort.

The boys had very few problems with their chairs, but Peter couldn’t seem to conjure one that was larger than a tea kettle. “You’re thinking too small,” McGonagall criticized as she vanished it. “Try again.” As McGonagall moved down, Hermione heard Sirius hiss at Peter. “Full moon on your mind, Wormtail? That chair is only fit for a rat.”

McGonagall, however, gave Hermione an extra point for her chair being overstuffed and tartan -- inspiration she had taken from her brief visits to the headmistress’ tower.

“That was really inspired, Jean! I just couldn’t stop thinking of a dollhouse chair. No wonder mine kept turning out to be plasticky!” Mary Macdonald gushed at her. She was Hermione’s favorite housemate so far. She was always full of compliments for her housemates and she never heard her say anything negative about anyone when the other girls were gossiping.

Hermione was on her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon before she saw Snape again. He was engaged in a private conversation with a female Slytherin and she saw something pass between them. Her brow furrowed. Was it possible he found comfort elsewhere after Lily? She quickly walked by the duo and found herself waiting in a corridor with a number of other students, including the Marauders.

The professor who had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts this year was a squat balding wizard with a bushy mustache who reminded Hermione a little of Harry’s Uncle Vernon. He had the appearance of someone who was once quite muscular and athletic who had let themselves go. He began the class by flicking his wand at the chalkboard and the words “Professor Rigby” appeared in blocky letters across the top.

“I’m not going to be gentle with you -- there is a war going on out there. Witches and Wizards are dying because they aren’t properly trained in defending themselves. You are going to learn, and you are going to learn well. I will not tolerate foolishness in this class, nor will I tolerate finger-pointing or speculation. You’re here to achieve a common goal: to pass this class and make it through into next year.”

It became clear that Professor Rigby was an ex-Auror. He dropped little tidbits from his past life fighting wizarding crime and treated the class as though they were going to be new inductees into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione felt that he was one step short of Mad Eye Moody’s “Constant Vigilance!” at every turn. Though he had led an exciting life, the start to his classes was not very exciting at all: they were going to spend their first few weeks reviewing what they had learned in class over the years, given that most of the students had been taught by five different instructors.

Hermione was thankful for this, though. She had heard whisperings between James and Sirius about something to do with the Slytherins, and with their wands away there would be little opportunity for them to act on whatever they were planning. She had already heard Lily completely exasperated at James that they had earned a detention already.

She was surprised at how easily she fell back into life at Hogwarts. Although she was familiar with most of what was being covered in lessons, she still found them engaging and still turned in scrolls that were far longer than the required length. A majority of her time outside classes was spent in the library researching -- and it seemed as though Snape’s was as well. He often beat her to her regular table and she had to be content to sit at the next one along.

At the end of her first week, Hermione was trying to dash out of Charms to make it to the library table first when Professor Flitwick pulled her aside and informed her that Dumbledore wished to see her in his office.

She needn’t have worried about making it to the library first. On her way to the second floor corridor, she saw Snape again, this time with a Hufflepuff boy, tucked under the bottom of a staircase conversing in low tones. Interesting. She didn’t have long to muse on it, though, because she arrived at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s office, and she realised that she didn’t know the password.

“Jelly babies,” she tried. No answer. “Starbar. Flying saucer. Peppermint imp. Walnut Whi--”

“You can’t just stand there all day listing things off,” the gargoyle interrupted her. “Did you have an appointment to see the headmaster or not?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be trying to get in if I didn’t, would I?”

“Now listen here, missy --”

She was saved by a lecture from the gargoyle by the stone figure swinging to the side and Professor McGonagall exiting the spiralled staircase. “Oh, Miss Granger! Lovely to see you. Albus just said he was expecting you. Go on in.”

“Thank you, Professor.” She fought the urge to say ‘I told you so’ to the gargoyle and stepped onto the spiral staircase, letting it carry her forward. She knocked at the door at the top of the staircase and heard Dumbledore’s voice respond.

He was behind his desk, clearing away some rolls of parchment as she entered.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Hermione did so and looked at him expectantly.

“How is your first week going? Is it as you hoped?” He waved his wand and a tea set appeared in front of him at his desk, the teapot sporting a spectacular cozy shaped like a snitch.

“Very well, I think. I’m comfortable in all my classes, and I think I’ve made friends.” She accepted the cup of tea he had poured for her and took a sip.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded as she described some of the happenings in her classes.

“Indeed. That is exactly what I wish to speak to you about. Your excellent performance has been noted by many of your professors,” Hermione couldn’t help but smile at this. “While I appreciate this as a former instructor myself, as an accomplice in your plan, I’m afraid I need to request that you maybe not draw as much attention to yourself as you have been.”

Hermione felt her mouth drop open slightly. “But, I’ve always been head of my class,” she protested. “I received one hundred and twenty percent on my fifth year exam for Charms.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes, yes -- I can appreciate that. All the more reason for you to pass yourself off as an average student. We don’t need you trying to outdo your own exam scores in twenty years time, do we? But I also need you to acknowledge that, as you stated yourself, this is your second time doing your sixth year. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, it would not do for you to draw attention to yourself by continually outstripping your classmates.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand.” She felt a bit embarrassed that she had not thought of it herself, but as the new term had started, it had felt good to fall back into old habits. She always felt a small sense of satisfaction when she added footnotes to her essays, knowing that she had done just a bit more than everyone else.

“Focus your extra energies elsewhere,” Dumbledore encouraged. “How is your memory research going?”

“I am combing the herbology section of the library at present. I think it would be beneficial to try to combine some sort of potion with a possible reversal with the memory charm. I had tried a memory reversal in the past, but nothing seemed to draw the hidden memories out. I think that if I fortify the individuals with some sort of healing potion, it may help before attempting to restore the memories again.” At least, that’s what she hoped. Her trials with the time portus potion had given her that idea, and it doesn’t seem to have been explored. Applying spells to the potions themselves would open up a whole new avenue of research.

“An interesting thought. I can inquire at St. Mungo’s about that. There are a number of individuals in their wards who have been too enthusiastically obliviated, and I am sure that one of their healers would have come across something similar.”

“Oh, but I didn’t use obliviate, sir. That’s the largest issue I have come across. I concealed the memories, and layered others in their place,” she explained.

“Ah, that does complicate the matter. It wasn’t a removal at all?” Dumbledore set down his cup of tea and leaned toward her, steepling his fingers.

She shook her head. “No. The memories are still there somewhere.”

“Ah… Well, I can see why you would like to combine your research with potions. If they can heal the body, why not the mind? I’ll still lay down some inquiries at St. Mungo’s.”

She knew it would come to nothing, but thanked him anyway. “That would be lovely. Last I read, they were toying with the idea as well, but the human brain is complicated at best, and combined with magic...”

“Complicates matters all the more.” He smiled at her as he finished her thought.

“Indeed,” she agreed.

“I wish you well in that line of research. Now, I do have one other thing to bring up with you, not entirely unrelated.”

“Sir?”

“Professor McGonagall has helped me find a suitable space for your experiments and potion brewing. Would you like to see it now?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Hermione set down the cup of tea she had been nursing. She had asked about the possibility of having her own research space before the term started, and he had agreed, but she never thought it would be done so quickly.

Dumbledore rose from behind the desk and motioned for her to follow him down the rotating staircase. They descended even further, making small talk, about her classes and research as they waited for staircases to move. Dumbledore directed her down a number of side corridors before they ended up at an unassuming doorway somewhere near Professor McGonagall’s office.

He flicked his wand in the direction of the door and it yielded instantly.

It was a sizeable room -- not big enough for a classroom, but definitely spacious enough to have been an old office or even a supply room. It had the mark of McGonagall having prepared it for her. She could tell it had recently been cleaned and the tables left in the room were all pushed neatly against the walls. It was much larger than anything she could have hoped for and would definitely provide better brewing conditions than the girls toilet on the second floor.

“Do you think this would be suitable for you?” Dumbledore asked.

“More than, sir. It’s much more than I expected. Thank you so much.” She was very touched by the gesture.

“Can you think of anything you may require?” he motioned towards the room.

“Oh no -- nothing I can’t conjure or get down in the village. This is perfectly fine -- thank you.”

“The door is warded to you and will open with a password which I’ve set. Only myself and Minerva will have this information, and should you change it, please notify us.”

“Of course, Headmaster.”

“I think I shall leave you to it, then. Until next time. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Granger.” He left the room, closing the door behind him, and she could hear him humming something that sounded suspiciously like “Night Fever.”

Hermione quickly rearranged the tables into a “U” shape to enable a better use of workspace and made a mental list of things she needed to acquire before she could start brewing or testing. She would need a few cauldrons, and some extra ingredients, of course. She could move her notes here -- with the password, they would be safe. A chair to read in would be nice, and a few curtains over the window wouldn’t go amiss.

It was nearly curfew by the time she exited and she could sense Filch was nearby, waiting to catch out students. As she was making her way to the seventh floor, she could just make out the hint of hushed voices coming from down a side corridor. The Marauders out for a nightly stroll, no doubt.

When she got back to the dormitory, she was met with a flurry of giggles.

“Oh, Jean, you’re welcome to join in,” Mary motioned towards a few boxes of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and offered her a bottle of butterbeer. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, clutching a roll of parchment.

“Oh?” Hermione took it from her, seating herself on the edge of her bed.

Lily jumped up from her reclining position on her bed and grabbed a handful of jelly beans.“We’re catching up on how good looking some of the boys have gotten over the summer.”

“Oh, well, carry on,” Hermione took a sip from the bottle. It tasted refreshing and immediately reminded her of school weekends in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron.

“Well, everyone knows that Sirius Black is just to die for -- has been… well, forever, really. I remember having a crush on him in second year,” Sita remarked, giving a comically dreamy sigh.

Mary gave her a bewildered look, shaking her head so that her blonde curls bounced. “Second year? But we were just babies then! Can you imagine any of the second years thinking anyone is fit?”

They descended into giggles once more.

“James Potter has grown up now that Lily’s gotten hold of him.” Sita threw a pillow at Lily to emphasize her point.

Lily caught it and tucked it onto her lap, using it as a surface to begin to sort her bean flavors. “I can’t help that I have good taste,” she popped a jellybean into her mouth. “Actually, I don’t -- that was soap,” she gagged.

Mary offered Lily another butterbeer. “What about Regulus Black?”

“Ugh, Slytherins are off limits -- they’re evil,” said Sita, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you would even suggest them after the trouble you’ve had.”

Mary shrugged. “Doesn’t stop them from being good looking, though.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. Regulus certainly doesn’t have Sirius’ bravado, but he’s a darker type of good looking -- brooding, mysterious…” Sita agreed.

“Like Heathcliff or Rochester?” Lily emphasized.

“Who?” Sita asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Men from muggle literature,” Hermione answered. The other girls gave an “oh” of understanding.

“Oh. What about Davey Gudgeon? I know he’s got all those scars now, but he looks so rugged, especially now he’s growing his hair out,” offered Lily.

They cycled through what Hermione supposed was a complete roster of all the boys in fifth year or above. Mary was ticking off names on the parchment, but Hermione noticed that one name never seemed to come up.

She couldn’t help herself. “What about Severus Snape?” she asked.

The girls descended into awkward giggles, their eyes darting toward Lily. Ah. They must have been avoiding him for her benefit.

“Well, he’s… he’s...,” Mary trailed off. “Why? Are you interested?”

Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer before answering. “No -- no, just curious. Slughorn paired us together, and I don’t know much about him. He won’t speak to me.”

“It’s because you’re not pureblood,” explained Sita.

“How would he know?”

Mary got up from her bed, gathering up the empty bottles and boxes of sweets. “You’re not one of the sacred twenty-eight or whatever they’re called -- no Grangers in there.”

The girls looked at Hermione questioningly, and she figured they were waiting for her to confirm this. “No. I guess there isn’t.”

“I think all the Slytherins would be more attractive if they didn’t dabble in the Dark Arts so much. Dark arts, dark heart.” Mary offered in a sing-song voice, licking a bit of frosting from a cauldron cake off her thumb.

“Agreed,” Sita chimed in.

Lily’s cheeks had gone pink, her gaze averted from the rest of the girls. “Well, now we know who to encourage for the ball this year. Good luck, girls,” she said, beginning to draw her bed curtains closed. “And goodnight.”

The other girls quickly put away their snacks and crawled into their beds. One by one, all of the bed curtains around the room were drawn. Hermione barely had enough energy to place a silencing charm on her own bed before she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

October brought with it cooler weather, pumpkins being grown on the outskirts of Hagrid’s hut, and Professor Rigby finally letting the sixth years engage in practical exercises in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone was ecstatic.

Hermione enjoyed having Professor Rigby as an instructor. He came across as a more restrained Mad-Eye Moody -- or Barty Crouch, Jr. -- without the use of illegal curses. His teaching style bordered on militaristic, and once they had covered the basics, wasted no time in pairing his sixth year class up to practice disarming one another.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “This is second year stuff. Where’s the real defense?”

James sniggered. Lily gave him a dirty look.

Rigby turned on Sirius. “Considering your education has been lacking over the past six years, I think a little refresher is due. Don’t underestimate the power of a good disarming spell. Many a duel has been won with it. I myself have been able to send a number of wizards to Azkaban because they were not expecting it.”

Sirius and James acquiesced and began disarming one another, finding amusement in trying to see who could send the other’s wand the highest.

Hermione had been paired with a girl from Ravenclaw, and, thankfully, found her partner less enthusiastic than the boys. She remembered Snape sending Gilderoy Lockhart flying into a brick wall when they first encountered the spell, and she didn’t fancy having someone who was much more exuberant in their spellcasting than she was.

Professor Rigby let them practice for about ten minutes, making his way through the pairs, adjusting stance with some people and giving constructive advice to others. “Don’t be so stiff,” she overheard him saying to Severus. “If you do get blasted, you’re more likely to break something.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Severus shake his arms lightly, trying to relax his posture, but there was a tension around his eyes as he nodded. Hermione was sure Severus knew how to cast the spell without any problem, and was probably annoyed at the advice. When Rigby reached her, he criticized her wand movement. “This is an attacking movement -- don’t move your wand so much. You don’t want to waste precious seconds swinging your arm extra wide when only a small twist will do.”

She was now annoyed as well.

“That’s it, everybody -- wands down!” Rigby interrupted them. Everyone lowered their wands. “Now, I want you to try the same thing, but without saying the spell.”

“What?” a voice from the back of the room piped up.

“That’s it -- nonverbal spellcasting,” he plucked his wand from the sleeve of his robes and aimed it at James, whose wand instantly went flying. “Change partners and begin.”

When she turned, she found herself facing Remus Lupin, who had previously been paired with a pretty Hufflepuff girl. “Hello,” he smiled. She knew that he was doing his best to be inclusive, but he had done his best to partner with her whenever there was an opportunity, no matter the class. He was making it so difficult for her to keep her distance, especially as he was so, so bloody nice.

Hermione noticed that James had seized the opportunity to pair up with Lily. Snape was looking around for a partner, only to be faced with Sirius as his last option. The look on Sirius’ face was animalistic in its glee.

Hermione was about to suggest that she and Remus change partners again when Professor Rigby abruptly ordered them to begin.

“Oh goody, Snivellus,” she heard Sirius taunt. There was a determination in Snape’s eyes that didn’t bode well for how this exercise was going to go.

“Shall we?” Remus asked, pulling her attention back to him.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll go first, shall I?”

“Ready when you are,” he mock bowed toward her in deferment.

Hermione could nonverbally cast spells easily -- she had been doing it for years now. She did her best to look as though she were trying her hardest to send Remus’ wand flying. After a few minutes she grew bored, and she could tell Remus was as well. His attention was beginning to drift to the pairs around them. She repeated her movements once more, letting the magic move through her, and let out a small sigh of satisfaction as Remus jumped in surprise when his wand flew from his hand.

“Congratulations, Miss Granger, you’re the first sixth year to accomplish nonverbal casting.” Professor Rigby appeared at her side, his booming voice making her wince. She gave him a nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s see what Mr. Lupin can do.” When Remus recovered his wand, he waved it at her, and while she wasn’t disarmed, her wand did give a bit of a wiggle.

“Keep trying. You have to feel it from here,” Professor Rigby beat his closed fist to his chest and then turned to address the class. “Everyone think about where your magic comes from. It doesn’t come from your voice. Your voice is merely a channel for it, just as your wand is. You make the decision for the spell deep in you -- you have to conjure that feeling -- and no mouthing the words, Mister Pettigrew!” Peter jumped in surprise and dropped his wand. “Even mouthing the words lets your opponent know what spell you’re going to cast. The whole point is having a split second advantage. Now, back to it!”

While Remus was trying to disarm her, Hermione took a moment to observe her other classmates. Lily and James spent a majority of their time giggling at the faces the other was making as they tried to disarm one another. The Hufflepuff girl that Remus was paired with earlier was nearly beet red with all the effort she was putting into her silent spellcasting. Before long, another wand shot into the air. It was Sirius Black’s.

The smile on Snape’s face was victorious and smug. Hermione was distracted by her wand flying into the air as Remus let out a whoop of triumph.

Hermione retrieved her wand and was preparing to disarm Remus again when she heard a snarl from beside them. No sooner had Sirius recovered his wand than Snape disarmed him nonverbally again. Professor Rigby was busy showing two Hufflepuffs how their wand movements were hindering them when it all went wrong.

Sirius whispered something under his breath and Snape’s skin erupted in red welts. Snape once again disarmed Sirius who grasped his wand just as it was flying out of his hand and shouted “Levicorpus!”

Hermione had anticipated this and had just enough time to point her wand at Snape to cast a shielding charm. There was a loud crack as Sirius’ spell reflected and a split second later he was hanging upside down from mid-air.

The classroom had gone deadly quiet except for the sound of Sirius struggling. Professor Rigby’s face had gone red with anger. He waved his wand at Sirius who dropped to the floor. “Class dismissed. You two,” he pointed his swollen fingers at Sirius and Severus, “stay behind. And Miss Granger.”

Hermione pursed her lips, furious. If their escapades earned her a detention, she would murder Sirius -- he started it. Snape and Sirius were giving each other murderous looks as everyone else was filing out of the room. Hermione lingered behind them.

Professor Rigby squared his shoulders as he faced the two boys. “You two -- detention.”

“But I didn’t --”

“But he --” Sirius and Severus’ voices clashed together as each tried to defend themselves.

“Silence. You,” he pointed at Snape, “You kept egging him on, and you,” he pointed Sirius, “you used a spell that wasn’t included in the lesson to the detriment of another student. I’ll inform you both when your detention times have been arranged. You can expect it will be soon.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “My spell didn’t even hit him.” He glanced at Hermione. “Granger here interceded.”

“Yes,” Professor Rigby responded. “Miss Granger. I commend you for your quick thinking and observation of the situation, but next time, let me handle it, please. You may go.”

Hermione blushed, her anger turning to embarrassment. This was the second time in a month she had been asked to not act like herself. She left the room hurriedly while Professor Rigby continued dressing down the boys.

She hoped that Professor Rigby’s dismissal would be the end of the subject, but her heart dropped later that evening when James and Sirius approached her in the common room. She had been reading next to the fire.

“Granger, darling,” Sirius seated himself at her feet, taking her book from her. “I think we need to give you a primer on how things work around here.”

James plopped onto the couch next to her, ruffling his hair as he settled in. “You see, we understand that this is all new to you. Of course you don’t have an idea about how people are, how they should be treated…”

If Hermione thought she was angry before, it was nothing compared to how she was feeling now. She found she couldn’t do anything but stare at them in disbelief.

Sirius jumped in. “There are some of us who are the good guys,” he gestured to himself and James, “And there are others that are… well, they’re not so good guys. I’m sure that you’ve kept up on the news.”

“I mean, there are loads of Daily Prophets arriving in the Great Hall every day, she would have to be blind not to.” James chimed in, gesturing to a discarded copy across the room.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Remus descend the staircase from the boys dormitory and spot the three of them. His absent minded gaze quickly dissolved into a look of horror.

Sirius didn’t seem to notice his friend’s appearance. “Anyway, the idea is that we keep the Slytherins in their place. They stay out of our way, we stay out of theirs --”

“Jean!” Remus interrupted. “Would you like to go to the library together?”

“Ah, see, that’s exactly what I mean. Keep a Gryffindor with you at all times. You never know when those Slytherins may strike.” James rose and gave Remus a friendly slap on the back before ruffling his hair.

“I think you two are being utterly ridiculous,” Hermione remarked, rising to look directly at James and Sirius. She had experienced prejudice against the Slytherins in her time, of course. However, this was bordering on comical. She hadn’t expected the deep house divisions from her time -- if anything, they were worse here. She grabbed her book from Sirius and made her way towards the portrait hole with Remus. “Come on, Remus.”

“Don’t worry, Granger, we’ll still come to your rescue when something happens!” James called after her.

When they were out in the corridor with the portrait closed safely behind them, Remus gave her an awkward smile. “Sorry about that. I think you may have embarrassed Sirius in Defense earlier… And then James, of course, has to back him up.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t warrant a sit-down chat.”

“To them it does. Sirius can’t lose his bravado in front of you. You’re too new -- too novel --” He was beginning to stumble over his words, and even in the torchlight she could see his cheeks color from embarrassment.

“And has he considered my feelings on the matter at all?” Hermione interrupted, disgusted.

Remus stopped trying to explain looked at her with mild surprise. “You, Jean Granger, are a breath of fresh air, if I am completely honest.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that many girls here would follow Sirius’ suggestions at the drop of a hat…” He trailed off, letting her make of it what she would.

“Well, I think it will do him some good to realize that some people don’t appreciate his cockiness.” She really didn’t -- she was tired of it. She had seen him walk around like he owned the school for the last month, taking advantage of whatever and whoever he could. She knew that he didn’t even want her attention -- it just bothered him that she didn’t fall at his feet like every other girl.

They had ended up at the entrance to the library, but it was near closing time. “You know, I don’t really need to go to the library. I just thought of it to get you out of there,” Remus admitted.

“I didn’t either, but I appreciate it.”

“Has anyone shown you where the kitchens are? I think we have just enough...” Hermione didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. She was distracted by Severus Snape exiting from the library, followed closely by a Ravenclaw boy who muttered “cheers” to him as they parted. Snape’s eyes met hers, glanced over at Remus, and then he hurried down the steps toward the lower floors of the castle.

“Jean?” Remus asked again.

“What? Oh, no, but I do fancy an eclair…”

They descended the same steps as Snape and Remus directed her through a series of passages before they came to the familiar painting of a bowl of fruit. He reached out to tickle the pear, and before long, there were house elves pushing a number of goodies on them, seemingly familiar with Remus and his preference for chocolate.

The next few weeks continued to be relatively unnoteworthy, especially where Snape was concerned. She didn’t see any outright bullying from Sirius and James again, but she didn’t miss the odd spell or two that seemed to follow him around from time to time. There was once a rain cloud that hovered above him, following him through the corridors, soaking him through and leaving a trail of water behind him. Professor Flitwick had to come to his rescue. There was another time where a jinx had been placed on his rucksack and it shouted rude words whenever he passed a professor. He earned several detentions that day, and it was Professor Slughorn who he convinced that it really wasn’t him. Rather than wanting to find the culprit, though, Slughorn found the spell to be quite amusing and unfortunately Snape still had to serve the detentions with the other professors.

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was scheduled the second Saturday of the month, and Hermione decided to take advantage of the opportunity to visit. Filch greeted the students at the castle doors with a familiar list of approved attendees. She followed the other students down the path to the castle gates and then further around the bend of the lake into the village, not necessarily falling into line with anyone, but not setting herself too far apart from the group. Remus had invited her to walk down with him and the rest of the Marauders, but she had declined. She had her own errands to run and though she could tolerate their presence for short periods of time, did not wish to spend the entire day around James and Sirius. She did promise to catch up for a drink later in the day, though.

Hogsmeade had such a different feel when students were set loose on the village, and she found it a comfort that it didn’t feel much different than it did in her time. The same jokes were being purchased from Zonko’s, the same girls were crowded around the robe shops, and nearly all the tables at the Three Broomsticks were crammed with students and steins of butterbeer, with Rosmerta behind the counter happily serving them all, buxom as ever. There were even groups of third years tentatively walking up the path that led to the Shrieking Shack, winding each other up with stories of the different ghosts who inhabited the meager little building. If anything so far made her truly feel at home, this was it.

She stopped into the apothecary to scribble down prices and to inquire on the availability of some ingredients. She was hoping to begin to brew soon, though she was still working on some formulas for potions. It was there that she first spotted Snape. His eyes had caught hers through the shop window as she was inspecting some snake skins hanging on display. He was with a group of fellow Slytherins, and they seemed to be discussing where to go, each of them gesturing in different directions. She quickly averted her gaze back to the display, pretending to be appraising a particularly vibrant boomslang skin. When she next looked up, they were gone.

She made her way to Tomes and Scrolls, and browsed their selection of books, only to find disappointment. Their medicinal potions section was lacking, and there was nothing that the Hogwarts Library didn’t already have. She wandered around the village a bit longer before decided to head to the inn to meet the Marauders. When she got to the Three Broomsticks, she spotted them quickly in the large booth next to the door. Remus looked genuinely pleased to see her.

“Jean!” He moved to make room for her. “You’ve made it. What do you think of Hogsmeade?”

“It’s lovely,” she replied. “I can’t wait to see what it’s like covered with snow.”

“Hopefully we’ll still be able to have weekends by then. Have you seen the Prophet?” Lily asked.

Conversation turned to Voldemort’s latest maneuver: a recruitment drive in Norwich which left a number of wizards dead.

It was difficult not to be fascinated by their discussion on the events. There really were wizards -- Sirius’ brother, for example -- who really, wholeheartedly believed that Voldemort was the best future for wizarding Britain. In her time, it was all about blood purity. In this time, though, there was much more to it than just blood purity -- there was a desire to regain a mythical world and culture that had been lost since muggleborns had been allowed to infiltrate the ranks of wizards.

Peter had mentioned an uncle of his who had voiced his support, believing that muggles somehow stole their magic from wizards.

James gave him an appalled look, putting his arm around Lily. “I hope you told him he’s an idiot,” he replied.

Peter stammered over his response. “Erm -- no -- no -- family --”

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. “Family? Who cares! If they think like that, you have no use for them in your life. Adopt a new family like the Potters. I did.”

Peter blushed furiously and took a swig of his butterbeer.

“You’re awfully quiet, Granger,” James observed, turning his gaze upon her. “You’re not a supporter, are you?”

“No -- never.” She shook her head firmly.

“That’s my girl,” Sirius raised his butterbeer to her and drank. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“No, I’m recruiting Jean to join me in the harnessing of pureblood wizard’s magic,” Lily joked. “As a muggleborn, I’m gathering my own army.”

The table descended into laughter once more and the conversation continued, covering all range of subjects until it was near curfew.

“Shall we head back then?” Hermione suggested, rising from her seat and stretching.

“I dunno. We could make it a late evening. We have other means of returning,” James replied, winking at Hermione.

Lily rolled her eyes. “You boys can do what you like. Wait for me, Jean,” she climbed over James to join her.

The girls chatted easily on their way back to the castle. Lily inquired how Hermione was finding the work and classes, commending her on some of her spellwork she had seen. They were just coming up behind a group of Slytherin boys who were walking along at a dawdle.

Snape, again!

“Come on,” Lily gestured around the boys, linking her arm through Hermione’s. They outstripped them, and when they heard taunting whistles from the group behind them, Lily turned and rolled her eyes.

“Do you really not like Slytherins?” Hermione asked.

Lily hesitated in her answer. “I used to.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I found out that there’s a stereotype about the house for a reason.”

Hermione was taken aback by Lily’s comment. “Oh. Surely not all Slytherins can be bad.”

“I thought so, too -- but then I was proven wrong. They feed off one another, Jean -- around their housemates, they’re just the same as the rest of them.” Lily finished her claim with a tone of finality. Hermione was sure that it was something to do with Snape that caused her opinion to change. When Harry recounted Snape’s memories, he had just said they had a falling out, but he hadn’t said what caused it.

Hermione didn’t know how to respond. She was getting tired of the anti-Slytherin sentiment that seemed to run rampant in their house. She was thankful that the crunching of the gravel beneath her shoes filled the silence and decided to say the first thing that popped to mind. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Lily shrugged. “It was an experience, and I’ve learned from it. That’s what life’s for, right?”

Hermione nodded, thankful for the warmth of the castle as they entered the large front doors. There were lovely smells coming from the direction of the Great Hall.

“Smells delicious, doesn’t it? I’m sure dinner will be nicer than whatever the boys will be able to scrounge up for themselves.” She unhooked her arm from Hermione’s. “I’m off to put these into the Tower. I’ll see you in there.” She gestured to the parcels under her arm and waved her off.

It was nearly Halloween before Hermione would allow herself to step outside to check the progress of Hagrid’s pumpkins. She didn’t dare go up and speak to the groundskeeper himself. She knew that he would be one person who would remember her from the past and not let it go. However, knowing that he was carrying on as normal helped ease some of the homesickness that was beginning to feel.

She walked up the path towards his hut, but stopped short and circled around the Whomping Willow toward the Forbidden Forest and back toward the lake and the greenhouses.

Hermione saw Snape’s hunched form under a tree next to the lake, almost comically curled over the book in his lap, a far cry from the stiff and prim posture he exhibited in his later years. She had grown used to seeing him like this in the library.

She deposited herself on a sunny patch of grass not far from him, trying to take advantage of the rare October sunshine before the skies inevitably went grey for weeks on end. As much as she loved the Hogwarts Library, it didn’t provide much fresh air, and it was nice to get some every once in a while.

Hermione pulled out her Potions text, intending to skim over the work for the next week and wondered if he was doing the same. After a few moments, though, she ended up watching him. It didn’t take her long to realise that he wasn’t reading at all. She followed his gaze to a pair of figures weaving their way alongside the lake: James Potter and Lily Evans.

Oh. Oh.

If she hadn’t known about his relationship with Lily Evans previously, she would have wondered if he even knew she existed at all, but once she started paying attention, it was obvious that he was always painfully aware of her presence. In shared classes, he always sat the furthest away from her as possible, usually angling himself away from her. She also noticed that he made a point of never looking in her direction, and he never faced her head-on at mealtimes.

Her heart went out to him and she felt slightly embarrassed to have caught him in such an unguarded moment.

She saw his eyes move away from the pair and back towards the forest. She quickly averted her gaze, doing her best to focus on the text lying open on her lap, but her thoughts wandered to her life over the past two months.

Her first few months around students at Hogwarts had gone more smoothly than she had anticipated. She was worried about fitting in, being an odd member out when everyone else had attending Hogwarts for a number of years, but almost everyone was genuinely welcoming and she was easily included in conversations over mealtimes in the Great Hall. And, although she was interacting with them more than she anticipated, she found the Marauders were not difficult to deal with at all. They weren’t best friends with her, but she wasn’t obviously excluded from their interactions, either.

She had even entered into a kind of silent camaraderie with Snape. They had entered a silent battle for the table in the library. She would dash off first thing after breakfast to find him already there, smirking as she passed him to take up the next table. If she made it first, he would sniff loudly as he passed before heavily placing his rucksack on the table. Madam Pince had to come over and threaten him at one point because it had created such a loud clatter.

They continued sitting next to one another in Potions as well, with Hermione thankfully doing better this time around than she did her first time through her sixth year. Slughorn had even asked her to remain after class and informed her about the Slug Club, which he hoped to organise a meeting for very soon.

She was thinking how best to approach the Slug Club meeting when she saw the squat figure of Professor Sprout making her way across the grounds from the Forbidden Forest to the greenhouses. Hermione jumped up, tucking her book away in her bag quickly and taking off toward her. She wanted to speak to her about mandrakes. They were usually sprouts this time of year, and Hermione wanted to get an estimate of when they would be ready.

She knocked on the door of greenhouse four where she could see Professor Sprout’s hat peeking over the top of some particularly bulbous looking mimbulus mimbletonia.

“Yes?”

“Professor Sprout! So sorry to bother you, but I’m doing an independent research project on restorative potions when combined with charms. This is with Dumbledore’s permission of course, and I was just wondering -- mandrakes. Do you have any this year? I know it’s standard second year herbology, but I understand that sometimes there are blights and --”

“Oh, yes, yes of course! Come with me and we’ll look at them!” Sprout interrupted her eagerly. She grabbed a pair of earmuffs from a rack as they passed and proudly showed off the newly potted mandrakes. “They’re coming along swimmingly -- look at this one! It’s growing quite the barnet!”

They spent the next few minutes cooing over them through their earmuffs, Hermione nodding along enthusiastically to Professor Sprout’s exuberant gesturing.

When Hermione eventually divested herself of her earmuffs and made her way out of the greenhouse, she found Severus Snape hovering near the doorway..

“You dropped this.” He held out a parchment toward her.

She took it from him and unrolled it. They were her research notes -- information on the possible combinations of ingredients and charms that could be applied. When she opened them, there were a few blots of ink on the paper, as though she had hesitated before writing something. “Oh -- thank you! I hadn’t even realized I had dropped it. Thank you, Severus -- I really appreciate it.”

His eyes darted toward the parchment and he opened his mouth as though to say something, though he seemed to think better of it and quickly snapped it shut. He nodded at her, turned on his heel and walked back towards the entrance hall.

Hermione fought the urge to run after him to find out what he had wanted to stay to her. He had read her notes, he had even stopped himself from writing something on it and left the evidence of it. Severus Snape was quite possibly paying as much attention to her as she was to him. Hermione couldn’t help but beam in triumph.

Chapter Text

November blew in cold and snowy, and it wasn’t just the weather that was making Hermione fidgety. She had only planned to be in the past for six months at the least and she had already been here nearly half that. And, although she was often close in proximity to him, she felt no nearer to getting to know Snape than when she first arrived. On top of it all, as much as she hated to admit it, she really had not made some good decisions.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed at how easily she had brushed off some of the consequences of her choices. Being placed in Gryffindor house, for example. Things would have been so much easier if she had just asked Dumbledore to be in Hufflepuff -- or even Ravenclaw. She was too close to the Marauders, although it seemed that everyone who came into contact with them could not help but get caught up in their sphere. James and Sirius’ popularity rivaled the Weasley twins.

And, unfortunately, Hermione had fallen into the dangerous habit of excusing every interaction with them. Going for a drink with them at the Three Broomsticks, for example, and then engaging with Remus every time he sat down next to her in the common room or library to revise. She was thankful for the company, but really, she would have to try to put a stop to it.

And Lily -- Lily was impossible to avoid. First, there were only four of them in the dorm which meant that avoiding interaction was impossible, but second, Lily also took her prefect duties seriously and was constantly checking on Hermione and how she was getting along. Hermione couldn’t help but be a bit forgiving towards her as she reminded her so much of herself. Lily was a top student in many of her classes and was clearly a favorite student of many professors -- Professor Flitwick and Slughorn among them.

Slughorn’s praise of Lily was abundant and borderline embarrassing at times. If Hermione hadn’t already been aware of how much Slughorn thought of Lily Evans, she would have thought he was infatuated with her. She didn’t know how Snape could stand it, especially as their friendship had only recently ended. Slughorn was always boasting to the class about how well Lily’s potions looked -- even if Snape’s were clearly superior.

And, to be completely honest, she would have given up and gone back home if Snape had not intrigued her so much. Her eyes kept searching him out at mealtimes, in the library, and tucked in the back of shared classes. No matter what he was doing or working on, she was always well aware of where he was and how he was progressing. He was quick to master everything in Defense Against the Dark Arts (although it was clear that he had encountered some of the spells before), Potions he could go through with his eyes closed, and Hermione noticed with some satisfaction that when their homework was collected, his scrolls were just as tightly filled and footnoted as her own used to be, and just as long. They were nearly identical students, or at least they would be if she were allowing herself to perform to her full potential. How funny that he should later call her an insufferable know-it-all when he was just as much of one as she was.

Hermione suppressed a smile as she entered the Transfiguration classroom and saw Snape already seated towards the back, his roll of parchment on human transfiguration at least twice as long as her own. McGonagall was seated on her desk at the front of the room in her animagus form, watching them all as they entered and took their seats. When class began, she transformed back to some applause and began to lecture on the various types of spells before setting them to task. They needed to change some aspect of their appearance by the end of the class.

“Oh, good. Snivellus can give himself a new nose,” Sirius whispered to James, who gave him a mischievous smile. He glanced over at Hermione to see if she heard his joke. Hermione glared at him.

“What?” he shrugged at her.

“It’s not very nice to comment on people’s physical appearance. One can’t help how they look just as much as you can’t help having an arse for a head,” she hissed.

Remus had to clasp his hand over his mouth to hide his laughter.

Thankfully, McGonagall’s attention had been monopolized by two Ravenclaws asking for clarification on the task and she hadn’t heard. Sirius looked indignant.

Hermione, familiar with the spell already, did her best to appear to struggle before she gave herself pointed ears. Sirius had worked on lengthening his nose, which gave him a comical look and caused everyone around him to laugh. James had turned his hair blonde. Lily had succeeded in taking away most of her freckles, and Peter managed to give himself whiskers.

“Oh, Wormtail,” sighed Remus, who had changed his eye color to a brilliant blue. “I can help you later tonight.” Peter looked exceptionally grateful.

“He technically succeeded,” offered Lily.

“Yes, but I don’t think whiskers in humans are common,” Remus replied.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. A few of the Slytherins were giggling at one another. One was sporting a pig snout, and another had rainbow hair.

“Settle down, settle down,” said McGonagall, bringing the class to attention. “I’m happy to see most of you have been successful.” She gave a few pointed looks around the room. “I would like two feet of parchment on the practical application of human transfiguration by the time we next meet. Class dismissed.”

“Ooh, look at you, Snivellus -- hoping to attract some attention?” remarked Sirius on the way out of the class once they were out of earshot of McGonagall. “Shame you didn’t do anything about that beak of yours --”

“Shut your mouth, Black, or I’ll shut it for you,” growled Snape. Hermione glanced behind her where she could see students begin to make a wide berth around the pair. Snape was gripping his wand tightly at his side, the green eyes he had given himself during their lesson looking unnaturally bright in such a dark look.

“Oh really, Snape?” James pulled out his wand. Hermione had to fight herself not to interfere. She gripped the tapestry behind her in anticipation of what was going to happen.

“You guys are idiots -- McGonagall is just inside --” admonished Lily as she stepped forward, grabbing James’ arm and trying to pull him away.

“Oscausi.” Snape barely lifted his wand from his side to cast the curse, removing James’ mouth from his face. Hermione swallowed back a gasp. While not an unforgivable, it was still Dark Magic that was once used to starve people to death.

Lily glared at Snape, and something passed between them. Snape’s eyes appeared to soften as they turned toward her, almost pleading in their expression. “Professor McGonagall!” she shouted, just as Sirius aimed his wand at Snape and shouted “Conjectio,” throwing Snape against the stone wall with a sickening thud.

McGonagall rushed out of the classroom, and when she surveyed the scene, gave an exasperated sigh. “Why am I not surprised?” she flicked her wand at James, and his mouth reappeared. “Twenty points from Gryffindor from each of you, and you, Snape,” she turned to assess his figure slumped against the wall. “Off to the hospital wing with you, and that will be twenty points as well from Slytherin.”

Snape couldn’t suppress his groan as he tried to get up, his eyes wincing in pain from the effort. “You two,” McGonagall motioned to a pair of Slytherins standing nearby. “Help him.”

As they lifted him and headed off in the direction of the hospital wing, everyone else began to scatter and head off toward lunch. Hermione was thankful she didn’t have another class. She felt such an incredible amount of anger on behalf of Snape. Tears welled in her eyes with the effort to suppress it, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she caused some accidental magic. Sirius and James were no better than Malfoy had been toward her and Harry and Ron -- winding them up for no reason, making snide remarks about their backgrounds and looks. No wonder Snape was so indifferent when Malfoy had caused her teeth to grow. She was still hurt over his reaction, of course, but in the long run it worked out in her favor.

However, Snape didn’t do himself any favors, rising to their bait. He couldn’t resist engaging if they caught him. She noticed that he did try his best to stay out of their way, but it still wasn’t enough to escape their attention. It was almost as though they were hunting for him exclusively.

It was two days before Snape was released from the hospital wing.

She first saw him in the library after dinner that evening, seated at the table they competed for, surrounded by stacks of books. Unfortunately, after she had taken her own seat, Remus entered the library and took up residence across from her, earning a glare from Snape. Hermione braced herself for some sort of outburst, but when he saw that Remus was intent on working, he turned back to his parchment.

They worked in silence for a while, the pile of books on Remus’ side of the table growing taller with as he made his way through that week’s work. Hermione had reached an impasse with her own and kept glancing at Snape’s table longingly. He had taken out two of the books that she wanted to reference for her Transfiguration essay. She pulled out her notes for her research on memory spells and charms to read through while she waited.

Remus, taking her movement as a sign of distraction, cleared his throat. “Are you attending the Yule Ball?”

Hermione could see a quill at the next table over pause in its writing.

“Is there going to be one? Why?” She finished making a note on the proper wrist motion for a charm before meeting his eyes. She had heard the girls mention a ball casually, but thought it had something to do with the Slug Club.

“There’s one every year for fourth years and above -- it’s tradition.”

“Oh. I don’t recall reading that in Hogwarts: A History.” Hermione furrowed her brow. “I didn’t see it mentioned in Amrose Swott’s memoirs of being Headmaster, either, or in the Compendium of Hogwarts Ghosts.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s been a consistent thing to be honest… I know it started with this thing they used to do called the Triwizard Tournament to foster good international wizarding relationships, and I think they just enjoyed it so much they’ve kept it going.” He waved his hand mildly with his explanation and finished with a small shrug.

“I hadn’t considered it, to be honest. I could go -- it might be fun. Are you going?” Would it look odd if she were the only student over third year not going?

“I’m going to try. My mother wants me home for a few days because my brother is visiting -- I hope I can make it back in time.” He gave her a wry smile. The Yule Ball was on the 10th of December, but the full moon was on the 6th. It depended on how well he recovered.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile in return. “Maybe I’ll see you there, then.” She was about to turn back to her work when he spoke again.

“Sirius is planning on asking you, I think.” There was teasing tone in his voice now, and a mischievous look in his eyes.

Hermione scoffed. “I may ask Alfie if he wants to escort me, then. I would sooner go with a Hippogriff than Sirius Black.”

Remus chuckled lightly. “I’ll do my best to discourage him for you.” He turned back to his work. Hermione could see Snape twisting his quill at the table next to them, his eyes focused on Remus before resuming his own writing.

It could be fun, she thought. She had enjoyed the Yule Ball she attended with Krum, despite Ron’s abysmal behavior, and who didn’t enjoy seeing the castle done up to the fullest? It would be nice to see the Marauders and Lily at their best as well. Her opinion of James and Sirius hadn’t improved since their confrontation with Snape in the corridor, but as they were her best friend’s father and uncle, she desperately wanted to see them at their best. She wanted something to be able to share with Harry when she returned to her time.

She pushed thoughts of the Yule Ball to the back of her head and turned back to her research.

She had nearly finished reading up on everything in the Charms section of the library regarding memory charms, and felt when they finally approached the subject in Flitwick’s class that she would probably be able to teach the class.

Memory Charms could easily be broken, but only if the memory was superficial. For example, if the caster wanted the subject to forget something small like a lie they had told, it would only take a simple reversal charm for that to be undone. In the case of Bertha Jorkins, for example, Mr. Crouch was desperate to keep his son a secret, and cast it with more intensity than it maybe needed, rendering her memory and the rest of her mind faulty. The charm was then broken under intense torture under Voldemort. So, lost memories could be accessed under extreme circumstances, but Hermione definitely did not want to try that method.

Gilderoy Lockhart, though, who was an expert at casting memory charms, had permanently damaged his own memory when his spell backfired, and there had been no cure for him despite years of treatment, though Hermione wasn’t sure if anyone had dissuaded St. Mungo’s from pursuing this issue considering Gilderoy seemed perfectly content signing his pictures and being taken care of.

What was it about torture that caused the brain to give up information? Also, she didn’t use obliviate -- she used a variant that altered memories. It’s just that the original memories couldn’t be accessed and restored. How did amnesiacs regain their memories? How did the brain erase or hide traumatic memories? Surely Hogwarts had a section on the human brain -- magic was such an integral part of it. She jumped up and walked into the bookstacks so quickly that she startled Remus into spilling ink on his parchment, causing him to mutter a quick “tergeo” under his breath.

Hermione had never had the Hogwarts Library fail her when it came to researching magical subjects, but she was disappointed in the range of medical tomes that were spread across a single shelf, and only one of them included information on the brain. She grabbed as many as her arms could carry, and two psychology books as well.

“Studying to become a mediwitch?” asked Remus when she placed the books on their shared table.

She began to examine the table of contents of the largest. “No. But do you know if there are any books here to prepare one for it?” She wanted to get through these tonight, and searching on her own would take too long.

Remus shrugged. “I’m sure Madam Pince would be able to answer that.”

Hermione shook her head. “Madam Pince would keep every single book out of the hands of students if she could.”

“That’s a fair point,” replied Remus. “Sorry I can’t be more help.” He turned back to his essay.

Hermione wasn’t sure when Remus and Snape left, but she was very aware when Madam Pince cleared her throat very loudly right next to her ear. She had filled several rolls of parchment just on the brain and memory and how memories were formed.

When she began heading back to Gryffindor Tower, she passed a Hufflepuff that quickly exited an alcove, and then could have sworn she saw Snape follow close behind.

Another Hogsmeade weekend was upon them before she knew it. The streets were much different than they had been last month: everything was covered with a light dusting of snow as they had had an exceptionally cold week the week before. The shops were well aware that there was going to be a Yule Ball at Hogwarts and were excitedly advertising all sorts of goods in their windows, tempting students inside with promises that they could help them look their best. Pubs had begun to sell elf-made mulled wine. There was energy, there was spirit, there was happiness and laughter. No one paid attention to the few shops that had been boarded up, and happily patronised the ones who chose to stick out the war.

Gladrags was absolutely full to bursting with seemingly every female student in Hogwarts when Hermione passed it -- something she would need to attend to before the end of the day if she was going to attend the ball herself. She elected for a quieter beginning to her morning: a stop in Scrivenshafts to purchase some new quills (all her nibs had been worn down) and then to Tomes & Scrolls to read up on some journals (although the Hogwarts library had thousands of books, there was not much access to current journals and research). She planned to stop in Dogweed and & Deathcap as well. She needed to pick up some additional ingredients if she was going to begin brewing soon.

The clerk at Tomes & Scrolls was sympathetic to her search and though they didn’t have anything helpful in stock, promised to make some inquiries into the best books on the brain and memory. She stopped in Honeydukes and Zonko’s as well, remembering that she had promised the second years some gifts from Hogsmeade.

It was when she was perusing the shelves at Dogweed & Deathcap that she heard a voice beside her that startled her into nearly dropping a jar of small white flowers.

“You know, you can get fresher moly elsewhere,” Snape whispered to her, side eyeing the attendant behind the counter. “Whatever you’re doing -- it’s probably best at its freshest.”

Hermione gave him an inquisitive look.

“Your notes -- I saw --” he stammered, having the courtesy to avert his eyes from her when he acknowledged he had read her notes. “Your research.”

“Oh! Yes, that. Well,” she set the bundle of dried flowers back on the shelf. “I have been making do with what I have access to.” Not that she had actually started brewing anything, but that was what she had hoped to do. She may delay her plans further if she could bring him into her research -- not only would he be helpful, but she felt a small sense of triumph in the fact that he was interested, and not only that -- he approached her about it! This was her opportunity.

“Some grow in the Forest,” he replied, meeting her eyes again.

She gave him a small smile. “I think the whole point of that area is that it’s Forbidden.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “It’s just because people don’t know what they’re doing. I can get some for you,” he glanced at the price on the label of the jar. Seven sickles an ounce. “Six sickles, and it’ll be fresh. Much better.”

Hermione appraised him. She tilted her head towards the door, gesturing for them to exit the shop. “Do you often hang around apothecaries to undercut their prices?” she asked once they had stepped out onto the high street.

Snape had the decency to look embarrassed -- his cheeks, already pink from the biting cold, almost turned red.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course,” she added quickly. “Shall we shake on it, or can I buy you a drink?” She crossed her fingers that he would say yes. This was the first time that he had bothered to make conversation with her and she wanted to extend it for as long as she could.

His eyes darted up the high street where she could see a large group of Gryffindors loitering outside the Three Broomsticks. She could spot a glossy mane of red hair and a head of messy black hair among them. “How about the Hogs Head?” he suggested.

The walked in silence towards the inn, weaving through alleys and gaps between shops until they reached the shabby looking building with its rickety sign. She gave a small wave to Aberforth as they entered and after they had found a table, removing their coats. Hermione ordered them two butterbeers. While they weren’t as fresh as the pints she had previously had at the Three Broomsticks (Hermione suspected the regular clientele here preferred stronger beverages), they still tasted refreshing and warming.

“Where are your usual companions today?” she inquired. Snape, if he wasn’t alone, was often in the presence of a group of Slytherins, two in particular, who at first appeared vaguely familiar to Hermione and she had learned to identify as Avery and Mulciber.

He rolled his eyes. “Dunderheads were stupid enough to get detention.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. She had witnessed him earn himself at least three detentions so far this year.

“I’m given detentions for defending myself. I never do anything to actually deserve them. Or if I do, I don’t get caught,” he protested. “Why aren’t you with yours?”

“My babysitters, you mean?” she asked. “I’m fairly certain that Professor McGonagall has assigned them to shadow me and make sure that I’m settling in alright.” His lips curled upwards in amusement and he seemed to relax at her words.

They took sips from their respective flagons and observed the other occupants of the pub. There was a particularly grubby looking wizard tucked away in a corner reading a copy of Transfiguration Today. There were two goblins speaking in low voices, and a group of wizards in rather garish outfits playing some sort of card game. Hermione heard a goat bleating from somewhere outside.

“You’re doing work on healing potions,” probed Snape, tracing his finger around the rim of his stein of butterbeer.

“I am,” she agreed.

“But we aren’t studying healing potions in class.” He let his eyes rest on her, staring at her intently. It had been so long since she met his gaze directly that she forgot how unsettling it was.

“No, we aren’t, really. It’s an independent project I’m working on,” explained Hermione.

“I see. I didn’t know we could do that. Are you pursuing an apprenticeship?” He leaned toward her eagerly.

“No, no, not really,” she shook her head. “Potions aren’t really my passion.”

She knew she was winding him up. He wanted more information, and she was deliberately being evasive. They both took sips of their butterbeers again and watched as Hagrid walked into the pub and ordered three pints before taking a seat at a table with some faces that were obviously familiar to him.

“Are you going to pursue an apprenticeship?” she inquired.

He shrugged. Oh, no. He was withdrawing again. Maybe she should have provided more information. His attention had drifted to the table Hagrid had seated himself at.

She needed to draw his attention back to her. “I really appreciate that offer of the moly. If I need anything else, what do you have access to?”

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a ghost of a smile. “More than you probably think I do. Just let me know, and you’ll have it. For a price, of course.” As he spoke, something clicked in Hermione’s head. The meetings she had seen with other students, the hiding away in alcoves, the tucking away of potions ingredients. He was running his own apothecary. How extensive was it?

“Oh really? Swooping evil venom, for example?” There was a challenge.

“Well, maybe not that much… What exactly is it you’re brewing, again?” His eyes narrowed at her.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure quite yet, it’s a bit experimental... ” she trailed off, hoping that he would push her again for an answer. If she could draw him in...

“Just let me know,” he reminded her, growing distracted by Hagrid’s booming laugh from the corner.

Damn. They fell into silence again, each taking sips from their steins. She spent the next few minutes trying to think of another way to tempt him into her potions research when he turned his attention to her once more. “The Hogwarts Library, by the way -- there is a section for medical care. It’s by that bust of Boris the Bewildered.”

At her confused expression, he continued to explain, “I heard you ask the other day.”

Ah, he had been listening, of course. “Thank you. That transfiguration you did the other day. That was really skillful -- it’s difficult to change eye color.”

He sat up and pulled back his shoulders, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Nothing a skillful wizard or witch can’t do.”

“That explains why Potter and Black couldn’t do it,” she replied with a smirk.

His eyes narrowed at her mention of them. “Too bad the professors don’t notice that.”

“No, but I do. Idiots, the two of them.” She replied firmly, hoping that her answer was enough reassurance that though they occupied the same house, she wanted little to do with the two of them.

He gave her an appraising look. She returned it.

He reached over the table and extended his hand toward her. “Shall we shake on it, then?”

Her hand met his, and his long fingers grasped hers firmly. They were rough against her own. “Agreed.”

Hermione expressed her thanks and they finished their butterbeers in silence before grabbing their coats. “I’m really glad I ran into you, Severus,” she blurted out, hoping that being outright nice towards him would break the ice even further.

He looked around her awkwardly, surveying the clientele of the pub before speaking again.

“I look forward to your business,” he responded.

She couldn’t help but laugh as they began to kick the sawdust off their shoes. “I’ll see you later,” she replied. They parted ways, Snape making his way back to the castle and Hermione making her way to Gladrags, hoping that the gaggle of girls had cleared out.

The Monday following the Hogsmeade weekend, Hermione happily took her seat next to Snape in Potions. He seemed more obliging in her company as well. They were brewing a shrinking solution, and it wasn’t long before Hermione noticed that he wasn’t following the recipe. She knew that he most likely hadn’t been before, but he had been very secretive about his brewing, often hiding what he was doing while they both prepared their potions. Now it was laid bare before her. He had made numerous notes in his potions textbook, and this copy was the one that would eventually fall into Harry’s hands in their sixth year. Where her caterpillars were whole, his were sliced. Where her shrivelfigs were juiced, his were peeled.

She knew he could sense her watching him and that she was becoming annoyed at their differences in preparation. He smirked at her furrowed brow, her huffs of frustration and curiosity. Although she knew that it would be fine, the fact that he was not following the given directions irked her. She had to keep reminding herself to keep her eyes on her own potion -- if brewed incorrectly, it would be poisonous, and she didn’t want to risk it.

Once again, while their potions were heating, Severus carefully packaged his extra potions ingredients and tucked them into his rucksack. She discreetly tapped her fingers on the workstation until she caught his attention. He turned a curious eye toward her and she slid her extra ingredients toward him, keeping her eyes on her potion the whole while. He stared at her for a moment before assessing her ingredients, and finally, sweeping them into small vials.

When the potion reached a bright green, Hermione extinguished the flame under her cauldron. She noticed that Snape let his simmer for an additional five minutes, the intensity of the green growing brighter and brighter until Hermione was afraid it was going to blind them and he removed the flame as well.

“Right, that’s it! You should be finishing up now, please bottle your potions and bring them to the front of the room,” Slughorn’s voice boomed over the class as people began stirring their potions with fervor, desperately trying to hurry it to turn the right shade. Hermione bottled hers and when she brought it to the front of the class, Slughorn requested she stay behind.

“Another brilliantly perfect potion, Mr. Snape!” he boasted as Severus placed his bottle on the desk before him. “Will I be seeing you this Saturday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good -- there are a number of notable potioneers I’m desperate to introduce you to, I’ve told them all about you, my boy, and they’re eager to meet you,” he winked at him.

Severus inclined his head and made his way out of the class.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” he said. “I spoke to you before about my private dinners? I’m having a little get-together on Saturday evening. Nothing formal, just a few old students of mine are dropping by for a visit, and I thought it would be good to invite some of my best students to meet them. I would be more than pleased if you would show up.”

“Oh! Yes,” replied Hermione, recalling that he had spoken to her before. She had promised that she would attend.

“Saturday evening, then! Looking forward to seeing you there!”

Horace Slughorn’s rooms hadn’t changed much in the twenty years between her visits. There were still boxes of crystalized pineapple stacked next to numerous photos of himself and his students. He must have replaced them as new people rose to the forefront of their fields and the front pages of the Daily Prophet.

Lily had quickly learned that she was invited, so they made their way down together. “Slughorn told me to make sure you attended -- I’m sorry,” Lily gave an apologetic smile. “These really are lovely meetings, as uncomfortable as they are. I mean, it is nice to network, and you do meet lots of interesting people,” she explained. “Just grab yourself a drink, and he’ll make his way over to you at some point with someone he wants to introduce you to.”

So they did. Slughorn, thankfully, was occupied when they entered, so they grabbed a glass of pumpkin juice each and Lily, unfortunately was off within moments. “Just spotted Bathilda Bagshot -- sorry -- I really wanted to ask her a question, I’ll be right back!”

Hermione stood against the nearest wall and took in her surroundings. There were Lily and Bathilda -- Hermione recognized her from their brief and horrifying encounter at Godric’s Hollow. There were a few Quidditch players who were having a chat with a group of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. She didn’t know who they were, nor did she care, but their Quidditch robes made them stand out. Over in the corner, she saw Severus seated at a low table with another Slytherin who could only be Regulus Black.

Hermione moved towards their table. The boys stopped their conversation and lifted their eyes to her as she approached.

“Did you need something?” Regulus’ eyebrow raised at her. “Are you serving drinks?”

“Erm, no, I guess not -- sorry. I just thought --” stammered Hermione, taken aback by Regulus’ outright rudeness.

Regulus rolled his eyes at her and turned back to Snape. “Slughorn needs to get his priorities straight.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but Hermione turned away and walked over to join Lily. She could feel heat rise to her face from embarrassment and anger. She didn’t expect to be met with outright prejudice -- especially at a gathering like this. She took a deep breath and did her best to concentrate on the conversation going on next to her.

“I really love that you reside in Godric’s Hollow, because that’s where he’s meant to have lived, right? That’s so fascinating.” Lily was gushing at Bathilda Bagshot.

“Yes, yes, dear, it really is. There are so many sites in the village that muggles just pass right by. There’s a lovely old oak that has been split in two, that’s where Godric had a fierce duel with Salazar Slytherin, they say. There’s just so much wizarding history there,” replied Bathilda. How could Harry and Hermione have been so fooled by Nagini? This woman was animated, alive, and engaging.

“My boyfriend comes from that area, I think. Perhaps you know them -- the Potter’s? He couldn’t be here tonight -- detention, unfortunately,” Lily shook her head in annoyance.

“Oh yes! I’m not surprised -- James Potter, always zooming through the village on his broomstick. I’m sure he causes just as much of a fuss here as he does at home. But his family own one of the largest estates, of course -- they have so much land, and the locals are used to all the unusual going-on’s of course, they just wave it off in exchange for being able to have a picnic twice a year on the grounds. I hear Sirius Black is living with them now.”

“Yes -- they’re really inseparable.” Lily finally seemed to realize that Hermione was standing at her elbow. “Oh, Jean! I’m so sorry -- this is Bathilda Bagshot. I was just talking to her of Godric’s Hollow. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I have, near Cornwall, is it? Is it were the Perevell’s are buried?”

“That’s exactly right! Ancestors of the Potter’s. You do know your wizarding history,” complimented Bathilda.

“I learned it from you, of course,” replied Hermione, raising her glass of pumpkin juice in reverence towards the older woman.

Thankfully Slughorn joined them. “So lovely to see you ladies -- all of you! Bathilda, you must have met Lily before, yes, yes, and do you know Miss Granger?” Slughorn dropped into boasting about Hermione’s potions skills, and she couldn’t help blushing.

After he left, Hermione floated around the room, and, when everyone was indulged in conversation, took the opportunity to slip out unnoticed.

She didn’t know if she would be doing that again. The Slug Club in her time was painful. The Slug Club during Voldemort’s first rising was downright uncomfortable. Slughorn was unafraid to play both sides, where at least the second time around he knew he had to align himself with Dumbledore, or at least keep up the appearances of doing so. Hermione began to make her back to the Gryffindor common room when she heard a voice from an alcove that housed Gwendolyn the Gifted.

“He shouldn’t have said that.”

“Merlin!” she jumped. Severus Snape was lazily leaning against the wall of the alcove, his arms crossed.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” he asked.

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip. “No, not really.”

“Everyone treats it like it’s this especially important thing, but it isn’t. It’s just a bunch of us sitting around while he glories and basks in the limelight of his student’s accomplishments,” he sounded exasperated and Hermione nodded along to his assessment. “Granger, I just wanted to say --”

“You can’t apologize for others. He meant it.”

“It doesn’t change that he shouldn’t have said it.” He was still, so still, that if it weren’t for the white of his face he would have blended into the background of the dark stone completely.

“No,” agreed Hermione.

“I don’t feel that way,” he asserted. His voice wavered with his words, though, and Hermione suddenly realised that he was nervous.

“I’m sorry that you share the company of those who do,” she stared at him for a moment and then continued on her way to Gryffindor Tower, regretting the words the moment they left her mouth and hoping that she just hadn’t ruined the gentle camaraderie they had formed.

Hermione felt annoyed with Snape but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It’s not like she shouldn’t have expected this. Snape was a Death Eater. He kept company with Death Eaters. Death Eaters didn’t hide their feelings about those they felt were inferior to them - Draco and Lucius Malfoy made that clear.

But he did apologize. And she knew Regulus would turn and begin to hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes, so while he may have meant it now, he was going to have an epiphany at some point and sacrifice his life for it.

She felt bad for how she left things with Snape in the corridor. He did try to apologise. He must have been waiting for her as well. Why else would he be holed up in an alcove? And, while they didn’t have the years of friendship to support this apology, it still showed that he was consciously making an effort to correct any sort of behavioral mishap. And besides, Snape had only known her for a matter of months -- what did it matter to him if she was offended or not (unless he didn’t want to lose her business, of course -- she had promised she would utilize him as a potions supplier).

She didn’t sleep well that evening. The old nightmares returned with a vengeance, but she had gotten into the habit of casting a silencing charm on her curtains in case something like this happened. She thankfully didn’t wake up screaming, but she was still shaken by the voice from the Horcrux promising her that she would fail.

She couldn’t help wishing that Ron and Harry were here. She was beginning to miss them terribly. Over the past few months she had just convinced herself that their lack of presence was no different than if they were on summer holidays or away at Auror training, but at least she would have been able to owl them. Their absence was really setting in and starting to strike her. She knew they wouldn’t have been able to provide much advice for the Snape situation, but they always did seem to have a way of triggering her brain to recall some obscure reference she had come across or connecting dots that she wouldn’t have been able to on her own.

Unfortunately, as Monday rolled around, it became clear to Hermione that Snape had taken to being somewhat distant once more.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore and McGonagall were kind enough to squeeze in another Hogsmeade weekend the first weekend of December in preparation for the Yule Ball and Christmas, and Hermione was glad for it. She had been a little depressed since Slughorn’s party and hoped that the change of scenery would lift her mood. Snape wasn’t avoiding her exactly, but he had taken to treating her in the same way she noticed he treated Lily Evans. They were silent partners in Potions and in the Library, and he did not glance her way at all when they passed in the corridors. She couldn’t help but feel that although she had taken one step forward, she had taken two steps back, and all because of her big mouth.

She was invited to tag along with Lily and the Marauders, but declined in favor of a quieter trip -- they needed to stop in the wizard wear supply shops, and she wanted some time to herself. She was glad that she had picked up her dress robes the month before. When she reached the village, Gladrags was absolutely packed, and the hairdressers across the road from it was full of students picking out accessories to match their gowns. To be honest, she couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. There was something nice about seeing everybody at their best, trying to impress. She even saw a few of the professors walking around the village carrying the telltale purple wrapped parcels.

She was just about to enter Honeyduke’s when Snape’s familiar form attracted her attention. He had just exited Scrivenshaft’s and had turned in her direction. As he surveyed the high street, their eyes met and he started slightly, unsure of whether to acknowledge her or not.

“Hello,” she greeted, making the decision for him.

“Hello,” he replied. His eyes darted around her, probably looking for her housemates. She was glad she had declined their offer for company.

“Would you like to go for a drink?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You paying?”

“Yes, of course. I just need to grab something quickly. Will you wait for me?” At his nod, she entered the shop.

She pushed her way through the crowd of students ogling the wares and grabbed a few chocolate bombs full of clotted cream and strawberries before meeting him back out on the street. He was hovering awkwardly near the window.

“Where to?” she asked.

He gestured down a side street that would lead to the Hog’s Head. “Why break tradition?”

As they entered, Hermione approached the bar and Snape took a seat at their table once more. It didn’t take them long to settle in -- they had to keep their scarves on as the Hogs Head fire was not nearly as warm and welcoming as the one at the Three Broomsticks.

Snape ran his finger along the handle of his flagon, removing a thick layer of dust, seeming content with the silence between them. She knew she should be the first one to speak, really. What could he possibly have to say to her after she had dismissed him when he tried to apologise?

“I should just come out and say it, shouldn’t I? I’m sorry for the way I acted after Slughorn’s party. I do recognize that you had nothing to do with the way Black treated me. I was just a bit hurt and I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry for treating you that way.” The words came out in a rush and she nearly choked on her butterbeer with the effort of something to do after saying them.

“I know,” he responded, keeping his eyes fixed on his flagon.

She was a bit flabbergasted by his answer. She had fully expected him to tell her off in the style of his older self, or at least make her feel like the smallest, most insignificant thing on the face of the earth. She had expected to spend the next ten minutes grovelling. She hadn’t prepared for such a simple response.

“Here, I got you this. I’m not sure if you like them, but I think they’re divine, and I just thought that it would be a good way of apologizing as well.” She dropped one of the chocoballs she purchased in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, “Thank you.” He picked it up and examined it before timidly taking a bite out of it. Reassured that no ill effects were going to come from eating it, he quickly finished it while Hermione indulged in her own. She strongly suspected that had she not produced it from the Honeydukes bag that he would have declined the offering.

“Are you going to the Yule Ball?” she asked, once she had taken the last bite.

His disinterested expression quickly changed to one of exasperation, and the tops of his cheeks began to color. She noted with amusement how easily his pale skin revealed his emotions. “Unfortunately. I’m going to be glad when it’s over. It’s all anyone is speaking about.”

“Oh, are you going with anybody?” Her hands strayed to an errant curl that had fallen from her braid and she began to twist it around her fingers.

“I wasn’t aware that one needed a date to attend and spend the evening in the company of their friends.”

“Well, exactly. I’m not either,” she added. “Going with somebody, that is.”

Her admission hung awkwardly in the air between them, and Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot with the implication of her statement. She desperately hoped that he did not think she was fishing for an invitation from him.

“Have you started your brewing yet?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No, not quite. I have been testing out some charms.” She had, but it had been difficult. It was difficult to test the effect of charms when you didn’t have a proper subject. She had been conjuring small animals, but as they weren’t biologically viable, the charms didn’t have the same effect.

“Charms and potions?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I told you -- my project is a bit experimental,” she explained.

“Elaborate.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m specifically researching memories. Imagine someone being Obliviated or having their memory altered so significantly that the memory can’t be retrieved. I think a healing potion linked with a memory charm can possibly repair the link that is lost, somehow. Or at least I hope it will be.”

He lazily ran a finger along the rim of his flagon. It was almost empty. “Memory charms alongside potions for fortification or memory charms augmenting the potions themselves?”

“That’s where the experimentation comes in,” Hermione gestured emptily. “I’m starting from the ground up.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “Hmm. Well, potions are infused with magic when they’re brewed --”

“Of course, but that’s just because a witch or wizard is brewing them. If a muggle put together the same ingredients, it wouldn’t work,” she jumped in.

He nodded. “You didn’t let me finish. What I was saying was that I wasn’t sure that it would take if the potion itself was augmented by a spell as there is already a type of magic involved.”

She chewed her lip. Best not to drop the results of her illegal time travel potion experimentation right now.

“Well, it’s still worth trying even though you don’t think it will work,” she insisted, taking a sip of her butterbeer.

He frowned at her. “I never said it wouldn’t work, I just suggested that it may not work.”

This was it. He offered her a brilliant segue into a line of questions she had been dying to ask him since she discovered that Harry’s copy of Advanced Potion had been his own. “You do lots of experimentation in potions. It’s brilliant.”

“I do.”

“How do you know what works best?”

They had just covered Golpalott’s Third Law in Potions the week before and Hermione had just as much trouble creating an antidote as she did the first time, whereas Snape had concocted his within half an hour. She was envious of his ease with the subject.

“Intuition. Trial and error.” He took another sip of his butterbeer.

“Is that something that can be taught?”

He chuckled lightly. “That’s like asking if you could teach a fish to paint. A fish is going to do what comes naturally to it. I’m sure you could teach one to paint if you were given enough time and determination.”

She gave him a contemplative look, twisting her curl around her finger once more, wondering how best to ask for his input on her brewing.

He seemed to know what she was thinking. “I am not going to teach you,” he said firmly. “No matter how much you compliment me.” He lifted his flagon and emptied it of the rest of its contents.

She dropped her hands to the tabletop in defense. “I wasn’t going to ask you. I was just trying to gauge how difficult it may be for me.”

“Well, good luck, Granger.” He rose and began to put on his cloak.

“Wait -- I wasn’t asking anything of you. I’m just bouncing ideas off you. I enjoy speaking to you.” She jumped up as well.

His fingers paused for a moment over the clasp of his cloak. “I appreciate that. However, I do have appointments I need to keep. I’m sure I will see you at the castle.” He inclined his head toward her, his dark hair sliding over his shoulders to rest against his face, and before she could reply, he was out the door.

She took her seat once more to finish her butterbeer, contemplating their conversation to the background noise of a goat bleating and a heavily cloaked man a the corner grumbling under his breath. It was nearly curfew before she rose and made her way back to the castle.

The next time she saw Snape was in the library that Monday, and he created quite a disturbance. Or rather, people who kept stopping to see him were. It was distracting. Within fifteen minutes of taking a seat, he had been approached by a seventh year Ravenclaw boy, Galyon Vane, and they had a short whispered conversation.

That had been fine.

It was then the duo of Slytherin girls, a fourth year Gryffindor boy, and then a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls that caused the issue. Hermione had set down her quill to observe the conference at the table next to her, hoping that Madam Pince would whip around the corner to inspect the disturbance. She did her best to hear what was going on, but a slight buzzing noise had filled her ear.

He had cast muffliato, the sneak.

She kept her eyes on the group. One of the girls was waving her hands animatedly while she spoke as her friends behind her were nodding in agreement. Snape was ticking something off on his fingers and then paused to write something on a scroll of parchment before handing it to the main speaker. The Hufflepuff girls left, considerably happier than when they arrived.

The buzzing sound left her ear and Snape returned to his work. Hermione kept staring at him, waiting for him to notice her. It took a few moments, but he finally lifted his head and turned to her table, finally aware of the absence of the sound of her quill scratching.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Dates for the Yule Ball?” she whispered.

“You could say that,” her replied with a smirk.

Madam Pince appeared at that moment and gave them both pointed looks. Hermione turned back to her work and Snape packed up his things, making a quick exit.

The day of the Yule Ball arrived dreary and grey, but inside the castle there was an energy comparable to the last day of exams or Christmas morning. Hermione could hardly hear herself think at breakfast, there were so many excited conversations going on around her. Decorations popped up around the castle overnight, causing an even bigger commotion. There were Christmas trees in every corridor, and baubles enchanted to hang in midair, which Peeves took delight in launching at the students before being chased off by Filch.

Hermione spent her morning in the library researching potion and spell combinations. In her last meeting with Dumbledore, she had obtained a note giving her permission to access the Restricted Section after she had explained that she had combed the rest of the library and wanted to complete her research before she began the practical application of the knowledge. He seemed genuinely pleased at this. While she didn’t think she would find anything relating to memories or memory loss, she did plan to take advantage of the opportunity to begin researching venoms and poison reversal. She was also hoping to gloat at Snape for having unrestricted access to the library, but she didn’t see him all morning.

She decided to head up to Gryffindor Tower at around three o’clock and when she entered her dormitory, stopped in shock at the sight that greeted her. It appeared as though every single trunk with the exception of hers had exploded, although the contents of someone else’s trunk had reached her bed.

“Oh, sorry, Jean! I’ll move that in just a moment,” apologized Sita. She rose from a dressing table next to her bed and stood at least three inches taller than her already considerable height. Heels already?

“Oh, no worries,” she replied. “The Yule Ball isn’t for another three hours, and it won’t take me long to get ready.”

“Three hours is barely enough time!” Mary chimed in. She was sitting in front of one of the dressing tables in their room and was holding a large section of her hair out, directing her wand toward it. When she released it, it fell in a tight spiral. “Oh, I just can’t get this flip right!” she moaned, gesturing to a magazine which pictured a very pretty woman with hair that fell in wide curls away from her face.

“Here, let me,” Lily came to assist and after another ten minutes, Mary had a much similar look to the photograph. “There, done.”

“Oh, Lily -- you’re amazing! So good at charms,” she praised, turning her head from side to side to admire her work, and Hermione could see the blush climbing into Lily’s cheeks.

It wasn’t long before talk turned to the girls’ dates and how their dress robes were going to compliment one anothers.

“What is Remus wearing, Jean?” Sita asked as she fished through a jewellery box.

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know.” She knew this would wind her up. She knew where this conversation was heading. Despite her efforts to avoid him, Remus still found time to sit with her in the library or common room, usually when James and Sirius were serving detention or at Quidditch practice, and she hadn’t missed the looks some of the girls shared when they spotted them together.

“How can you not know?” Sita turned to her in shock, her long hair whipping over her shoulder with the force.

Hermione opened her trunk and removed her parcel from Gladrags, unwrapping the dress robes carefully. “He hasn’t spoken to me about it.”

“But we thought… Aren’t you two going together?” asked Lily.

Hermione shook her head, retrieving her shoes now. “No, he never asked.”

“I could have sworn… but you two spend so much time together!” Mary turned from admiring her hair in the mirror to the rest of the girls.

“I don’t mind going on my own. I’m still going to have fun,” Hermione assured them.

“Would you like to me to speak to Remus for you, Jean?” Lily piped in.

“No, no -- I can assure you all that there are no intentions between us like that -- at least on my part. I like him as a friend, but that’s it. I have no feelings toward him at all.” The girls all stared at her for a moment. Hermione gave them a reassuring smile.

Hermione’s dress robes were rather conservative compared to the other girls. Lily’s were presently a cobalt blue that set off her red hair magnificently, though she had applied a charm to them that caused them to change color. Sita was wearing traditional Indian dress robes of a deep fuschia that jingled every time she moved, and Mary was wearing deep yellow robes to match her Hufflepuff date. Hermione had chosen something black, high-necked and long-sleeved to hide her scars -- she really didn’t want to have to answer questions and wasn’t sure if she could with the wand oath. However, the back was open and was framed by a loop of deep red chiffon scarf.

At six o’clock, they descended the stairs to meet the boys in the common room and make their way down together.

“Sure you don’t want to go with me, Granger?” asked Sirius as they climbed through the portrait hole. “There’s still time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a date with Christy Summers?” She knew for a fact that he had asked the Ravenclaw girl after Remus had rejected him for her.

He shrugged, giving her a wolfish smile before hurrying to catch up with James and Lily who were already descending the staircase.

The Great Hall was just as transformed as she remembered from her fourth year. There were massive Christmas trees dotted around the room, and the long tables had been replaced by a large number of round ones. They were able to find a table that seated most of them comfortably, though Sirius had to go join Christy and her group of Ravenclaw friends. Hermione had a feeling he wouldn’t be there long - he and James had already started shouting at one another across tables. Hermione elected for a seat away from the shouting.

There was a large stage set up in the center of the room that rotated and was currently occupied by a small orchestra playing some lovely background music. Fairies waltzed above them in time to the music, dropping little snow flurries every so often when they reached a table. The enchanted sky above them appeared clear and blue, and there were stars constantly shooting across it.

More and more students filed into the hall, gasping at the decorations, and the sound rose higher and higher until the orchestra could no longer be heard. Dumbledore stood and the noise immediately halted.

“Thank you all for attending this years Yule Ball. We have a night of surprises in store for you that I hope you enjoy. And now, we dine!” He clapped his hands and plates of food appeared on the tables for the attendants to help themselves from. The orchestra increased in volume to accompany the meal, and, after a short while, James and Lily rose from their seats and made their way to the dance floor. They seemed to break the seal of nervousness as a number of other couples soon followed.

Hermione danced with Remus who looked a bit worse for wear but pleased to be able to partake in the festivities. There was a very nice Ravenclaw who asked her to dance, and then a Hufflepuff. She watched the tableful of Slytherins out of the corner of her eye. Snape had spent a majority of his time engrossed in conversation with Avery and Mulciber, but was now sitting on his own as the two men had finally turned their attention towards their dates. He was staring at the couples dancing, and she recognised the same hunger in his eyes as he had when she first caught him watching Lily and James.

Hermione took a deep breath. It was worth a try. First she approached a fifth year Gryffindor who was sitting on his own. Then she asked a Hufflepuff seventh year to dance. Finally, after observing that Snape was still seated, she approached the Slytherin table. Snape looked up at her in surprise.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked.

One of the other Slytherins at the table snickered. “Go on, Prince.”

He pursed his lips for a moment and considered the dance floor. Hermione was about to turn away when he rose to his feet.

She couldn’t help but beam at him. She led him to the dance floor and a few steps in, they stopped to face one another before he held his hand out to her.

Over his shoulder, she saw Lily dancing with James Potter, giving them sidelong glances. She could tell that James kept trying to focus Lily’s attention back on himself.

Snape was as awkward and stiff as most teenage boys are, but relaxed once they got a few bars into the song, leading her comfortably around the room without too much awkward bumping or toe stepping. He didn’t seem to quite know where to touch her -- every time his fingers grazed the bare skin of her of her back, it was almost as though he had been burned he withdrew his hand so quickly.

“Are you having fun?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the din of the music.

“As much as could be expected,” he replied, leaning down toward her ear to answer so he wouldn’t have to shout. His hair grazed and tickled her cheek.

“You look really nice in your dress robes. It’s so different seeing everyone out of their uniforms,” she remarked. His robes were plain and black -- it was only the decorative edging around the collar and sleeves that spoke of being any different than his school robes.

“Your hair,” he gestured to it. He didn’t seem to quite know what he wanted to say about it. “It took me ages to recognize it was you.”

“Oh yes -- not my usual look, is it?” her hand went to it, running over the curls that had been smoothed and twisted into a chignon. Lily had thrust a familiar jar of Sleekezy’s at her earlier, explaining James’ father had invented it and she had seen it work wonders, though she couldn’t use it herself.

Snape shook his head and gave her a tight smile.

“Are you staying for Christmas?” she asked.

“I always do,” he responded.

“Oh, I am, too!”

“Are you going to be researching?”

“I think I’m nearly done, actually. I’m just going through the restricted section now, and then I’ll be putting stuff together.”

“Restricted section?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh yes -- I need to know I have examined everything available to me before I really begin.”

He nodded. “I am sure you will find something useful in there.”

“I hope so -- and then I think I’ll begin properly brewing. I’ll let you know when I need those ingredients, of course, that is, if you’re still willing to obtain them for me?”

“If you’re still willing to pay me,” he replied.

“Of course. I’ve written down some combination of potions and spells that I would like your opinion on -- you have such better intuition than I do, as I said, and I’m curious what you think of them.” He had pretty much told her at the Hog’s Head not to ask, but -- why not? Why not try?

“Cheeky.”

“Oh, please!” She entreated.

“Will I get credit for this?” he gave her a look to appear as though he were exasperated by her presumption, but she could tell from the glint in his eye and the intensity of his stare he was intrigued. He had the same look when he was a professor and happened upon students that he knew where up to something.

“I think I can arrange that,” she replied with a smile.

“Have you thought of how you’re going to test it?”

“No, but I was thinking of the Hogwarts mice -- I’ve used them previously and my tests with them were successful. I think that would be safest,” she explained. “I couldn’t forgive myself if something went wrong.”

“Why not use a spare first year? There are plenty of them around.”

“Severus!” she gasped, though she couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion.

“Calm down, Granger. I was only teasing.” They had stopped dancing now, and were awkwardly standing on the edge of the dance floor. A couple nearly bumped into them and gave them a dirty look before they decided to move, Hermione gesturing towards the drinks table. The grabbed goblets of punch and continued their conversation.

Hermione took a sip from her goblet, her face souring at the sharp taste. “Ugh, definitely been spiked.”

Snape raised his glass to her, taking a sip. “Tradition prevails.”

She was just beginning to talk about her research into the Restricted Section when Avery’s date, a pretty Slytherin with blonde hair, approached them. She sidled up to Severus and placed her arm in the crook of his, showing off a familiarity with him that Hermione was not privy to. “Severus, there you are,” she gave Hermione a tight smile before looking back up at him. “You haven’t asked me to dance, yet.” She took his goblet and took a long drink from it.

Severus blushed but inclined his head toward her. “I believe you’ve been rather preoccupied, Selina,” he replied. “You’ve been with Julian all evening. I haven’t had the opportunity.”

“Well, now is just as good a time as any,” she replied, finishing off his goblet and setting it down on the table. Severus gave Hermione an apologetic look before Selina pulled him back out to the dance floor.

Hermione stood at the table for a while, watching an ice sculpture nearby twist and mold itself into various wintery shapes: a tree, a snowman, a candy cane. Remus appeared at her side. “I wouldn’t have too much of that,” he warned.

“I know. Do the teachers?” she asked.

“Well, Hagrid certainly isn’t complaining,” he gestured to the half-giant, whose cheeks were looking very rosy. He was merrily laughing with Professor McGonagall, who was looking a little jolly herself.

Dumbledore stood again at the end of the next song and clapped his hands. “Everyone please give your thanks to Enchanted Accompaniment, who have provided us with our entertainment so far this evening.” The crowd descended into polite applause as they gathered their instruments and left the stage. “Now, please welcome The Hobgoblins!”

The Great Hall descended into screams and shouts of excitement, and there was a massive rush of movement towards the stage as a five member band took their places there. They waved their wands and instruments appeared before them, and they began playing some form of rock music.

Remus was looking at the crowd with an amused smile and gestured towards it. “Not tempted at all?”

She shook her head. “Not my type of music. You?”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind it.”

They stood together, observing the crowd for another few songs before Hermione decided to make a move. She feigned a yawn and stretched. “Well, it’s way past my bedtime. I think I’m going to turn in. Goodnight, Remus.”

“Goodnight, Jean.”

She exited the Great Hall, passing a surprising number of couples cuddling in alcoves. She could hear a familiar chuckle from one and gathered that Sirius was certainly enjoying his date with Miss Summers.

She was thankful when she finally collapsed into her bed, embracing sleep when it came.

Hermione woke far earlier than her dorm mates the next morning and spent the morning in the common room with the second years, giving them a blow by blow account of the Yule Ball. It was midday when she saw Lily make her way down from the dorm, and when she spotted the trio, quickly approached them. She seated herself cautiously on the sofa next to Hermione.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione greeted her, absorbed in the structure that Alfie was building from a deck of Exploding Snap cards.

“Afternoon, Jean. Can I speak to you?” she gave a pointed look at Maeve and Alfie.

“Yes, of course,” she answered.

The second years, who had stopped to listen, gathered up their cards to move elsewhere. Unfortunately half the stack fell and Maeve burned the ends of her hair in the process.

“I saw you last night at the Yule Ball,” Lily began, her voice low. “Well, of course I did -- we walked down together, but I saw you dancing with someone that I think you should know a little about.”

“Oh?” Hermione did her best to sound surprised. She had a feeling this talk would come after the concerned looks she and Severus were getting while dancing.

“Snape. I know you’re new here, and you might not know, but Severus and I grew up together. He used to be well… not exactly nice, but a loyal friend. But he’s gotten himself mixed up in a bad crowd, and he’s not very kind to Muggleborns. We aren’t friends anymore,” she emphasized.

“Okay. I appreciate your warning,” replied Hermione.

“Well…?” Lily looked at her expectantly. She seemed almost disappointed that Hermione was not more shocked by the information she had just given her.

“Well….?” Hermione asked in return.

“What are you going to do?” prompted Lily.

“Snape’s always been,” she paused, searching for the right word, “civil to me. He might even be pleasant sometimes. I’ve had fun speaking with him,” she explained, shrugging halfheartedly.

“But… Jean,” Lily leaned close to her. “He’s planning on becoming a Death Eater.”

“That’s a serious statement. Do you know that for certain?” Hermione asked her pointedly.

“Yes! Well, no, but he as good as told me,” Lily replied.

“When?”

“Last year.”

“Last year was last year.” Hermione said with a shrug. “His plans might have changed. Snape has never been anything but civil to me, and he hasn’t discussed his plans with me. I appreciate your concern, but I can only go off of what I have observed from him and yes, he may be a bit unkind and excessive at times towards the people who bully him, but he has never acted that way towards me.” She wanted to leave now. The conversation was getting a bit tense and she didn’t want to upset or offend Lily, but she did want to make her stance clear. She needed to spend time with Snape if she was going to accomplish her goal, and defending him would be the only way to do that. She could not have a repeat of what happened after Slughorn’s party.

Her opportunity came when the portrait hole opened and a couple who spent the night elsewhere in the castle stumbled in, their dress robes creased and in a visible state of disarray. Hermione rose to leave but Lily grabbed her arm. “Does he know you’re not pureblood?” she whispered.

“No,” Hermione answered.

“Don’t let him find out,” she gave her arm a soft squeeze before releasing her, and Hermione fled through the open portrait hole, retreating to her private research room.

Hermione was desperate to speak to Severus about Lily, but she knew if she did it now, she would be shut down immediately. He was awkward enough seeing her at the ball last night, but to know that Lily was actually speaking to her about him?

She spent the rest of the day deep in thought, thankful for the quiet of the room, going through her numerous rolls of parchment on memory charms and potions but not really absorbing any of them. As it grew closer to dinnertime, she decided to head to the library. She needed to drop of a few books that she had used for her arithmancy homework and she wanted to peruse what was available as extra reading for her upcoming charms lessons.

As she approached Madam Pince’s desk, she was surprised to see McGonagall there as well. “Thank you, Irma. This was most helpful,” Hermione heard her say as she pushed a tome across the desk. The women stood chatting for a few moments, and Hermione hung back, awkwardly waiting behind her Transfiguration professor. When she turned to leave, they finally noticed her presence.

“Ah, Miss Granger! How lovely to run into you -- I was hoping to find you here. Would you like to join me for some tea in my office?” she asked. For some reason that statement filled Hermione with dread. However, she agreed. She didn’t miss the thankful look that Madam Pince gave McGonagall as they exited the library and before long, the duo were settled in McGonagall’s office.

“Miss Granger, are you doing well here? How are you settling in?” McGonagall set a plate of biscuits between them and poured them both a cup of tea.

She had met with McGonagall initially when she first came to Hogwarts, just before the school year started. Dumbledore had explained the circumstances of her arrival and that she had been sorted into Gryffindor house, and McGonagall had spent an afternoon going over the classes and house expectations. She was pleased to find that her head of house was just as strict as ever, so there were no surprises there. However, between that meeting and her Transfiguration lessons, she had seen little of her professor, and had a feeling that she was more involved in Dumbledore’s resistance movement than she had been in the future.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Hermione replied, taking a sip of her tea.

“And how is making friends going? Are you getting along with everybody?” The older woman took a tentative sip from her own cup and, finding it to her liking, took another.

“Oh, yes, everyone has been really lovely.”

“Good, good. I do notice that you seem to spend a lot of time on your own. Irma Pince has said she has rarely seen a more studious pupil.”

“Oh, well…” Hermione set down her cup. That wasn’t true -- if she were really observing her, she would have noticed that she spent a lot of time in the library in the company of Remus Lupin, and while she was solitary and spent much of her time with her books open during mealtimes, she did engage with the other students.

“Your house is your family, Miss Granger. They should be taking care of you, and you with them. I’m not against interhouse friendships, but I do grow concerned if one of my own isn’t settling in.” Ah, there it was. Not just a welfare check up, but Lily must have gone to Professor McGonagall with her concerns when Hermione hadn’t responded in a more positive way to her suggestions. She knew Lily reminded her a bit too much of herself.

“I completely understand, Professor. I would just like to say that I do recognize that these are troubling times, and I feel that fostering interhouse relationships may make all the difference to someone when they leave Hogwarts.” Hermione tried pressing back. She needed to keep the seeds of whatever she had with Snape growing, and if the Professors prevented that...

McGonagall took a long sip from her cup. “I won’t deny that.”

“I think it’s important to be doing that.”

“Just as long as if those students are going down a troublesome path, you don’t follow them down that path yourself. Please do come to myself, or even Professor Dumbledore if you have any concerns and we will do our best to help.”

“Yes, Professor. I promise.”

The rest of the evening progressed on a considerably lighter note. McGonagall conjured some sandwiches for them to share and when she left her office that evening, Hermione felt as though she had completely reassured her professor that she was not going to join forces with Voldemort, though she was twice as determined to solidify her relationship with Snape.

Thank Merlin Christmas holidays were around the corner.

Chapter Text

Christmas at Hogwarts was always one of Hermione’s favorite things to experience, but she usually spent it with her friends. Without the company of Harry and Ron, she was suddenly aware of how abandoned the school felt despite the roaring fires and glistening Christmas trees. There was not the usual cacophony of voices in the halls. It was as though someone had stuck a pair of mufflers over the castle, and created an atmosphere that was more than a little unnerving.

She was the only sixth year girl in Gryffindor tower who was staying -- all the other girls had gone home to their families. Lily was especially nervous about the holidays as her family were going to meet the Potters for the first time. Sirius, thankfully, would not be joining them for the meeting. Hermione agreed that it was probably for the best.

She spent most of the days in the library and her workroom on her own, and she nearly forgot that there were other students around, but she spotted a Ravenclaw fifth year and a Hufflepuff second year within a few days. Her mind also focused quite a bit on Snape. He had said he was staying, but she had not spotted him at all, and she dropped by the library several times throughout the day in the hopes of stumbling across him. She had not had any luck yet, and hoped that he had not changed his mind and gone home instead.

When Christmas morning arrived, Hermione was surprised to find a few small wrapped parcels at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t expected any presents at all considering all the people who normally sent her gifts were over twenty years in the future. Upon unwrapping the first, she was pleased to find a small box of Honeydukes chocolates with a note from Dumbledore wishing her a happy Christmas. The second revealed a beautiful but impractical peacock feather quill from Mary along with a note of thanks for her help in transfiguration, and the third gift was a small tome detailing the study habits of successful witches and wizards from Remus along with a teasing note that she was well on her way to joining their ranks.

When she finally rose to dress, her view from the tower windows caught her eye. The grounds looked particularly inviting in the snow, pristine and flawless. She wanted to enjoy the view before it was spoiled by too many muddy footprints.

She pulled on her woolen cloak as she stepped out of the entrance doors and found a number of footprints already leading to and from the greenhouses -- it appeared as though Professor Sprout had risen early to wish her plants a happy Christmas as well.

Hermione followed the base of the castle to the edge of the lake and walked towards the boundary wall separating the grounds from Hogsmeade, circled around the Quidditch pitch and looked back towards the castle. It really was magnificent in the snow. The difference between now and her first glimpse of it nearly six months before struck her, and she thought of how much had changed since then. At least she had made some progression. She and Snape were friendly now, and, with any luck, before the year was out, she would be able to plant some ideas with him regarding venoms. His interest in her studies had definitely piqued with her mention of the restricted section, and that would be a perfect segue to introduce antivenoms. There were so many nasty things mentioned in those tomes that it wouldn’t be difficult at all.

She began to feel the cold seep up through the soles of her shoes from standing still for so long, so she began to move again, making her way back towards the castle, navigating a path between Hagrid’s Hut and the whomping willow. She was nearly back to the greenhouses when she saw a tall black cloaked figure emerge from the Forbidden Forest.

Think of the devil. She recognised that gait. Snape.

She stopped. Her movement caught his eye and he stopped as well.

She waved at him and began walking forward again. He changed his direction and stepped forward to meet her.

“Happy Christmas,” she called as she approached.

“And you, Granger,” he replied. “Out for a morning stroll?” he surveyed the grounds around them. It had begun to snow.

“Yes. It looked so lovely that I couldn’t resist. And you?”

“The same. Shall we?” he gestured back to the castle and they began to move toward the front doors together. He looked extremely tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin was paler than usual, making the spots appearing at his hairline even more noticeable.

“I haven’t seen you at any meals or the library. Have you been having a good holiday?”

“I’ve been working on a project of my own. It’s been very intensive but I believe that I shall have some free time for a while now.” He kicked the snow from his shoes as he stepped inside. Hermione wondered if his project had anything to do with his role as an ingredients supplier -- but she would get around to that subject later.

“Have you had a nice Christmas?” she asked, pulling the hood back from her head and shaking her hair loose.

“Tolerable. Yours?”

“Mine’s been lovely.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, both unsure of how to continue. It was the first time they had truly been alone together. The quietness of the school struck Hermione once more, and an opportunity rose to mind. No one was around to see them.

“Severus, may I show you something?”

He gave her a wary look. “What’s the nature of it?”

“I’ve started experimenting, but just on simple potions. I would like to show you my workroom.”

She had contemplated this, sharing the privacy of her workspace, but it seemed the logical next step. She had spent the past week brewing simple healing potions and augmenting them with spells -- and there seems to have been no detrimental effect on the potion. However, as she wasn’t experimenting on anything biologically natural, it was difficult to gauge the effects. The pillows that she transfigured into turtles healed beautifully when the new potion was applied to the cuts she made, but was it any different than a regular healing potion? While she couldn’t see anything subtly different, she hoped that Severus could.

“And yet you haven’t enlisted my services as an ingredients supplier. I’m hurt, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t started anything big. I’m just testing theories. Nothing I need your expert procural skills for yet.”

Seeming satisfied with her answer, he gestured her forward. “Lead the way.”

They trod through the castle, their footsteps echoing against the empty corridors. The moving staircases seemed to be enjoying the holiday as well -- they were slow to move when boarded by the pair. When they reached the corridor, Hermione tapped her wand on the door, whispered her password (“Crookshanks”) and it yielded it her touch. She pushed open the door, allowing him to enter first.

He stopped to survey the space, taking off his gloves and rubbing his hands together to warm them. She closed the door behind them and moved to her workstation to clear away her notes. He approached the table and picked up a few bottles of potion she had previously brewed.

“Pepper Up Potion? Burn Paste? I was brewing these as a five year old, Granger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous -- I brewed Polyjuice Potion when I was twelve.” The words were out before she could even think of them and her hand flew to her mouth in an effort to cover her mistake -- but her tongue did not roll up and her wand did not light.

Interesting.

She coughed to cover her action before she resumed speaking. “I’m just starting from the basics, and studying the potions. I’m testing the strength of the cauldron and ingredients. I’m going to go on to the Restoration draught next -- I think that’s the path I need to go down.”

“Hm.” He set the vial of pepper-up potion he had been scrutinizing back on its shelf.

“You see something wrong in my hypothesis?”

“Well, as I said, that’s the unique part of potions when it comes to magic. There’s no wand waving that comes with it -- you channel your magic into something that isn’t a conduit. The magic is imbued during the preparation and brewing process, and the finished product is a reflection of that. To apply a charm or some other form of magic to it seems redundant.”

“But aren’t spells cast on potions to help preserve their state? That’s adding magic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s to the finished product, and that doesn’t alter the potion itself -- it just preserves it. Puts it in a state of stasis.”

He grabbed one of the smaller cauldrons and put it over a burner. He had it lit before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, joining him at the table.

“Experimenting. Where are your doxy eggs?” he asked, running his fingers along her jars of ingredients. “Ah, there. I wouldn’t have them stored too close to the lacewings -- it can affect their potency.”

He began chopping and crushing ingredients so quickly and adding them to the cauldron that Hermione lost track of what he was doing. Doxy eggs, powdered oyster shell, a copper coin...

“Are you making a Cheering Concoction?”

“Yes. And it’s about here, if you were going to make any alterations, that you would want to do it.” The potion had just turned a deep blue. It reminded her of the sea. He raised his wand. “Shall I?”

Hermione nodded, and Snape cast a cheering charm on the potion. Nothing happened. “See, I told you, there would be no effect.”

“But you just cast it over the potion. Let me try something,” She grabbed the stirring rod from him, stuck it in the potion and tapped the end of her wand to it, casting the cheering charm again.

The potion bubbled and deepened into a purple.

Snape grabbed the stirring rod from her so quickly that she didn’t feel it leave her fingertips.

“What did you do?” He peered into the cauldron, his nose almost touching the surface of the potion

“You saw what I did! I used the rod as an extension of my wand to cast the charm.”

He gently moved the rod through the potion, careful not to disturb the liquid with any sort of stirring motion. When he was satisfied with his evaluation of the contents, he removed it and turned toward Hermione. “This needs to steep for about fifteen minutes.”

They sat in near silence, the two of them watching the potion, listening for any sounds that would warn it was going to explode or go bad. As it simmered, it deepened from the purple to an almost black, which caused Severus to grip the side of his chair and have his wand at the ready to vanish it if needed, and then almost immediately brightened to an orange where it seemed to stay.

“It’s finished, now,” he rose and waved his wand toward some empty vials, summoning them to him. He had definitely mastered the art of wordless spellcraft.

Hermione rose and stood next to him. “How do you know with experimental potions?”

He began spooning the potion into vials. “You have to be aware of the ingredients and the intended purpose of the potion. Do you see the surface of the potion? Were you paying close attention when it was changing color? The simmering stopped. If were were trying to create a poison, or if the potion had turned volatile at any point, the simmering would have heightened into a rolling boil and then either grown calm or exploded.” His voice had gone into a matter-of-fact tone that reminded her of his potions lectures.

“Why isn’t more of this in potions texts?” They all explained colors and stirring patterns and never mentioned anything of minute changes in boiling or simmering patterns.

“It’s a subtle science. Difficult to teach. Are we ready to test this?”

“Listen, I really don’t feel comfortable testing this on someone -- or something -- what if it is poisoned?” Hermione protested. She had wanted to ask him more about brewing -- why hadn’t he ever gone into that much detail in his classes?

“Calm down, Granger. You would be able to tell if it’s poisoned -- see the way the steam rises? If any potion has soured, it begins to rise erratically. This is rising in tight spirals.”

Hermione began to protest again when Snape interrupted her. “Dobo.”

There was a crack and a rather stumpy house-elf appeared. “Yes, sir?” Its voice was low and deep, and reminded Hermione of Kreacher. This was not a house-elf who was going to grovel in the same way Dobby did.

“I’m going to give you three drops of this potion, I think. It will not harm you,” he reassured it. The house elf looked at him without emotion and opened its mouth obediently. Snape tipped the vial toward it so that three small drops fell out of the end.

Hermione held her breath while watching Dobo for the affects. It didn’t take long. Its ears lifted, eyes brightened, and face cracked into a smile that was nearly beaming.

“Will that be all, sir?” His voice was cheerier and had taken on the banter-type tone that she expected from a market trader. It was slightly unsettling.

“Yes, thank you, Dobo. Do let me know if you begin feeling odd,” instructed Snape.

Dobo nodded his head enthusiastically and disappeared with another crack.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” squeaked Hermione, releasing her breath. Her stomach turned as Kreacher and his story of Regulus and the horcrux came to mind. Testing on house-elves who were so eager to please… it just wasn’t right!

“How else do we test it? Normally experimental potions are tested on prisoners or patients and we have access to neither. Dobo has been helping me in my own potions experiments for years.”

Hermione opened her mouth in protest but had absolutely no clue what to say.

“Calm down, Granger. Shouldn’t you be crowing over me about how you were right and I was wrong?” he asked. “I would think you would be celebrating.”

“But --”

“Do you really think that I would endanger Dobo’s life by giving him something that I thought would harm him?” His hand rose to his chest in mock offense, but Hermione could tell that there was some underlying hurt to the question.

Hermione thought back to her early potions classes when Snape always threatened to test Neville’s potions on Trevor. But this was not that Snape. She shook her head.

“I’m not all bad, despite what you may hear from your housemates.” He placed the empty vial back on the work surface.

“My housemates don’t say anything about you.”

Her gave her a look that showed her he clearly disbelieved her.

“Well, most of them don’t. But I hope you recognize that I’m smarter than to believe everything I hear.”

“Shall we discuss your potion, then?” he asked.

The spent the next two hours before dinner making notes on possible amplifications that could be made to standard potions by using charms initially intended to do the same thing and parted ways with brains heavy with ideas.

The rest of the holiday was lovely -- he sought her out in the library most mornings, where she would inevitably be double checking her research, and suggest they make their way to her lab. Severus was far more adventurous as a potioneer than she was, and far more ruthless in his testing. Poor Dobo had now been burnt, sliced, and bruised, but healed spectacularly, and in half the normal time than if they had just used a charm or a salve. Although the house-elf was eager to help, Hermione couldn’t bear the thought of injuring the elf and had to leave the room while Severus was testing, returning only when he shouted that it was all clear.

“Would you feel better practicing on mice, then? Isn’t that what you said you were initially going to use?”

“Oh, yes, I am, but… No, not like this. For my memory potion, yes, but not to harm them just to heal them immediately after.”

Hermione was enjoying the easy companionship they had fallen into, however it didn’t last for long. The day everyone returned was just like the first day of school -- everyone shouting across one another and catching up about their Christmases. James Potter had returned with the newest model of broom, a Cleansweep, and there was an unnatural amount of people in the common room crowded around it, asking to touch it. It was as though she were back in third year watching Harry unwrap the Firebolt.

“How did Christmas go, Lily?” Hermione asked when she came across the girl unpacking her trunk in the dormitory.

“Oh, it was lovely It was really nice -- a bit awkward at first, of course -- Mr. and Mrs. Potter have never really been in a muggle home before, but they took to it quite quickly, and my sister was really well behaved, thankfully, but she didn’t stay long -- went to her boyfriend’s house.”

She went into the menu her parents had served and the compliments James paid her parents. They had all gone for a walk afterwards, though they had to cut it a bit short -- James’ father had begun to have trouble catching his breath, and as they were noticeably much older, they ended up having to apparate home, but there were promises for future visits to the Potter estate in Godric’s Hollow.

“And Cornwall’s so lovely over the summer!” she added.

Sirius had gone looking at flats in London and spent a good number of hours regaling everyone with the state of some of the places he saw -- everything from having gold leaf clawfoot tubs to having a commune occupying the gardens below.

“Have you thought of going through a wizarding estate agent?” Peter asked. “My uncle is one --”

“The same uncle who supports old Moldy? No, thank you. I’m staying firmly muggle if those are the kind of idiots who would be getting my money,” Sirius replied flippantly, sending Peter into an embarrassed blush.

Hermione had never spoken directly to Peter before -- and she hadn’t ever planned to, but she decided to do so now. Her heart went out to him, trying to make a friendly suggestion and being shot down instantly because of his family. He didn’t even have Remus around to defend him as he was still at home spending a few days recovering from some sort of “illness” he had contracted over the break.

“Did you have a nice Christmas, Peter?”

He looked genuinely shocked at Hermione addressing him. “Yes -- yes, it was nice, thank you. My mother made a very nice pudding.”

It was only a week into the new term when Hermione showed up to Potions Class and found that Snape wasn’t there. Nor did he make a late appearance, and his absence continued through Charms as well. It was only at lunchtime that the gossip had finally gotten around and she found out what happened.

Just after breakfast, Sirius Black had cast a hex on Snape as they were passing out of the Great Hall. Avery and Mulciber, who were nearby, came to Snape’s defence and before long, there was an all-out duel going on in the entrance hall. “I’d be surprised if they aren’t expelled this time,” Maeve proclaimed. “It was bad. Right in front of teachers, too! Alfie got hit by some sort of swelling jinx -- his arm was dragging on the ground and he couldn’t lift it at all by the time McGonagall broke it up. I’m going to go visit him in the hospital wing later.”

“Oh, poor Alfie -- I’ll come with you,” Hermione offered, sending the girl into a smile.

“He’ll like that,” she agreed.

Hermione glanced down the length of the Gryffindor table. James and Sirius were missing as well. Peter looked extremely put out.

“S’not bad,” Alfie proclaimed when they arrived later, just before dinner. “Madam Pomfrey gave me a shrinking solution. Just wants to make sure the purple color goes before she releases me. I’ll be back in classes tomorrow.”

Hermione had a good look around the hospital dormitory. There were three beds on one end of the hall that had high curtains drawn, and two on the other. She was guessing one hid the Gryffindor instigators and the other hid the Slytherin defenders. There were a few students scattered in between -- innocent bystanders who had been caught in the crossfire. One student bore an impressive set of antlers. Alfie was nearer the Slytherin end.

Alfie was very pleased with the get-well card that Hermione had charmed for him. It featured a robin that began to sing when opened. Maeve had brought him some chocolate frogs and peppermint humbugs.

Before they left, Hermione left another card sitting on top of a pile of textbooks next to one of the closed curtains. Who else but Snape would continue his classwork while in the hospital wing?

Hermione was at her usual table in the library when Snape finally made his reappearance. He was somewhat paler than usual, but there seemed to be no long lasting side effects from whatever had befallen him. Hermione was extremely pleased to see him and more than a little surprised when he approached her table.

“Do you have the notes from Potions?” he asked.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. Snape didn’t need notes from potions. He could walk straight into his NEWTS and pass them if he wanted to.

“Yes, of course,” she began digging through her satchel before producing them.

“May I?” He gestured to her table.

Hermione nodded her assent and cleared some space for him.

He took a moment to glance over her writing. “These are adequate, thank you.”

“Adequate? I’ve referenced things that Slughorn would never have included in his lecture,” she said with mock outrage.

He made a show of looking them over and copying them out, and they began to play a delicate game. Hermione adjusted in her seat and bumped her knee against his. He flipped through his textbook and created a breeze that nearly blew her parchment over the side of the table. When Hermione had re-settled her papers, she glared at him. He was doing his best to pretend nothing had happened, but there was amusement in his eyes.

He finally handed them back to her, though their size was doubled with his additions to them -- his cramped writing was squeezed in next to hers. It reminded her of the harshness of his older self grading her essays. “You’re very keen,” she remarked.

“Your first few weeks, your essays and notes were just as long -- longer, even.” His gaze was penetrating, searching. “Your spells as well -- you pretend to struggle.”

“I’ve had to concentrate on other things,” she explained. “And I don’t think outshining the idiots in my year is a good way to go, do you?”

No wonder Snape had gone to work as a spy -- there was very little he did not see. Even Sirius had remarked to them that Snape was always trying to figure out what everyone else was up to, always paying attention to everyone and everything around him.

He shook his head in acceptance of her answer. “Did you say you had unrestricted access to the restricted section now?”

She nodded.

“Shall we start having a look through those?” he suggested.

Hermione nodded and went to the information desk to ask Madam Pince to retrieve the first of the books. She handed it over reluctantly and Hermione carried it back over to the table.

Snape took the book from her and looked at it carefully. “I’ve read an earlier edition of this. You won’t find much in here relating to memory or healing.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d still like a look.”

They combed through it, Snape pointing out some of the more horrendous illustrations and making note of changes that he noticed. Hermione couldn’t keep her eyes off him. His eyes lit up and he was absolutely fascinated by what was held in the book.

“How do you know so much?” She finally asked after he had expanded on a particularly gruesome illustration of someone being flayed by magic.

“My mum,” he explained. She waited for him to continue, but he did not. His whole demeanor changed, and his face was expressionless and a little bit too composed. He closed the book, sliding it back towards her.

“Shall we head to dinner and continue tomorrow?” she asked. He nodded and they made their way down to the Great Hall together.

Chapter Text

“This is boring,” moaned Snape, practically flinging himself into a chair. “Let’s go back to the library and look at the Restricted Section. I’m missing out on business, Granger.”

It was midday in early February, and the pair of them had escaped the corridors and Great Hall that were becoming increasingly painted in pinks and reds and whites. There had also been a steady rise of particularly nasty hexes being thrown in corridors by a number of students since the term started again -- even James Potter and Sirius Black had been caught and punished. Her workroom provided the most logical space of refuge for the two of them. They were unable to even sit in the library as they kept being interrupted. Or, that is, Snape kept being interrupted, and it was driving Hermione insane. She knew he sold potions ingredients under the table, but the amount of traffic he received was ridiculous. This was the better solution all around.

“I want to get this done -- you can leave if you wish, but you said you wanted to be here,” she reminded him. “I’m perfectly happy to carry on myself.” She had decided to start the process of training mice today to give her a memory to conceal. They had gone out towards the forest earlier and retrieved a small log to transfigure into a labyrinth, and were now housed back in her lab, a bottle of bluebell flames nearby to help warm them.

He rose and took a place beside her. “No, I’ll stay.”

She waved her wand and began to transfigure the log. It flattened and smoothed, and began sinking in places to create pathways and dead ends.

“Don’t make it that easy,” he criticized, gesturing to her work. “Look, it’s pretty much a straight line here. Make it go around this direction,” he motioned with his hand. She waved her wand once more and the pathways altered and changed so the mice would have to zigzag their way through before reaching the exit. He nodded at her changes. “Much better.”

“Do you have them?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered, reaching into his robe pocket. He pulled out a small cage and tapped it with his wand. The cage and the contents inside began to expand: it contained three mice. “I chose ones with distinctive markings so we’ll know which ones are which.”

“Perfect. Will you do the honors?” She began placing small morsels of food sporadically through the maze, leading to the finish. He dropped the first mouse in.

It took about five minutes before it found its way to the finish. They repeated the process over and over, Hermione adding fewer and fewer bits of food each time. Eventually, the mouse stopped responding.

“It’s not hungry anymore -- there’s no incentive,” Snape explained. So they dropped the next one in and repeated the process. This went on for at least another hour while they tested the third one as well.

“Why memories?” Snape asked, watching the last mouse stop to groom itself. “Why not beauty potions or something else?”

“Almost any charm or spell can be reversed -- even most poisons can be reversed,” she explained. “However, it seems that anything affecting the brain -- memory, actually -- that the problem gets more and more complicated or irreversible. I want to try to solve that problem.”

He nodded and they carried on.

It took a few days, but by the time the first Hogsmeade weekend of that term rolled around, they had trained the mice to run the maze successfully, which was a cause for celebration. However, the night before, a third year boy, Terrence Miggins, suddenly leapt up on the Ravenclaw table during dinner and began to strut around like a rooster, crowing with enthusiasm. Many of the students broke into laughter, but he had a vacant look in his eye that Hermione recognised. The Imperius Curse. It appeared that a number of teachers recognised the look as well as a few leapt from their seats in alarm and rushed towards him with their wands out.

She anticipated that the weekend would be cancelled, but it was not. The Gryffindors were gathered in their common room that evening and Professor McGonagall entreated them to report anything that they might find suspicious. There were lots of whisperings, but it seemed that no one had a clue who had cast the curse.

“It’s a bit scary, isn’t it?” asked Mary as they retreated to their dormitory that evening. “It could have been anyone.”

“Don’t worry,” Lily answered. “Stuff like this has happened before. I’m sure getting out of the castle tomorrow will get it out of their system.”

Hermione sincerely hoped so. As she wrapped her scarf tight around her throat that Saturday morning, the incident preoccupied her thoughts. She didn’t remember hearing about any sort of attacks at the school during Voldemort’s first rise to power, but then she never really went looking for that information. She hoped that it was a one-off and that Lily was right: whoever did it got it out of their system and it wouldn’t happen again.

As she joined the crowd of students walking down towards the village, her thoughts turned to Severus, wondering if like previous weekends out, they would eventually meet. He hadn’t said anything to her in the few days beforehand, but she desperately hoped to get his opinion on the events of the night before. If anyone had noticed anything, he certainly would have.

Her question was answered when she passed him on the high street. He was with his default group of Slytherins and they were laughing about something, and Hermione had a strong suspicion that it had to do with Terrence Miggins as Mulciber had his arms bent in an imitation of wings. Their eyes met briefly, but he quickly turned them towards his companions.

“Little Gryffindor lost their way?” one taunted. The others chuckled. It reminded her of Malfoy and his cronies. She met Snape’s eyes again. He wasn’t laughing.

“I’m fine, thank you.” she answered. They broke into laughter at her response, winding one another up in the way that groups of young men often do.

“Let’s just go,” Snape gestured to the path in front of them and they continued on.

Hermione turned towards the Three Broomsticks where she saw Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew who explained that Lily and James and Sirius and Christy Summers were on a double date at Madame Puddifoot’s. She spent some time with them and they passed by the tea room, spotting the four through the window and making faces before moving on. Hermione decided to head back to the castle, and Remus and Peter went on to Zonko’s.

As Hermione trod back through the snow, her thoughts turned to her time in the past. She had been here a full six months now and she hadn’t even really started experimentation with memory potions yet. Yes, she had trialled small things here and there, but nothing serious, nothing extraordinary. There was a small niggling feeling her chest that she knew was guilt -- she needed to get a move on. She felt guilty that she had worked so hard on getting here and had been able to create a successful solution to that problem in a matter of months, and yet now that she was here -- somewhere where she was meant to accomplish something big, something significant -- she had actually done very little. She needed to start experimentation in earnest. And she hadn’t even mentioned antivenom or anything to Snape.

On the other hand, she was very pleased with the progress she had made with him. From making it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her on the first day of term to now seeking out her company and relying on her for academic discussion -- it was incredible. Rather than competing with her for the table in the library, he now joined her -- unless Remus was there first, of course. But he still continued to sit near her and she often noticed his writing would slow or stop when Remus asked her anything about her past. Her vague answers, while they satisfied Remus, seemed to agitate Severus as she noticed his grip on his quill tightened if he wasn’t pleased with her responses. And when he was alone with her, he questioned her so subtly that if she hadn’t been prepared for it, she probably would have given away more than she wanted and Dumbledore’s wand would have lit up like a Catherine wheel.

With small triumphs, though, came other things that she found worrying. For example, the day to day here was no longer feeling foreign to her. She was beginning to feel just as at home as she did in her own time. She had her routines that felt normal, her fellow students were no longer strangers but familiar faces she passed everyday. She actually began to feel a disconnect from her old life, from her old habits, and from her friends back home and that frightened her.

The only reminders she had of being Hermione Granger now were the few times a month she met with Dumbledore and he addressed her by her real name -- and even that was starting to be jarring.

The nightmares were beginning to return more frequently as well. That unsettled her -- there was obviously something deep-seated that was disturbed when she was feeling particularly anxious. She had been able to wake herself when she could feel they were starting -- when her dreams of her daily routine descended into a darkness she knew she needed to wake up or risk creating a disturbance. And although she regularly cast a silencing charm on her bed, there were nights were she was too caught up in reading and fell asleep without casting it.

When Hermione reached the castle, she headed straight to her workroom and began to make a schedule for the potions she would begin brewing, and the ingredients she would need to acquire. Now it was time to put Snape to the test.

She slid a small sheet of parchment across their shared desk to Severus at the beginning of their next potions class. The list of ingredients she requested wasn’t lengthy or too difficult, but it would give her a better picture of the type of things he had access to. He eyed it curiously before he opened it, gave it a quick once-over and a nod, and tucked it away into his satchel.

There were no more words between them on the subject, and she didn’t see much of him after that. At breakfast one morning about a week after, she was quite surprised to have an owl land swiftly in front of her, nearly knocking over a jug of milk. She unwrapped the small parcel from its leg and gave it a piece of bacon for its troubles before it flew off. The parcel bore her name in familiar spiky handwriting. The ingredients. She unrolled the scroll accompanying it.

Granger,

Included are the items you requested: fresh moly, dragonroot, bloodwort and seedpods from floating dandelion traps. The rest of the items on your list will be sent to you at a further date. If everything included is to your satisfaction, I will expect 2 Galleons, 3 Sickles, and 2 knuts at your earliest convenience.

SS

“Oooh, order something nice?” asked Mary, gesturing toward the parcel.

“Oh, no, just some potion ingredients. I’m running low,” she explained, folding away the parchment.

Mary looked slightly disappointed at Hermione’s answer. Hermione excused herself from the table and carried the parcel to her lab, where she could inspect the ingredients in peace.

The plants did not have a preservation charm applied to them as it would have an affect on the potency of the ingredients, but they appeared to have been picked that morning. They were bound neatly in brown parchment and scraps of cloth to prevent cross contamination, and Hermione was pleased to see that everything was indeed fresh. The moly did not have the tiny black spots on the flowers that developed as they were dried, the seed pods were still pliable, and the tentacles coming from the dragonroot were still attached, but free of any debris. She could not have done a better job herself if she had tried, and she expected nothing less from Snape.

She did not have any classes until the afternoon, so she spent the morning brewing potions from the ingredients to test their potency, hoping that the freshness would help create a stronger potion. She was disappointed with the results of the bloodwort: the rash salve she brewed did not appear to be any different than the use of dried ingredients.

She was walking to arithmancy that afternoon when she heard a low voice speak her name from an alcove housing a statue of Brian the Blessed.

“Granger.”

Hermione immediately looked to her left to see Snape absentmindedly examining his nails.

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, yes, everything looks amazing, but the bloodwort --” Severus looked up at her, his eyes beginning to sharpen “-- the potency versus the dried… I don’t know, it doesn’t seem to make much difference, are you sure that it was harvested correctly --”

“Are you questioning the freshness of my ingredients?” he asked, his voice low and on the verge of threatening. It reminded her a bit too much of his teaching self for her liking. Thankfully, Hermione had never been prone to reacting to this tone of voice.

“Of course not, but I am curious about how they were harvested.”

He leaned in close to her. “If I show you where gather, then you’ll tell someone else, and after a while, I’ll lose my business.”

“I promise I won’t. And I’ll still pay you.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out the coins she had stuck in there earlier. “I put in a bit extra for the speed -- I’m really impressed.”

He stared at her as he took the coins from her. She could see him warring with himself -- pride in wanting to reassure her the freshness of his stock, but his need for wanting to keep his secrets to himself.

Something about her must have convinced him in the end because after a moment he said “I’ll send you the meeting place.”

Hermione nodded and Severus turned to leave.

“Oh, Granger?”

“Yes?”

“You may want to think up an excuse if you get caught. Slytherin will not be losing house points if you’re careless, and I can’t promise Gryffindor will be very forgiving if you are.”

She pursed her lips in indignation. She could tell he was trying to get a rise out of her, but she wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

It was a few days after when he dropped a note on her desk at the end of Transfiguration.

Tomorrow Night. 9 o’clock. Entrance to dungeons. Bring a silver knife.

He wanted to leave the castle -- and so close to curfew! When Dark Magic was being performed loosely around the school! There had been such an emphasis on protection lately that his flouting of the rules seemed especially reckless. After Terrence Miggins’ episode, their Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons quickly turned to instruction on how to spot someone under the effect of any of the Unforgivables, how to defend against them, and how to break the Imperius Curse if one found oneself under it or suspected someone of falling victim to it.

She could tell the teachers were struggling as much as they must have been during her last year at Hogwarts. There were still hexes being thrown in corridors, but there was no outright punishment for Dark Magic, but she could see the logic for it. If the student were expelled, it would be another body out in the world, another eager follower for Voldemort, and if the student were kept at Hogwarts there was still a chance to sway them and influence them towards the light. All of the teachers began to orient their classes towards protection and outright anti-Dark Magic lessons. Well, all except Slughorn, who played both sides so that no matter the outcome he would be a winner either way.

She really felt uncomfortable with the prospect of putting herself in danger, but she had to take advantage of this opportunity.

She wore her cloak of deepest black. As nine drew nearer, she saw a slight movement from down the corridor -- he was swathed in a full cloak as well. He waited for her to approach and gestured forward. They walked together in silence.

He led her to a secret passageway from the dungeons -- it felt as though they must be walking through the lake itself, as there was slime dripping down the stone walls, but they emerged when he pulled a small iron door aside and she saw the forest ahead of her. The Bloody Baron emerged from a wall beside them, shocking Hermione. Was he going to report them for leaving the school?

“Just going out for a bit,” Snape explained to him in a low voice. “I’ll be back soon.”

The Baron gave him a silent nod and floated off.

The lights were on in greenhouse three, illuminating much of the grounds near the castle. “Professor Sprout is harvesting, of course,” he whispered. The full moon didn’t help, either.

They stuck close to the castle, hoping it would cloak their figures before making a dash for the forest.

“Where are we going?” she asked, pulling her cloak tightly around her. She was regretting her challenging him now -- she should have waited for warmer weather before she did so.

“Not far.” He didn’t seem to notice the cold.

“You know there are centaurs in here --” she started, but he seemed to be anticipating her warning.

“Of course.”

“And acromantula,” she continued.

He paused. “Not this close to the castle.”

“No, but they’re still around.”

“Stay close, then. Did you bring the knife as I asked?”

“Of course.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew the small silver knife from her potions set, unwrapping it from its protective cover to show him. It glinted in the small amount of light coming through the trees.

“Good. Keep it handy. Lumos” he held his wand in front of him, and she noticed his left arm was firmly inside his cloak.

They walked for several minutes until she spotted a sizeable clearing illuminated by moonlight. They stopped, and he clearly was surveying the space.

“Satisfied?” He gestured to the clearing. There were several rows of plants in all different stages of development, everything from seedlings to full grown reproducing plants. Everything she had requested and more. She could feel the invisible barrier around the space that allowed him to control the temperature and humidity. It was impressive.

“You planted all this?” She took a step through the barrier, instantly feeling warmer.

“How else was I supposed to ensure a steady supply of potions ingredients?”

“You should really stop answering my questions with a question. It’s infuriating.”

“Then stop asking silly questions.” He joined her through the barrier now, his arms folded proudly over his chest, looking over the plants as though he was a father observing his children at play.

“Does Slughorn know about this? Surely he notices that your ingredients aren’t standard issue or dried.”

“Who do you think helped enable this?” He smirked.

Hermione gaped at him.

“I supply a good number of ingredients for Slughorn at a special price. In exchange, I also get access to non-plant ingredients. I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s all about benefiting himself. The money he saves goes toward his wine, I’m sure.”

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Of course it would be.”

He gestured to the rows. “The first two are ready for harvesting. There’s bloodwort to harvest as well if you would prefer to do it yourself.” They knelt down together and began slicing at the plants, bundling them in damp cloth and stowing them in a basket he had produced.

They gathered in near silence for a while, Snape directing her in what he wanted harvested and what needed to stay when they heard the sound of something rush through the undergrowth near the clearing.

Snape’s wand and dagger were up in an instant. Another loud rustling went by, and another, even larger. Hermione thought she could spot antlers through the trees. At the third sound, Snape had moved himself between the sound and Hermione, readying himself for whatever might appear.

There was a final rustling in the undergrowth and Snape’s wandlight fell on a rat that had decided to stop and inspect them. Hermione recognized it immediately. Wormtail.

He scampered off before they had a chance to react.

If Wormtail was out, that meant Prongs and Padfoot and Moony -- and Snape had specifically requested silver. She had assumed it was for harvesting specific potions ingredients, not for protection against magical creatures. Tonight was the full moon -- she had even noted the amount of light they had earlier -- how could she be so stupid?

“I think we should head back to the castle.” Hermione did her best to sound calm, but her voice escaped at a higher than normal pitch. “I don’t think those were centaurs.”

Snape shook his head, his eyes still darting around the clearing, but it had gone silent. “Keep your wand out. And that dagger,” he reminded her.

It wasn’t too late when they got back to the castle, but it was still past curfew and Hermione still had to duck into a few alcoves on her way to the seventh floor to avoid Filch.

The next week of brewing provided her with some promising results. Severus had been right -- the ingredients were indeed more potent when fresh, and she fully intended on continuing to use his services for all her brewing needs.

Hermione wrote to Dumbledore to inform him of the advancement of her independent work. Despite the slow pace of her progress, they still met together, though she never had much to report. Their meetings usually didn’t last very long and usually consisted of book recommendations, though he often seemed distracted. In the past two months, however, he had begun to cancel their regular appointments. She was no longer surprised when an owl flew down in front of her with his regrets.

As she had started putting things in place for experimentation, she requested his presence at her workroom the next evening. She didn’t receive a reply, but as she turned into the corridor, she was pleased to see him waiting outside, watching the sheep in a landscape painting munch happily on some grass.

“Ah! Miss Granger. My apologies -- by the time I reached your note, it was too late to reply. I take it you have something to show me?”

“Yes -- yes -- I wanted to see what you think,” she welcomed him inside her workspace and gestured towards the maze. He looked it over with amusement.

“I’ve trained these mice to run the maze to the point where it’s second nature, and I’m going to alter their memories soon. I’m playing around with a recipe for a restorative draught and I’m going to test that first.” She lifted one of the mice out of the cage and dropped it into the maze, watching with pride as it ran the path seamlessly. Dumbledore clapped softly when it reached the end.

“Excellent. I’m pleased you’ve made some progress,” he reached down to stroke the mouse lightly with his fingertips. It leaned into his touch.

“I’m hoping that if it’s successful that it’ll be ready for human testing -- but I have a question.”

“Yes, Miss Granger?” He turned his attention toward her.

“Headmaster Dumbledore -- that thing you did with my mind when we first met -- was that legilimency?” she asked.

“Indeed it was.”

“Would it be possible for you to teach me how you did that? Or occlumency? Or both?” She had been hesitant in asking, but it was a skill that she had been desperate to learn since she learned Harry had been getting private lessons -- and what better opportunity than now?

“Do you have reason to believe that you are in need of these skills?” He met her eyes, searching.

“Well -- yes. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. If I’m looking for memories, wouldn’t it be helpful to have the option to see for myself?” The idea had come to her over the last week when she was thinking about the mice and how she was soon going to conceal the most firm memory in their brain. She actually pictured putting away the memory like a lost sock in a drawer -- and what a pity it was that one couldn’t go searching through memories as they would through drawers.

“Yes, I do believe you are right,” Dumbledore lifted his finger in agreement.

“And occlumency. Well, it would help if anyone tried to search my memories, I think -- and it’s useful to help fight off the Unforgivables, isn’t it? You still haven’t caught who cast the Imperius Curse.”

“One thing at a time, Miss Granger. No, we have not caught the culprit. And yes -- occlumency is indeed helpful in helping fight off the Imperius Curse. I cannot promise you steady lessons now, but -- there is a book in the Restricted Section that I believe you will find most helpful.” He grabbed some spare parchment off of her work desk and scribbled out a book title. “We will discuss this next time we meet.”

She couldn’t stop beaming. “Of course -- thank you, Headmaster!”

Dumbledore gave her a reserved smile and glanced at the clock she kept on the wall. “Ah, I believe we must part ways now as it is getting close to curfew. Thank you so much for showing me this, Miss Granger -- I look forward to hearing how you progress.”

She was on her way back to Gryffindor Tower, working out how she was going to squeeze in reading the book he recommended when a voice spoke to her from an alcove.

“You meet with Dumbledore regularly.”

She jumped -- she shouldn’t have been surprised but she was. With the number of times she had found him hiding in alcoves she should have expected it. He looked rather smug with himself at her reaction.

She composed herself. “Yes. He supplied me with the space for my study and expects regular updates.”

“And that’s all you talk about?” This was no subtle questioning.

“He does like to go on about muggle sweets and Quidditch,” she answered.

“What do you want, Granger?” The question was unexpected, almost accusatory.

“I don’t want anything. What do you mean? What could I possibly --”

“Don’t play stupid. Is it information? Are you trying to play spy?”

She couldn’t help the bark of laughed that escaped her, though she was slightly taken aback by his change in demeanor. “What? No! Who in the world would I be spying on?!”

He gave her a look that showed he didn’t quite believe her.

“I don’t want anything from you other than friendship, maybe?”

“Gryffindors don’t.”

“Well, if that’s the way Gryffindors are then maybe I don’t want to be one!” she burst out.

He seemed stunned by her reaction.

“I’m sorry -- I’m sorry for shouting. I’m just so tired of this rivalry. No, I’m not some undercover spy. We talk about how I’m getting on in class and lessons, and if I feel there are any gaps, but mainly it’s just about my research. But I haven’t told him anything about you -- I haven’t told anyone anything about you. I won’t betray you or your trust in me, I promise,” she tried to end her rambling entreaty on a firm note, but she felt her voice waver with emotion, with the need for him to believe her.

It seemed to have worked. He actually looked a bit ashamed of himself. He gestured toward the corridor ahead of them. “Shall we?”

She nodded and continued on her path towards Gryffindor tower. He walked along beside her.

“What are you doing out?” she asked. “It’s nearly curfew.”

“I was passing by and when I spotted you, thought to escort you back to your tower.”

“And if you get caught?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Well, all this experimentation can’t be for naught. How would it look if I took credit for your research? Dumbledore wouldn’t be very happy.” He leaned against the bannister of a staircase as it moved, crossing his arms over his chest, shaking his head slightly at her.

“No, he wouldn’t,” she agreed.

“I do hope I will get some credit along the way. After all, I am giving you extra potions tuition. Taking time out of my important academic schedule. My grades might be suffering from it.”

She gave him a small nudge as they alighted from the staircase. “I doubt your grades have ever suffered. You’re enjoying it. And yes -- you will get credit. I promise you.”

They finally arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady who eyed them curiously.

“Well, here I am, safe and sound.”

Severus was about to respond when they heard a gasp from the portrait. “It’s you!”

Severus’ cheeks grew immediately pink and he side-eyed the painting. “Goodnight, Granger,” he turned on his heel and if he could have flown, Hermione was fairly certain he would have. The Fat Lady was trying to shout something after him about sleeping in the corridor when Hermione gave the password and climbed through the portrait hole.

Chapter Text

March came in like a lion, with howling gales and torrential rain that caused Quidditch matches to be cancelled and left students confined to corridors, unfortunately making them more susceptible to attacks. Two more illegal curses had been thrown in the first week of the month, unfortunately sending a second year Gryffindor and a seventh year Ravenclaw to the hospital wing. It was difficult to control. Half of the spells thrown were from pent up tension, and the other half were done out of sincere malice. Unfortunately, aside from the few students caught in skirmishes, the person -- or persons -- casting the illegal curses had not been caught.

Teachers were beginning to escort students from class to class, though this caused quite a problem with the older years who had their own schedules and scattered in different directions when class was dismissed. The teachers simply had to trust that they had taught them shielding and other defense spells well enough to protect themselves.

Even with these precautions, the usual black market of talismans made an appearance. Hermione was now unsurprised by the variety of objects she saw hanging around some of the students necks -- everything ranging from Hag Stones to elaborate silver medallions. She caught Maeve trying to dissuade Alfie from making one such purchase over the breakfast table one morning.

Hermione had tried to stay out of monitoring the trade, but on this occasion felt compelled to step in.“Oh, Alfie. The only thing that will protect you is you.”

“But my parents have written to say that if anything else happens that they’ll pull me out of Hogwarts! I don’t want to go home!” He clutched the price list tightly in his hands.

“How about I help you and Maeve practice a few spells that will protect you? We can meet in the common room this evening. I’m sure no one else will mind.”

The pair nodded eagerly and Hermione removed the scrap of paper from Alfie’s hand. It was full of complete rubbish.

She was suddenly distracted by a crash and a shout from further along the Gryffindor table. Lily Evans was telling off a fifth year, and there was a broken jar scattered on the breakfast table between them. It seemed as though Lily was frustrated by the hype surrounding the illicit items as well. “You know very well that’s just water with toenails in it!” she heard her shout as she vanished the jar with her wand and began to gather up several other odd looking items. Hermione had to suppress a smile -- it was as though she was watching herself.

Practicing spells with Alfie and Maeve was actually a very bonding experience. Once the other students saw what they were doing, many joined in. She had never felt more house camaraderie than that evening as pretty soon the whole common room -- all years -- were helping one another with their skills and spells. It reminded Hermione of the DA meetings in her fifth year, and she felt a pang of loss and guilt go through here. She hadn’t really thought of Harry and Ron for days now.

The strict curfews made it difficult for her extracurricular experimentation but thankfully she and Snape had a number of free periods together that allowed them to converse and meet. Hermione was satisfied with the progress the mice had made. The path through the maze was now as part of their memory as anything else in their life -- so deeply ingrained in them that they didn’t need the reward at the end to complete it. It was as much a part of them now as her parent’s life was to them. Second nature.

Hermione had trouble explaining the nerves she was experiencing when Severus finally convinced her that they needed to alter the mice’s memories in order to continue the experiment. She knew -- she had been putting it off, worried about how it was going to turn out. He had finally threatened to do it himself one day and had raised his wand when she stopped him. “No -- it has to be me,” she explained.

He stood back and gave her a mock bow. “Go on then.”

She took a deep breath, looked at the mice, and uttered the spell, trying to recall exactly how she said it when she altered her parents memories. There, it was gone. She made her way through the mice's minds, travelling the same path through to the exit, completely removing it. She planted new memories of the maze, providing them with information of an alternate route and exit. She was speaking out loud, in a low and suggestive voice, exactly has she had done for her parents.

By the time she was done, she could feel a tremor in her limbs and a stinging in her eyes. Severus was giving her an odd intense look that made her even more aware of how mad she must seem. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She just changed the memory of some mice -- it wasn’t people, it wasn’t her parents again. She heard an “aguamenti” from her side and Severus pushed a glass of water into her hand.

“I can carry on from here, if you like,” he offered.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she protested, wiping her eyes and taking a sip from the glass. “Let’s see how I did.” She stood and watched as Severus removed one of the mice from the cage and placed it into the maze. It started forward as it usually would have but where it would continue straight on before bearing left, it made a right turn. It continued its alternate path perfectly until it found the final dead end that Hermione had planted.

“I would commend you on your skills with the memory charm if I didn’t think it would upset you so much,” he said, replacing the first mouse with the second and watching it run the maze in the exact same way.

Hermione couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, wiping her eyes again. “Well, we know that we’re at least halfway there. Now it’s just time for testing.”

Severus wasn’t happy unless he tried to restore their memories through a charm on its own. When it didn’t work, they began to brew.

Their first potion, Severus threw out immediately. “The ingredients didn’t bind properly. Not enough liquid,” he explained. “The spell wouldn’t have taken.”

The second potion was a mixture that Severus felt was something closer to what they were looking for. She cast a quick “reparifors” on it and they give a dropperful to the first mouse. Severus placed it in the maze and they watched anxiously. It made its way up to the first fork, took a few steps forward, then seemed to think better of it and then reversed and turned to the right before carrying out the rest of the path to the finish.

“Damn,” whispered Severus, clutching his fist and double checking the ingredients once more. Hermione wondered how many times they would go through this before a solution was finally found.

“It’s getting close to curfew,” Hermione warned. “We’ll have to continue tomorrow.”

“Can’t,” he said. “Slughorn.”

“Oh! Right,” she remembered. “I’ll see you there, then?”

“Indeed,” he confirmed, grabbing his robes and slipping out of the workroom.

She wasn’t quite sure how he wrangled it, but Slughorn was able to arrange another of his “small get togethers”. She quickly realized how it was going to work when McGonagall arrived in the Gryffindor common room to collect the attending students.

“Come on, then,” she said brusquely, ushering them out the portrait hole. As they made their way down to the dungeons, she was lecturing the whole way, impressing on them the importance of not leaving before she had arrived back to collect them -- something Sirius and James were very unhappy with. “But Professor, we walk around on our own all the time -- and there’s no one in the corridors now! No one will be looking to do anything --”

“Precisely the point. If something should happen, it would be a number of hours before you were found,” replied McGonagall.

Sirius pulled a face behind her back and she saw James bite his lip trying not to laugh.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Since their last attack on Severus, she had done her best to ignore them altogether -- even if it did indirectly bring them closer together.

When they arrived in Slughorn’s rooms, it was as though clouds had parted and the sun appeared. Entering from the somber silent corridors into a brightly lit room with music playing and lots of people chatting was quite a change. Slughorn was immediately at the door to greet them and began entreating McGonagall to stay. “I have your favorite gillywater -- and this one has an essence of cucumbers! And look who’s here,” he wrapped his arm around her, a feat for his small stature, and gestured to a blonde curly headed woman dressed in Quidditch robes, “do you remember Melinda Rowell? On the Yorkshire Yeti’s now!”

McGonagall accepted the glass that Slughorn handed her and looked genuinely pleased to see her old student. “Oh yes, well, maybe just for one, then.”

As they watched her stride over to the blonde, Slughorn turned to James. “Potter, I really must ask your father to join us one of these days. We really are due for a catch-up with him, you know. Can’t keep him all to yourself!”

Hermione saw James’ face lose its effortless carefree look into suddenly composed features. “Yes -- though he hasn’t been very well, I’m afraid. St. Mungo’s are doing their best to keep him healthy.”

“Oh, dear, nothing too serious, I hope?” Slughorn put on a face of concern, sudden but genuine.

Hermione could tell that James had an idea of what was wrong with his father but did not want to voice it. She saw Lily tighten her grip on James’ hand. “No, no, not at all.”

Slughorn looked as though he was at a loss for words, but thankfully Professor Flitwick arrived with the students from Ravenclaw, and he looked more eager to join the festivities than McGonagall had been.

Hermione took the opportunity to survey the room. There were a few faces she recognized from some of the past Slug Club meetings and a few new ones as well. The fellow Gryffindors she arrived with had now scattered. Sirius and James had immediately been drawn to the Quidditch players, and Hermione saw Lily chatting with a woman wearing a St. Mungo’s badge. She spotted a few Slytherins here and there -- Regulus was side-eyeing Sirius and doing his best to stay as far from him as possible. She couldn’t see if Severus was in attendance yet.

She decided to join a small group of students standing near a table of hor d'oeuvres.

“I think it’s absolutely ridiculous, treating us as first years -- they didn’t react like this when there was a lethifold set loose in the castle, did they?” A Slytherin boy she thought must be related to Millicent Bulstrode protested.

“No! Not even when that rogue vampire was hunting nearby. Do you remember all the attacks in Hogsmeade?” piped in a seventh year Hufflepuff Hermione recognized to be Tiggy Wallace, an outgoing girl who would become the editor of Witch Weekly by the time she attended Hogwarts in the future.

A fifth year Ravenclaw boy shrugged. “But there were never any student attacks, were there?” he lowered his voice. “Do you guys know who’s doing it?”

“No, but I’d like to wring their neck. All this hype is interrupting my being able to snog my boyfriend,” a Slytherin girl replied, eliciting a laugh from the group.

“What do you think, Granger?”

“I think whoever it is must be an older student. Some of the curses were quite advanced --” she started, but the Slytherin boy cut her off.

“That’s nothing. Snape here knew more curses than most of the seventh years when we started, didn’t you, Snape?”

Hermione turned to her right and was surprised to see Snape standing beside her, clutching a glass of some deep red drink. He raised it to the group in recognition and drank, causing them to chuckle once more.

“Are you suffering from the curfew?” Tiggy asked.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I find ways around it.”

“A true Slytherin. Cunning to the core,” replied the Ravenclaw boy.

“Now, now, no political talk here, boys and girls,” interrupted Slughorn. “Is everyone enjoying themselves?”

A chorus of voices responded in the affirmative.

“Good, good,” he spotted another group of students and made his way toward them, leaving the group to themselves once again.

Conversation started once more when Slughorn was out of earshot, though this time it turned to Quidditch. Hermione immediately lost interest. Although she attended the matches when Gryffindor played, she did not feel as connected to the sport as she did back home. She was not watching her best friend (who also happened to be one of the youngest players in history). She had actually been annoyed on more than one occasion because Snape had happily abandoned the library and her workroom on a Saturday to watch the matches, though this shouldn’t have surprised her: she sometimes saw him heading to the pitch with his group of friends, all clutching brooms.

She glanced at her watch. A further hour and a half before McGonagall would be back to collect them. She had just seen the Transfiguration professor exit the dungeons, so there was no hope of catching her before she left.

Hermione excused herself from the conversation to get herself a glass of punch. Afterwards, she found a convenient pillar to hide behind and contemplate what to do for the rest of her time in the dungeons. It didn’t look like she would get Snape on his own anytime soon.

The walls in front of her were lined with various specimens in jars -- she was fairly confident that they were the same ones that were there whens he attended school. There were grindlylows suspended in liquid, their long spindly fingers outstretched against the glass. Further along were bowtruckles and Cornish pixies, and her stomach turned when she spotted a merperson embryo. It reminded her of a museum trip with her school as a child and being absolutely taken aback by a jar of moles.

She came to a row of snakes and began inspecting them, wondering idly if any of them might have been related to Nagini. She paused at one with its considerable fangs bared and moved closer to the glass.

“I didn’t expect you to disappear so quickly,” came Snape’s voice from beside her.

She turned slightly to acknowledge his presence before turning back to the jars in front of her. “I shouldn’t have come, to be honest. There are very few people here who interest me and I’m not thinking of my future beyond Hogwarts just yet.”

Snape moved beside her to examine the wall as well. She had never been stuck by it before, but at that moment, with him beside her, she was suddenly more aware of him than she had been in all the time she had spent with him previously. She had never been this close to Professor Snape, but this Snape, his tall, lanky figure beside her, made her feel suddenly aware of the man that he would become and his fate. She had to take a deep breath as images of his final moments flooded her brain.

“How difficult do you think it would be to brew an antivenin?” Hermione asked, tracing the glass of a particularly ferocious looking snake, pushing the images away.

He scoffed. “Not difficult. You just have to get the properties of the venom, and --”

“Let’s say you don’t have access to the original venom.” She turned to look at him and evaluate his reaction.

“Well, it wouldn’t be impossible,” he traced his finger along his lips in thought, a habit she knew he would continue later in life. “You could always just shove a bezoar down their throats.”

“Doesn’t that only work for ingested poisons?”

Snape shrugged, turning his gaze toward her. “It won’t hurt, will it? Either way, the toxins are in your system. It will do something.”

“That’s important to remember, I guess,” she nodded slightly.

“We can experiment if you like,” he offered.

“Well, not in my lab,” she protested. “I’m already in the middle of an experiment. I don’t want things to get mixed up. Also, I don’t fancy poisoning anything.” She also wanted him to do the work -- he would be the one who would benefit from it.

“That can be fixed. I have a space,” he brushed off her concerns. “Why are you so curious anyway? Afraid something will be slipped in your drink?” He raised his glass and swirled the contents before taking a sip. "It's curses going around, Granger, not poisons."

Hermione bit her lip and hesitated before she answered. She didn’t want Dumbledore’s wand to light up, but if she worded it carefully… “I saw someone attacked by a snake and there wasn’t anything I could do to help. They died.”

The color drained from Severus’ face and he looked awkwardly toward the specimens in jars once more. He cleared his throat. “Too deep in the jungles of Peru?” She knew he was trying to make light of the situation, but she couldn't bring herself to smile at his attempt. When he saw it didn't go over well, he was quick to apologize. “That was tasteless of me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.

“No one knows anything about you, Granger. You can’t blame a man for trying. I think that’s the first thing you’ve said about your past, really. And I’ve asked!” He was exasperated now. “I’ve asked Professors, I’ve asked other students -- I’ve even asked those second years! I’m on the verge of asking Albus sodding Dumbledore about you.”

Hermione felt something surge through her at his words, sending goosebumps down her arms. If she had to name it, she would say it was pleasure, though at what exactly she couldn’t say. She didn’t want to dwell on it right now, and said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Did you say you had a private space?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You can’t just --”

“Yes, I can.”

He watched her for a moment, his mouth quivering with everything he wanted to say. He finally resorted to a sigh. “Yes, I do,” he replied.

“And that’s where all your spare potions ingredients go?”

“Of course,” he shrugged. “It’s not like Slughorn has any need of them. They’re just going to be tossed.”

“May I see it?”

“There’s nothing to see. It’s nowhere near as nice as yours.” He averted his eyes from her, a slight pink coloring his cheeks. Embarrassment.

She rolled her eyes. “It isn’t a contest, Severus. I once brewed a potion for two months in a girls’ toilet.”

He was very quiet for a moment, and she knew he was debating. She crossed her fingers.

“Come on, then,” he set down his glass on a tray carried by a house elf making its way around the party.

“What? I didn’t mean now! We can’t leave! Not with the curfew rules as strict as they are.” When she had asked, she hadn’t expected him to do it so immediately, but she knew she so desperately needed to seize this opportunity. The next time they saw one another he might have changed his mind completely.

“Do you really think that Slughorn would have come to collect us from the common room? We have other ways of getting around. Come on.” He re-entered the main part of the room, disappearing around a group of witches in dress robes.

Hermione followed behind, doing her best to look as nonchalant as possible. She followed Snape at a distance as he made his way around the room and eventually slipped behind a tapestry depicting Merlin and Nimue.

It opened into a corridor lined with torches. He stopped at an intersection of passageways and turned toward her. He was looking at her with an intensity that reminded her of his teaching. “If you tell anyone, Granger, if anyone finds out, you’ll be hexed seven ways from Sunday. I've already got a curse on anyone who tells Black or Potter about my business, and I'm not afraid to do the same to you.”

“Have I given you any reason to believe that I would do that?” she asked.

“No. But I need to hear you say it.”

She sighed. “I, Jean Granger, do solemnly swear that I will keep your private potions laboratory a secret.”

He seemed satisfied with her oath, and led her down a passageway to the left. They passed three doorways, leading to old classrooms before they finally stopped at one on the right. Snape put his wand to the door, whispered a few words, and it opened.

It was indeed an old classroom. Disused desks were stacked along one side of the room, and along the other, he had pushed a number of tables up against the wall to create a long workstation. Bottles and boxes with labels marked with his familiar spiky writing were placed in neat rows, and there were two cauldrons, one with something gently simmering in it. Dragonhide gloves and an apron were hung up on the wall, and a selection of knives and stirring rods were lined up neatly on the other side.

“So, this is where you disappear to. What exactly do you do?”

“There are some more discerning students who do not wish to visit Madam Pomfrey for every ailment or problem. There are also some students who wish to purchase some potions but don’t quite have the pocket money that Hogsmeade requires.”

“You aren't just selling ingredients or experimenting - you run an illicit potions trade.” She had suspected, but never quite found the confirmation she craved.

“How dare you accuse me of doing something illegal,” he replied with mock offense, his hand on his chest. “There is nothing in the rules that say that I am not allowed to brew potions that are routinely handed out in the infirmary.”

“And what of those that aren’t handed out?” Hermione asked, thinking of a spate of love potion spikings that had happened around Valentine’s Day.

“Some people will pay a surprising amount of gold if they want something bad enough.”

“That’s why I keep seeing you with other students,” stated Hermione. “That’s why all those girls were coming to see you around the Yule Ball.”

“I make a decent trade.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since my second year. I got tired of going to the hospital wing every time I was cursed. It’s almost an open secret.”

“Severus Snape, I am truly impressed,” And she was -- she really was. She knew Fred and George had been able to establish a successful business in their last few years at Hogwarts, but who ever would have guessed that Snape himself would have undertaken a similar endeavor? Snape who was so strict about enforcing rules when she was at school. “What’s the oddest request you’ve had so far?” she asked.

“I can’t give away my customer’s secrets.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not asking for names.” She grabbed a chair and seated herself on it. “I’m just curious as to how far you’ve extended your skills.”

He sighed. “Someone came back from a summer visit to Knockturn Alley with a particularly painful malady under his robes.”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh dear.”

She rose and moved toward his workstation where she spotted his copy of Advanced Potions Making. She opened it. The margins of the potions text were black with the crowded writing. She leaned down to read it more closely -- she had never actually had the chance to examine the book while Harry had it. Harry was too worried she would take it away or do something to damage it.

She leafed through the pages. There were addendums to every single potion, notes on most of the ingredients, and spells scribbled in between. She saw the muffliato that she had used with Harry and Ron so liberally during their sixth year, and levicorpus that she had witnessed in use already. She thankfully could not locate sectumsempra quite yet and wondered what trigger its creation. She found notes for other spells he had created, though. One particularly nasty one would mark the victim with blue fire and require them to imbibe a large number of potions to recover.

“Severus, this is impressive -- phenomenal, even. Is this what you do all day? Experiment with different techniques?”

“Well -- yes,” he took a deep breath. “There are lots of old potions brewing techniques that fell out of favor in the 18th century, and if you study economic patterns over the last three hundred years, the popularity of things like shredding or slicing or juicing rises and falls with however much profit various sectors were hoping to make, so not necessarily the best techniques were pushed. If you can sell more product to a customer by convincing them to utilize a less effective method…”

Hermione was floored. She never thought to study wider wizarding culture and history to look for specific trends in anything.

“That’s… that's...,” Hermione shook her head, lost for words.

“That’s business for you,” he finished for her.

“How did you even think of looking at that?”

“My mum had a few old potions books and I noticed some of the ingredients and techniques differed from current standardized ones. That led me to question and explore.”

“Are you working on anything currently?” she peered into the simmering cauldron. It wasn’t a potion she recognized.

“I’ve been experimenting with adding spells to potions. This one is currently simmering for another day before I add a levitation charm to it -- I’m hoping that it will lead to human flight without brooms,” he explained.

“Should I be worried that I’ll be seeing Dobo flying around?”

“Only if you visit the kitchens,” he smirked.

Hermione checked her watch. “McGonagall is going to retrieve us in about fifteen minutes. I should go back.”

He nodded and led her back out to the corridor, reapplying spells to the door.

She wasn’t nearly as annoyed now when students came to visit him in the library.

It was an early evening later in the month when she finally realized that something was not quite right. She was reading away in the library as normal. She had just finished another book on Legilimency that Dumbledore had recommended, and had moved on to preparing notes for the arithmancy lecture next week. She was alone. Remus was off -- it was a full moon, and the other Marauders with him, and Snape… Snape hadn’t made an appearance. He usually did on Wednesday evenings. She cleared away space on the table across from her in anticipation of his arrival. She turned back to her arithmancy notes, cursing her effort to not overload the parchment with information. There was literally nowhere she could add anything else to it -- she had made everything as concise as possible.

She checked the time. A half hour had passed and still no sign of Snape. He must just have lost track of time, surely. She grabbed her charms books and began to peruse them.

Madam Pince was making her way through the tables closing the library the next time Hermione became aware of anyone else in the room. It was astonishingly early due to the curfew -- dinner had only just finished. Her eyes immediately darted to the spot across from her, hoping that Snape had made a silent appearance and she had just been too engrossed in her work to notice.

The chair sat mockingly empty.

She couldn’t keep the frown from her face as she packed up her things and headed toward Gryffindor Tower. And her rucksack annoyed her, catching on the hood of her robes as she stepped through the portrait hole. And the first years playing gobstones were playing ten times louder than normal, surely -- it was grating on her nerves. And there seemed to be an extra stair on the way to the dormitory, making her trip seem that much longer.

She dropped her rucksack heavily next to her trunk and kicked off her shoes with more vigour than normal.

“Rough day?” Mary looked up from the copy of Witch Weekly she had been reading. She was sprawled out on her bed.

“No -- not particularly,” replied Hermione.

“Oh,” Mary eyed her rucksack before turning back to the magazine.

Did she have a rough day? No -- not at all -- she had made some good Charms notes and she had finished off her homework for three of her classes, so that would leave her more time for experimenting and brewing tomorrow. She flopped back onto her bed.

Was she in a bad mood? Well -- yes -- but what exactly was it that had set her off? She was having a perfectly fine day until she was walking back to Gryffindor Tower. Yes, she was slightly annoyed about the library closing so early, but she was adapting.

A thought struck her and she knew instantly what it was. It bothered her that it had affected her so much.

Snape had not shown up.

It’s not that they had a standing appointment or anything, and he didn’t always show -- but it had never had this much of an impact on her before.

She bit her lip, chewing on it slightly. When did Snape begin to have such an affect on her mood, her outlook? Yes, she had started to search him out at breakfast in the morning, and recently, her heart did jump a little from the anticipation of seeing him. She had attributed this to beginning to genuinely enjoy his company -- the snarky remarks he would make under his breath in potions, and the insights he gave her to her experimentation.

She had known Snape in his capacity as a professor, but knowing him, or getting to know him as a young man was providing her with an interesting portrait of Snape the man. He had likes and dislikes, more annoyances than just the students he had to teach -- he had been a young man once who had suffered the same hallway anxieties and dramas as everyone else did, and had a brilliant mind to boot. And she had begun to feel a disconnect between Snape the Potions Master and Snape the student.

She was sad that she did not have the opportunity to go through Hogwarts with him properly -- he would have been an exciting academic rival, but she was pleased with being able to experience what little of him she had.

He was a being independent of being a professor -- had developed and experimented with spells and potions in his youth. He shopped at the same shops in Hogsmeade and enjoyed butterbeer as much as they did.

It was this realization and acknowledgement of him as a person and his tentative friendship she had assigned to their interactions that provided the fuel for the souring of her mood. She had been looking forward to seeing him and was more than disappointed when she hadn’t.

She entered that point between wake and sleep where there were no inhibitions or barriers to thought, no path that the brain would not go down, that place where her brain came up with her best ideas and pieced things together.

She saw herself arriving to breakfast the next morning and looking over at the Slytherin table. He would be there and return her smile. And when they rose to go to classes, he would wait for her at the door to the Great Hall and he would take her hand and she would rest her head on his shoulder --

Hermione sat bolt upright.

She liked him.

Not liked him but had butterfly feelings for him.

She flopped backwards onto her bed again.

“All right, Jean?” Mary’s voice called out to her.

“Yeah -- I thought I forgot to do something,” she lied. “I just remembered it was taken care of.”

Hermione found it difficult to get back to sleep that evening.

Chapter Text

Exams were upon them. Well, they were weeks away, really, but it felt as though they were just around the corner with the frequency the professors kept mentioning them, and they provided Hermione with a welcome distraction from mulling over her newly-recognised feelings throughout the day. She saved the turning over of her thoughts for the evenings when her bed curtains were closed. It was in that little sanctuary that she had the privacy to ruminate over the events of the last several months to try to pinpoint the exact moments her feelings had developed from respect and admiration for Snape to genuine affection and attraction. She hadn’t come to a firm conclusion yet.

She had gotten in much deeper than she had anticipated. Her heart rose with expectation every time she saw him. The days she didn’t see him were average -- the days she did were good, and the days they worked and spent time together were amazing. Her housemates could tell the difference and were beginning to remark on it. Days she went to bed with a smile were good days, and days where she pulled the curtains to were bad days.

She did begin to worry about the amount of time she and Severus were spending together. Was it going to impact the outcome of his future? Would he still join the Death Eaters? He still spent time with the gang of Slytherins that would turn out to be followers of Voldemort, but she hoped for the future’s sake that he continued on that path, as much as she did not want him to.

Hermione thought that she would see less of him as the school year began to draw to a close. The number of students who called him aside for a quiet word as they exited classes and the number of times she passed him idly waiting next to statues rose sharply after Easter. From all appearances, his business was booming, and his absence in the library was to be expected.

She was somewhat grateful for this. She did her best to not be awkward around him, but it was difficult after they would spend a number of hours together to not stand a bit closer to him when they were observing how a potion was brewing, or set her hand down just next to his, nearly touching, when she was pointing something out to him in a book. She tried to spend less time with him -- she really did. However, when she took the opportunity to continue experimenting on her own, it was never long before she heard a quiet knock on her workroom door and opened it to find him examining a painting that hung nearby, and the number of hours they spent together in private rose.

After the third time she had to let him into the workroom, he finally complained. “You should just give me the password -- I’m here enough as it is.”

She balked at the suggestion and then immediately felt ashamed at her hesitation. Severus had shown her so much trust already, giving her the location of his secret apothecary garden and brewing space, how could she not return that? Her mouth opened and closed with the internal struggle of wanting to blurt it out and contemplating the possible consequences.

Severus took her silence badly. A tenseness entered his shoulders, pulling them upward from their usual slumped position. He was preparing for a confrontation. “Or not.”

“It’s not that,” she rushed, scrambling for something to say, “Dumbledore and McGonagall visit me here sometimes. I just wouldn’t want them to come across you and for you to get in trouble.”

That was true -- Dumbledore had stopped in on a number of occasions to observe her work since she showed him the maze, and she was always thankful that it happened to be times when Severus was in class, though it left her scrambling to do her best to nonchalantly put Severus’ notes out of sight. McGonagall had only dropped by once.

His expression darkened, his black eyes boring into hers, searching. If he could perform legilimency, she knew that he would be going through her mind to confirm if she was telling the truth.

“It’s ‘Buckbeak,’” she said, letting her trust in him win her over. “The password is ‘Buckbeak.’ Don’t get yourself caught.”

He nodded satisfactorily, and visibly relaxed once more. “Only idiots get themselves caught.” His eyes turned toward her workstation, observing the tidied piles of papers and books and scattering of ingredients. “What are you working on today?”

“I was going to start brewing a restorative draught with mandrakes -- Professor Sprout handed these over to me today,” she gestured to the pile of roots and they descended into silence, chopping and slicing and juicing.

It was times like this where Hermione made sense of her feelings for him. They worked together and moved like cogs in a well-oiled machine. He would pass her graters or knives before she even knew she was looking for them, and she would pass him the next ingredients they needed to work on before he even consulted her notes. He would say something disjointed aloud, and Hermione would know the exact thought he was having. She would go to double check what she had done and he would reassure her that yes, she had indeed seeded six dandelion pods before she had time to consult the paper. Their eyes were always on one another but never consciously. They were aware of the other’s needs and thoughts before they knew it themselves. This was his refuge when he needed a break from his own experimentation and mindless filling of orders, and it was a great comfort for Hermione knowing that she had him working alongside her.

She began to find Severus on his own in her workroom, often pottering around with her calculations or playing with the mice. She would arrive to find their food and water refreshed or their cage cleaned when she had been meaning to do it, and the small signs that he had been there had been a great reassurance.

It was a relief to have him in so many shared classes as well. Although they stayed at a distance when they could, they would still keep an eye on one another during the class period and in the corridors after. Their eyes would catch in the corridors and they would give one another subtle nods or a tilt of the head to gesture where the other would be.

This developed quickly after they had left Transfiguration just after Easter holidays to find a fourth year Ravenclaw suspended above the middle of the corridor, eyes rolling and screaming as though she were undergoing the Cruciatus curse. McGonagall was out of the classroom in an instant, wand raised, and the student had fallen to the flagstones with a thud, choking on her sobs. In the chaos afterwards, Hermione had immediately gone to a group of first years to reassure them and her eyes had searched the corridor for Severus only to find him watching her intently, only averting his attention after she had given him a reassuring nod. Every student’s wand had undergone “priori incantatem” that evening, and the culprit had not been found.

She was surprised to open the door one afternoon in late April to see him standing over the maze, practically beaming. When he turned to look at her, her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t help grinning in response.

“Granger, I believe it's worked,” he said, gesturing to the display in front of him.

One of the mice was over halfway through the original maze pattern. She couldn't help holding her breath until it reached the end.

“That’s the second time it has run it successfully,” he picked it up and began to stroke it gently. It leaned into his familiar touch.

“And the others?” Hermione asked, a tremor beginning in her limbs with excitement. Why hadn’t they tried a variation of the restorative draught sooner? If it could cure petrification, it could cure anything.

“I wanted to wait for you,” he answered, setting the mouse back in its cage.

She gave the other two mice a dose of the potion despite Severus's protests.

The first mouse she dropped into the maze hesitated, seeming to want to go in both directions. It couldn't make up its mind. However, after a few moments examining the junction, it finally settled on the original path.

The next mouse was quicker to make its decision, racing down the original path as though it had never learned any other way to navigate the maze.

And it happened again.

And when she dropped them all at the beginning for a third time, it happened once more.

“I do believe we have done it,” Snape said once more, nodding in satisfaction that all three test subjects had completed the maze successfully.

Hermione threw her arms around him, ecstatic, knocking them both into the table holding the maze.

“We've done it!” she squealed.

He was stiff for a moment and then gently moved his arms around her, patting her back awkwardly. “Good work, Granger. Shall we celebrate?”

She looked down at her watch as she withdrew from the hug, feeling heat rise to her face. “No time -- we need to get to class.”

Hermione's mind was buzzing all through herbology. Snape had to keep discreetly passing and nudging her to draw her attention back to Professor Sprout.

Her parents - she found a cure for what she had done to her parents. What else could she cure? Who else could she heal? How could she adapt the potion to work with those with even larger memory problems? Her mind raced with the possibilities. She was so proud of what she and Snape had done, and now, of course, she could focus completely on the problem of trying to warn him about Nagini.

After class, Severus had his own things to do, so she went to her lab with the thought of tidying it up before Dumbledore saw it. He would want to observe her results for himself when she let him know about her success, of course, and there was no need for him to see the many sheets of notes that littered surfaces, the half drunk cups of tea and various items of clothing that were shed and forgotten.

When she entered, though, she couldn’t resist the thought of watching the proof of their success once more. She fished a mouse out of its cage and dropped it into the maze again.

It followed the second path -- the implanted memory.

“Oh, no, cheeky thing -- not that one. The original one, remember?” She broke off a bit of toast that had been leftover from her breakfast this morning and dropped it at the end of the original route.

The mouse once again went for the route she planted with the false memory.

“Oh, you… being stubborn.” she lifted it out and grabbed another from its cage, placing it at the beginning of the maze.

It didn’t follow the original route, either, despite the treat at the end.

“Oh, no,” Hermione’s heart sunk and her hands began to shake in fear.

She grabbed the last mouse alongside the first two, holding them firmly as they were dropped one by one into the maze.

They all had reverted to the planted memory.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no,” she fell to the ground breathing heavily, feeling the blood begin to run cold in her veins.

What had happened? What had caused their success to be erased completely? One mouse would have been stubbornness -- but all of them. All of them?

Severus -- she needed to find Severus.

She jumped up and left her workroom, practically running to the deep dungeons where his was. When she reached the door and gave it a tentative knock, she was surprised when it shocked her at the slightest touch.

“Ow -- Severus?” She had never tried to reach him in his workroom -- how would she even know he was in there?

There was no response. Again, she knocked, bracing herself for the inevitable shock. The knuckles of her hand became bright red and cracked. There was still no answer.

She took off down the corridor once more, trying to find her way back to the split that would take her back toward the Slytherin dormitories.

She turned, heading toward the bare stretch of stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

She paced outside, twisting her fingers, doing her best to calm the tornado of thoughts churning through her head.

She hadn’t thought this through -- how would she reach Snape? She didn’t know the password. She was probably better off heading up to the owlery and trying to send him a note -- it was late and there was no guarantee that anyone would be by to go in.

She felt tears beginning to sting her eyes in frustration.

She turned and began to make her way back towards the staircase that led to the entrance hall when she saw a figure descending them wearing Slytherin robes.

Selina.

“Oh, hello,” called Hermione timidly. “Selina, isn’t it?”

The girl raised her eyebrow at her.

“I was trying to get hold of Snape -- Severus Snape -- could you please see if he’s in for me?”

“Need an emergency contraceptive, do you? Something to get rid of the little’un?” Selina tsked, shaking her head in disappointment. “My, my, what a disappointing Gryffindor.”

Hermione couldn’t rise to the older girl’s bait -- she didn’t have the energy. “Please.”

Selina tossed her hair over her shoulder and announced the password, “basilisk,” before passing through without another word to Hermione.

She didn’t know if Selina was even going to do it or if Snape would even be in -- what if he was in detention or out collecting potions ingredients? What if -- she really should have just gone to the owlery.

She was about to leave once more when the wall opened and Snape stepped out, his face impassive. When he spotted Hermione, he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Granger?”

“Oh, Severus -- it’s all gone wrong -- it’s been for nothing --” she could no longer hold back the flood of tears, and her voice nearly hurt her own ears with the intensity of its pitch. He grabbed her elbow and led her down a passage, casting muffliato along the way.

“Once more, Granger, but this time without the tears,” his voice was tense and commanding, and it reminded her of his older self. It startled her just enough to make her pull herself together.

“The mice -- I went to make sure everything was alright for when I showed Dumbledore, and they’ve reverted -- they’re following the memory path now, it’s like the potion never existed.”

Severus’ mouth tightened. “Show me.”

The walk back to the lab only seemed to take moments, and when they reached the door, Hermione had it open without breaking her stride. She had left the mice in the maze, though they had scattered. One of them had found the toast she had tried to tempt them with and was happily nibbling away at the bit of jam left on it.

Severus carefully scooped them up and placed two of them back in their cage. The one he kept, he dropped back at the maze beginning.

It didn’t follow either route -- it went a completely different way. It was aimless in its wanderings through the twists and turns of the maze.

He blatantly frowned and replaced it with another mouse. It followed the path of the planted memory, as did the next.

“We’ve erased the memory of the maze all together. I think the potion is working on a time release,” he explained. “It could be the mandrake root mixed with the dandelion. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

“But why?” she asked. “All of our ingredients -- they were perfect, you did the calculations on the ratios, as they worked correctly --”

“It must be the mixing of spells and potions -- it’s experimental magic. Even though we had everything right, once we added that extra element, there was no guarantee anything would work as normal.”

“But the other potions and spells --”

“Lucky trials. I believe there’s an apt expression about lightning striking twice?” She could tell he was just as disappointed as she was but was doing his best to be nonchalant about it.

Hermione couldn’t stop her tears from flowing once more.

“Come on, Granger. This is experimental. You can’t succeed all the time, and you’re going to have just as many -- if not more -- failures than successes. You would need to be extremely lucky to get everything right the first time.” He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.

He watched her as she wiped her eyes. “Your hands. Did you punch something?”

“No -- I looked for you in your lab.”

Comprehension crossed his face.

He grabbed a bowl they usually used for mixing ingredients and threw some water and murtlap leaves in it.

“Thank you,” she rested her knuckles in it. There was immediate relief, and she felt the stinging begin to fade.

He stayed with her until her crying had softened to sniffles and then eventually stopped altogether, gently talking her through other variants they could try and reassuring her that they would begin brewing another restorative draught right away.

“It will take weeks, now -- I need to retrain them,” she sighed. “I feel like… I feel like I’m trying to do something impossible -- but it’s within reach. Like… like I’m trying to catch the wind. I can feel it, but I just can’t grab hold of it.”

“Don’t forget you have me to help,” he nudged her.

She nudged him back and they sat together in silence until it was time to go to dinner.

The erasal of the memories gave Hermione the opportunity to return to the library and go over her research again, something she was doing with enthusiasm. She would often throw out a random bit of information to whoever she was sitting with, whether it was Snape or Remus. Snape would respond with some sort of noncommittal noise, continuing to make notes on whatever he was working on. Remus would actually engage with her and they would converse for a few moments. Snape would usually pause his writing and scowl across the tables at them both when this happened.

“Did you know that scent has the strongest ties to memory?” asked Hermione, not looking up from the psychology book that she was reading over again. There was something in it about the formation of memories that she wanted to refresh.

“It makes sense.” She was with Snape today. He was revising Charms, and she had to remind him several times to not touch his wand as he had completely mastered nonverbal spells and he would sometimes cast spells while absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers. It was disconcerting.

“Intentional pun?” she asked.

He scoffed.

She set her quill aside, stretching her arms open wide. Being hunched over was not doing wonders for her back. “The smell of pumpkin pasties will always remind me of the Halloween feasts.”

His quill stopped. “You’ve only been to one.”

Oops. “Well, that’s how big of an impression it made.”

“What are you getting at?” he asked impatiently.

“Nothing -- I just thought it was interesting.” She turned back to her book but they were interrupted a moment later by a Hufflepuff who wanted to purchase a Draught of Peace from Snape. She watched the transaction with interest and was slightly appalled by the price he charged, but even more appalled by the questioning look the Hufflepuff gave her before departing.

“Do you ever get in trouble for spending so much time around a Gryffindor?” she asked.

McGonagall had begun to have conversations with all of her Gryffindors regarding their academic progress, though it included a subtle questioning about anything suspicious they may have witnessed over the past few weeks. They had met that afternoon and she knew that McGonagall had been told that she and Severus were openly spending a large amount of time together in the library again from the amount of times she encouraged her to spend her free time in Gryffindor tower. Hermione was rather annoyed even though she understood why the older woman was so nervous. There had been an increase in the disappearances reported in the Daily Prophet, and more Dark Mark sightings. Distrust among the students had risen as names began to emerge of those responsible being arrested and imprisoned and they matched those of some of the students attending Hogwarts. The person casting illegal spells in the corridors still had not been found, and Dumbledore had cancelled every one of their meetings over the past month -- and they had not even touched on the subject of legilimency again!

He shrugged. “If I do, it is quickly squashed. My motives are my own.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Motives?”

“Oh yes, when I leave Hogwarts, I’m opening my own Potions business. How else will I entice someone to labor under me if I don’t lead them into a false sense of loyalty and friendship?”

She shook her head. “I would believe you if you didn’t actually seem to enjoy my company.”

He smirked and turned back to his notes.

Hermione saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned towards the door. Remus had just entered and his eyes had fallen on her. He broke into a smile and walked over to their table.

“Hey, Jean,” his eyes darted nervously to Snape, who had set down his quill was staring unabashedly at Remus. “Do you have the notes for Transfiguration? I’m sorry I missed the classes -- I had to go home to visit my mother.”

“Of course,” she took a moment to dig through her bag and handed him the notes. “Take your time -- I’ve already completed my essay.”

“Thanks. I would have asked one of the others, but your notes are so thorough. See you soon.” He gave her a small wave and with another nervous glance at Severus, left their library table.

Snape stared after him.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked.

Snape hesitated before he answered. “I don’t like that you spend so much time around him.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She had wondered if this was ever going to come up. “A bit jealous, are we?”

Severus turned his eyes to her. “Don’t be stupid. He’s dangerous.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I hardly think that sleeping in dormitories connected by a common room and attending classes together qualifies as dangerous.”

“You don’t understand -- he’s --”

“A werewolf? Yes, I know.”

Snape’s eyes widened at her. “You know,” he repeated.

Hermione cast muffliato around their table.

“Of course I do. Disappears at every full moon? Returns chock full of new scars? I’m not stupid.”

“Nearly kills some of the student population at his transformation?” His mood was darkening -- she could feel it. There was tension rising in the air.

Hermione shook her head. “He’s kept away from Hogwarts.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Not nearly far enough,” he seethed. “I myself nearly fell victim just last year.”

“And was it his fault or the fault of others that led you into his path?” Hermione couldn’t resist, having heard the other side of the story.

He glowered at her.

“Severus, Remus Lupin and I are friends. We are members of the same house. I can absolutely assure you that as well as lacking an interest in me, I have complete faith in Dumbledore’s allowing him to attend the school.”

She should have expected it, going against him, but she was absolutely shocked by the violence of his reaction. Snape positively snarled at her, gathered his things, and stormed out of the library. Madam Pince whipped around the shelves at the commotion, shushing him loudly as he exited.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands.

She was right, of course. Of course she was right. There was nothing wrong with Remus Lupin, and she was right to stand up for him. But Snape -- why did she have to contradict him, especially now? They were progressing so well together. He was absolutely indispensable in her research. And, most of all, he had grown into a friend and confidant that she never would have expected. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth closed and consider what his words actually meant? What he was asking of her?

Snape wanted -- needed someone to believe him. And he was speaking out of concern for her. It showed he cared. It showed he was worried. It also showed that the one time that he opened up about it, the one person he decided to tell took the word of another person over his own. It was Regulus Black all over again. She felt like an absolute failure.

She carried the uneasiness and anxiety with her for the rest of the day, and worried even more when she didn’t see Snape at dinner. When it was clear he wasn’t going to make an appearance in the Great Hall, she went back to Gryffindor Tower and straight to bed.

She was back in the forest, crying. Screaming for Ron, for Harry. There had been Snatchers about -- she heard them rustling through the trees, and their voices rise in excitement with their catch. Bellatrix’s taunting laughter filled her ears, and her chest suddenly felt heavy. She looked down. The locket was there, that voice was filling her ears, her head, her heart, her soul -- she tried to tear it from her, but it was melding into her skin --

“Jean -- Jean -- are you alright?” Green eyes appeared before her -- but they were in the wrong face.

“Harry?” No, not Harry -- Lily. She wasn’t home.

“Jean, are you alright? Oh, Merlin, you’re bleeding -- Mary, go get Professor McGonagall.” Lily’s voice came again, the same concerned tone. That’s right. She was at Hogwarts, but not her Hogwarts. She was safe. She sat up, and her head was pounding.

“No, I’m fine, I don’t need --” she protested.

“Jean, you’re bleeding. Lay back,” Lily’s arm was on her shoulder, gently trying to ease her backward into her pillow.

Hermione looked down at her nightgown. There were spots of blood seeping through the front, and she could see deep gouges beneath the cloth, raked across her skin. Her nails were covered in blood.

Lily turned her attention to Sita. “It’s alright. She’s just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” She heard the sound of curtains being pulled to.

“What is it? What’s going on?” McGonagall’s brogue, thickened by exhaustion, permeated Hermione’s own curtains.

“Professor, Jean’s just had something happen. She was screaming, and now there’s blood.” Lily’s arm still rested against Hermione’s shoulder. She gave it a light squeeze.

McGonagall peered over Lily. “What’s happened, Granger? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m absolutely fine -- nothing a few spells won’t fix --”

Lily interrupted her. “But you’ve been having dreams like this for months, Jean. They just haven’t been this bad before.”

Hermione felt her brow furrow in confusion.

“Your curtains don’t mask the sounds as much as you think,” she elaborated.

McGonagall looked Hermione over, taking in her state. “Granger, are you okay to walk? Come with me, please. Thank you, Miss Evans, I’ll take it from here.”

Hermione grabbed her dressing gown and tied it around her. As they made their way through the corridors, she was fairly certain she caught sight of a pair of trainers behind a statue.

“I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall, I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening --”

“Never you mind, Granger. Almost there, now.” When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had her wand out and was flicking it toward one of the beds, yawning deeply. The covers were pulling themselves back.

She let the women fuss over her for a few moments and push her into the bed. It was lovely and warm and she immediately felt like she could drift off to sleep. McGonagall gave Pomfrey a summary of what Lily had told her. When Hermione tried to explain, Pomfrey shushed her. “You just rest now, dear,” she said, pulling out a jar of dittany and spreading it over the gouges on Hermione’s chest. “Oh, my dear -- this one --” she gestured to a long white scar across her breastbone.

“That one is several years old now and won’t go,” Hermione explained.

Madam Pomfrey tsked as she buttoned Hermione’s gown back up. She gave McGonagall a nod. “You may come through, Albus.”

Hermione hadn’t noticed McGonagall’s leaving or reappearance, but she must have gone to get the Headmaster.

“Miss Granger - I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been unwell this evening,” he said, his eyes doing a quick survey of her.

“I’m sure lots of students have bad dreams, Headmaster.”

“Yes, they do, but not all of them are as bad as yours have been, I’m afraid.” She met his eyes and felt a light tickling over her head. She fell into his explorations. Images of Bellatrix rose to the forefront of her mind, Dolohov striking her with a whip, the confusion during the Battle of Hogwarts -- the locket, the voice, and the absolutely horrible feeling of dread that the dream had given her, and suddenly she was back in the hospital wing. His wand was glowing faintly.

“Dumbledore, do you think -- another attack?” McGonagall’s voice filled her ears. Hermione could hear the tension behind the question, and everything she didn’t want to ask behind it. Were Hermione’s injuries caused by someone housed in Gryffindor Tower? Was the culprit one of the students under her care?

“No, Minerva, I think not. I just think Miss Granger has had some previous experiences that like to return to her,” he replied firmly, shaking his head.

“Headmaster -- I thought --” Hermione started, nodding weakly at his words.

“You, Miss Granger, have seen too many things. Now, I did not pry too much -- just enough to see what it is that disturbs you.”

“Dreamless Sleep hasn’t been helping,” she explained, though that was a lie -- she hadn’t taken any in ages.

“I think maybe you have been pushing yourself too hard,” Dumbledore reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “I think a couple days rest are in order. Poppy, Minerva, if you don’t mind,” he stepped back and gestured towards Hermione. The women descended on her, and Hermione felt like she was five years old again, being tucked in and given medication.

“I think some standard sleeping draught for now, and we will see how that goes.” Madame Pomfrey handed her a bottle, which Hermione took, and before long she was back asleep.

When Hermione woke next, she could tell by the angle of the sun that it was well past midday.

“Good afternoon, dear. How are we feeling?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice broke through the fog.

Hermione rubbed her eyes, sitting up as she did so. A quick glance told her the wounds on her chest had already healed. “Better.”

“Well, you have a few gifts waiting for you here. Some homework, too, I think. Professor Dumbledore has let the professors know not to expect you back for a few days.”

“Will I be here the whole time, then?” She needed to see Severus -- she needed to explain, apologize --

“Bed rest will be best for you, and best where I know you’re getting it.” Madam Pomfrey said with a tone of finality.

Hermione turned to look at the table next to her bed. There was a stack of books, a few rolls of parchment, and quills. She lifted the top one, a copy of a book of wizarding fiction that had been making its way through the Gryffindor common room, and opened the cover to find a note inside.

Dear Jean,

Sorry to hear you’re unwell. I hope this keeps you company.

All the best,

Remus

Hermione picked up the stack of books and placed them on the bed next to her. If she was going to be stuck here, she might as well be doing something productive. As she went to grab her quill, though, she noticed another item on her bedside table.

There, beside her quill, was a moly, black-stemmed with sparkling white flowers. There was a note attached to the stem, and in spiky writing on the parchment were the words ‘I’m sorry.’

Chapter Text

Hermione was kept in the hospital wing for a further two days and by the end of it felt as though she were going to tear her hair out. She desperately wanted to see Severus, and though Professor McGonagall dropped by to bring her homework, there was no sign of him or any other visitors. She read and revised, but had very little to do otherwise than to let herself be fussed over by Madam Pomfrey and sleep.

When Madam Pomfrey finally gave her the all clear, she nearly ran down to the dungeons, taking the same turns that Severus had shown her to his makeshift potions lab. Hermione hesitantly knocked at the door, relieved that it didn’t shock her this time. There was no response, so she tried again, and attempted to turn the doorknob. It didn’t yield to her touch, but she heard a metallic clattering from the inside. The door suddenly flung open and she had to catch herself on the frame to keep from falling inwards. Severus had a look on his face that appeared he was bracing himself for something, but it instantly softened when he saw her. Her heart jumped at the sight of him.

“Granger,” he breathed, grabbing the door handle. She noticed his grip on it was quite firm. “You look much better.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had any visitors,” she said, reaching in her robe pocket and pulling out the moly, holding it out for him to see. It sparkled in the torchlight.

“You didn’t officially. I happened upon you just as Madam Pomfrey went for some food,” he replied, the tops of his cheeks coloring.

“Happened upon me?” she probed, enjoying the feeling of warmth this information filled her with.

He shrugged. “I thought it sounded better than ‘snuck in.’” He motioned for her to join him inside, closing the door behind her when she did and giving her an appraising glance. “What happened to you?”

“I had a bad dream,” she explained.

“Madam Pomfrey doesn’t keep first years in the infirmary for three days for bad dreams.”

“I have particularly bad ones, apparently.”

“I heard everything from you were attacked by a vampire bat to someone had placed you under some sort of a curse. Rumors in this place are infuriating,” he sighed.

“I never would have guessed you cared so much, Severus.” She couldn’t help but smile at him. She would have done exactly the same thing.

“Who else am I going to get to work for me?”

Hermione let out a snort of laughter at his unexpected response. “I don’t know -- the house elves seem fond of you.” She motioned to his work table where there were a number of cauldrons simmering away. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“No. Take a seat and rest. They’re nearly finished.”

“Rest.” Hermione repeated, rolling her eyes and turning to survey the rest of the room. “Where?” Despite the amount of time that Severus had spent in the room over the years, it still looked like an abandoned classroom. She waved her wand at a couple of desk chairs and transfigured them into a small settee. “I don’t know why you haven’t done this before. You could make yourself quite a cozy retreat here.” She summoned another desk and transfigured it into a coffee table. He didn’t answer, completely absorbed in his task.

She watched him bottle up the potions, carefully labeling each. He had been so normal with her that she had almost forgotten why she had rushed down to his workroom in the first place. “I’m sorry, Severus. I should have been kinder to you when you were expressing your concern over Remus. You had a valid point, and I didn’t mean to dismiss it so easily when you brought it up with me.”

He stilled in his writing and turned slightly to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

He inclined his head toward her and finished his task, eventually joining her on the couch. He grimaced slightly and raised his wand, and the cushions grew significantly softer a moment later.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly. He placed his hand on the cushion next to hers.

“What have you been brewing?” she asked, gesturing to the crate of full phials and jars.

“Stamina potions. People are desperate over exams,” he explained. “Weaker ones for the younger students and stronger ones for those of us they’ll actually have an impact on.”

“I can’t believe I missed so many days so close to exams,” she moaned.

“Granger, I would be surprised if you hadn’t already revised the entire timetable,” he smirked.

“I have just in the last three days,” she explained. “I had nothing else to do.”

His hand inched across the settee towards hers until their little fingers were touching. “Would you like me to brew you some dreamless sleep?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Hermione shook her head, recalling the many phials that had been pushed on her after the Battle of Hogwarts. “It won’t help.”

“I would like to try for you.” His hand was now on top of hers, an attempt at comfort. Her heart leapt at his touch and she fought not to blush.

She nodded and she asked about what she missed in their shared classes, anticipating his scathing but humorous reviews, and was secretly pleased that he didn’t move his hand from hers until it was time to attend dinner.

As May turned into June, Hermione and Severus found their library sanctuary invaded by what seemed to be the whole student body. Nearly every table and chair were full of students with their heads bent over texts or quietly trying to argue with their peers over correct answers. The time came for the pair of them to separate. Severus was now at his own table surrounded by his Slytherin friends, and Hermione was quickly joined by fellow Gryffindors.

Hermione never thought herself to be forgetful, but she found that the fewer books she remembered to get out at the beginning of the day, the more opportunities it gave her to pass by the Slytherin table and catch Severus’ eye. And she didn’t know which books were catalogued right next to the Gryffindor study table, but she found that Severus needed to consult those shelves quite a bit during his revision, though it included quite a bit of raised eyebrows and face pulling behind her housemates backs. She couldn’t hide a snort that escaped her one day at one particularly ridiculous face he pulled behind Sita’s back. Lily looked up and gave her a dirty look.

“Sorry -- I just came across an odd note to myself,” Hermione explained quickly, scribbling on some parchment. “What was I thinking?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lily turn her attention to where Hermione had been staring and frown at her once more.

In between revising and classes and means, she and Severus still somehow found the time to carry on re-training the mice, though they could never find time to do it together. She didn’t know when he found time to do it, but she kept finding little signs that Severus had been in her workroom without her. She would walk in first thing in the morning to find her papers tidied, little notes scribbled to her in his distinctive writing requesting that she re-calculate some of her ingredient quantities, and small bits of apple left in the food dish for the mice. It began to feel as though he was in her workroom more often without her than he was with her.

Their routine continued in this manner for nearly two weeks before their schedules finally coincided. Hermione entered her workroom one day to find Severus seated next to the maze, reading through a potions text. Her stomach did a little flip. “Oh, Severus! Don’t you have Care of Magical Creatures right now?”

He shook his head. “Cancelled. Professor Kettleburn lost a finger to an aggressive porlock and he’s taking some time to recover.”

“Oh dear.” She set her rucksack down and made her way to the mice, watching them run on the wheel that Severus had conjured for them. “How are they doing?”

“I think another week and they’ll be ready for testing again. I think we should start on the restorative draught. I have another variation we could try.” He rose from his seat and moved to stand beside her.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I thought so, too.”

“Speaking of potions -- I have yours.” He fished in his satchel and pulled out a few phials of a lavender colored potion. “I’ve tested it on myself,” he explained. “It works brilliantly.”

“What variation did you use?” Hermione held one of the phials up to the light, admiring the shimmering purple. It wasn’t as clear as the potion normally was, and if anyone other than him had brewed it, she would have suggested it had not been done correctly.

“My secret, I’m afraid,” he smirked. “I can’t give them away until you’re a partner in business.” He kept making remarks like this to her, but she never envisioned Snape, Severus Snape actually wanting to do anything other than teach.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “How much do I owe you?” She had given him a fair amount of gold over the past few months, but noticed that he began requesting less and less from her, and ingredients seemed to find their way into her lab without her ordering them.

“Nothing now. I’ll think of some sort of payment in future,” he replied nonchalantly, waving his hand as though to sweep the subject away.

They stood staring at one another for a number of moments, Hermione clutching the phials in her hand. The intense schedules they had both been keeping over the past few weeks meant that she had little time other than the few moments right before sleep to devote to any thoughts of Severus, but those thoughts flooded her mind now and her heart started beating so quickly she was sure he could hear it. He turned his attention back to the mice.

A muffled scream sounded from the corridor outside the door. There were a number of shouts and some thudding as someone went running past, and then a heavy crash and some grunting. They were at the door in a second. Hermione went to open it, but Severus stopped her and shook his head, gesturing for them to listen. He pressed his ear to the door and Hermione did the same.

“You coward! How dare you!” Professor Rigby’s deep voice boomed outside the door, and the sound of his heavy footsteps moved past in a confidently slow walk. “You filthy, disgusting --”

The corridor had gone deathly silent. There was a hissing and gurgling noise and a voice shouted “For Voldemort! For a pure wizarding world! For a new Hogwarts without mudblood filth!”

“That is enough, Mr. Gibson,” Dumbledore’s voice flooded the corridor. “Thank you, Rafe.”

“Gibson?” Hermione mouthed to Severus.

He held up five fingers and mouthed “Ravenclaw” in response.

Hermione wracked her brain and an image eventually filled it -- a dark haired handsome boy, she could see him holding a glass -- she had spoken to him. He had been at Slug Club meetings. He had questioned their group about whether they knew who was doing the attacks -- all in an effort to throw everyone off. She never would have suspected.

“I disarmed him in class, Headmaster, and he had a second wand escape from him. It’s the one that has been used for the attacks. That’s how he has gotten away with it,” they heard Rigby explain.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Minerva, Rafe, if you wouldn’t mind clearing the corridor, it appears that Mr. Gibson and I need to have a tete-a-tete in my office while we wait for the aurors. Wingardium Leviosa.”

The corridor exploded into the sound of hundreds of voices chatting and whispering. It didn’t take long before the thunderous sound of hundreds of footsteps faded away.

“I hadn’t expected him to get caught,” admitted Severus, pulling away from the door and rubbing the back of his neck in thought.

Hermione gaped at him. “Did you know?”

“Know? No. Suspected? Yes.”

“How?”

He held up his hand and began to count off on his fingers. “One, he has always been near whenever an attack has happened. Another number of students have been as well, but two, he also has been asking me for unusually specific potions that I haven’t been able to supply. Three, I noticed that he had two wands, but thought it was a mistake in my own observation.”

“And you didn’t raise your concerns?” her voice rose in anger and disbelief. How many attacks could he have prevented if he had just said something to a professor? How many students would still be enrolled in Hogwarts had their parents not pulled them out of the school from fear?

“I had no hard evidence,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s been caught.”

Hermione pursed her lips in an effort to not say anything. She could tell Snape knew other things as well, but had to remind herself that she couldn’t step in. He had to continue on that same path and she had to allow him to do it, and to alienate him now, especially after their most recent disagreement… well, it would certainly push him further in that direction, but it would immediately make her trip to the past worthless.

She saw Snape pull up his sleeve to consult a scratched and dented wristwatch. The number of hands didn’t show the time, but it certainly meant something to Severus. “Well, if we aren’t going to be constrained by curfews now, I have some things to move. Until next time, Granger,” and before she could respond he had slipped out the door.

At dinner that evening, it had been announced that Michael Gibson had unfortunately been expelled as he had been the main perpetrator for a majority of the illegal spells thrown in the corridors.

“This does mean that school business will resume as normal,” advised Dumbledore with a smile. “Just in time for exams.” This earned a cheer from some students and groans from others.

“But let us not forget that with the times we live in it is still important and advisable to be on your guard. Look out for those around you. It is in the care of each other that we will build a better future despite what some may say. And, as always, if you do feel uncomfortable or see something that you do not feel belongs at this school, please make your voice heard.”

Hermione glanced at the Slytherin table as Dumbledore said this and saw lots of carefully composed faces. When her eyes drew level to Snape, she had a feeling that she had just missed his eye.

Despite her effort to not show her disappointment in him, it began to feel as though Snape was avoiding her. She saw fewer and fewer signs of him in her workroom, and it felt as though the only places they really saw one another now were in shared classes and the library, and it was never enough to actually have any sort of conversation. He had stopped raising his eyes as she passed and he no longer had need of the books near the table where Hermione sat. If it had been a month ago, Hermione was sure the anxiety over the lack of interaction would have caused her dreams to return, but with the nightly doses of the amended Dreamless Sleep potion she was taking, she was sleeping beautifully. There were no hint of the nightmares and Lily had assured her that once she drew the curtains around her bed, there was no sound until she awoke the next morning. She only wished she could tell him in person but instead resorted to leaving a note in her workroom for him. She returned to find a small carton of phials containing the potion and a short scribbled reply - “Very pleased.”

She resorted to turning her full attention towards exams. They were almost upon them, and that provided her with the level of distraction that she felt she needed. It wasn’t long before her dorm mates noticed the change in her schedule: early rising, straight to the library, classes, and then staying late after dinner only to do it all again the next day.

Hermione was surprised when Lily woke up with her one day. “You’ve made me realize I need to get a move on as well,” she whispered, flicking her wand to the other girls’ beds so their noise wouldn’t wake them. “There’s so much to do in so little time. I’m usually much better than this.”

Hermione nodded and began dressing. Lily spotted Hermione’s study schedule on her bedside table and immediately picked it up, goggling at her colorful cross referencing and blocks laying out her study times.

“Jean… this… this is brilliant! You have everything scheduled down to your meals and everything.” She grabbed her own from her bedside table to compare the two. “Look how boring mine is compared to yours!”

Hermione gave it a cursory glance. “You could be saving yourself time here and here,” she said, pointing to two spots on her schedule. “You can easily combine herbology and potions because they use the same texts and it’ll be easier to get out library books once rather than twice. And I wouldn’t do charms and transfiguration in the same day -- that’s asking for trouble. They both use wand motions and incantations, and I think you’re more liable to confuse the two if they’re too close together. At least, that’s what I would do,” she shrugged, handing the schedule back to Lily.

Lily looked her schedule over again. “You’re right. It does make sense.” She let out a groan of frustration. “I’ll need to re-do James’ schedule as well -- and Sirius’ --”

Hermione smirked, thinking of the time tables she made for Harry and Ron in their fifth year. “I can help if you like.”

“Are you sure? I know you don’t get on really -- I’m sorry --” Lily stammered out an apology.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that I don’t get on, it’s just that I’m going to call them out on being prats when they’re being prats.” And she did, and she found that they no longer drew her into their circle of social interactions. If she was alone, they left her alone.

“Rightly so,” Lily agreed.

Lily finished dressing and sat on her bed to rearrange her schedule, muttering incantations under her breath and flicking her wand in different directions over the parchment. Hermione had Lily remind her of Sirius and James’ classes and made quick schedules for them both -- it wasn’t difficult as they were identical. “Just like Harry and Ron,” she muttered under her breath, a small smile touching her lips.

“Thanks so much,” she gushed as they were handed over. They walked down to the library together and after a few hours of study, headed to breakfast together.

When Lily handed the new schedules to the boys at breakfast, Hermione could hear nothing but grumbling. “Merlin, Lily -- are you going to schedule our toilet breaks as well?” Sirius said, more than a hint of teasing in his voice.

“And you’ve left no time for Quidditch!” complained James.

“Well, they’ve been done twice now, so take it or leave it.” Lily replied.

Remus leaned in close to Hermione. “Those look familiar,” he said, tapping his own satchel where he must have been keeping Hermione’s schedule for him as well. They were regular library companions again now that Severus had all but disappeared.

She ducked her head, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. “Yes.”

“That was kind of you.” He gave her a small nudge.

“I can’t help it. I really do enjoy it.”

“It’s a good thing. Some of us have no head for it.” Remus turned back to his breakfast, heaping more eggs onto his plate.

Hermione finished her breakfast and headed off in the direction of her workroom to check on the mice before settling in at the library once again. It was frustrating -- she wanted to keep experimenting with the memory potion, but she wanted to ensure she did well on these exams. Dumbledore had promised that the results would be kept for her and added to her record.

She had been able to squeeze in a bit of experimentation and brewing the weekend before, but the variation of the restorative draught that Severus had worked out had not been successful. She could tell that the potion was trying to work: the mice had hesitated towards the original route before ultimately heading down the path of the planted route. There was just something about it that wasn’t quite right, but unfortunately she didn’t quite have the time to sit down and figure out exactly what.

She was surprised to find Severus in her workroom standing over the maze. He gestured to a mouse inside heading down the original path. “Test subject two met its demise,” he explained. “I’ve procured a replacement.”

Hermione’s heart sank. She hadn’t considered that factor. “That’s the risk we take, I guess. Not knowing how old the mice are when we get them.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Severus reassured her. He removed the mouse and placed it into the cage with the others.

It was the first time they had been alone in a number of days and the first opportunity Hermione had to really have a look at him. His hair was probably the limpest she had seen it so far and there were dark circles under his eyes. His skin had taken on a yellowish undertone that she hadn’t seen in months, making the spots that were coming up around his hairline stand out even more.

“Severus… are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded and waved his wand toward a pile of cushions she had kept in the workroom, transfiguring them into a chair and seating himself heavily in it. “I’ve had lots of orders,” he explained.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m done now.”

“When was the last time you ate?” She hadn’t seen him at meals since… well, it had been a while.

“Yesterday morning, I believe. And then the stamina potion I took last night.”

“Dobo,” Hermione said, thankful when there was nearly an immediate crack and the stumpy house elf appeared before her.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Could you bring some bacon rolls, please? And a cup of tea, I think.”

The house elf nodded and disappeared with a crack.

“Have you gotten any studying in?” she asked. “Any time for yourself?”

“Of course. There’s not much else to do when you leave potion to brew for five hours.”

Dobo reappeared with a crack, holding a plate of steaming rolls and a pot of tea with two mugs.

“Thank you, Dobo.” Hermione took the tray from him and the elf disappeared with another crack. She set it down on the table beside Severus who eagerly grabbed one of the rolls and bit into it. Hermione poured them cups of tea and began reexamining her notes from the last memory potion she had brewed. “I think there’s something wrong right about the stage where the mandrake root is added. I think it’s a bit too early -- the jobberknoll feathers don’t really dissolve as they should, and once you add the root, that process just stops. What do you think?”

There was no answer. She turned to find him beside the empty tray with his arms crossed, head lolling against the back of the chair, completely asleep. She smiled to herself and continued with her work.

Her meetings with Dumbledore resumed at a somewhat normal rate again, though she found that rather than having a standing appointment, he began to summon her by owl. They didn’t spend much time speaking about her research -- Hermione always turned her conversation towards exams and what she had read. However, after the apprehension of Michael Gibson, she found that discussion quickly turned toward the Ravenclaw boy and others like him.

“A misguided youth, trying to earn a place of honor. It’s quite worrying.”

“I had never considered that this happened -- that it could be happening,” Hermione corrected herself. “I knew it was going on outside, but I always thought of Hogwarts as… well, a bit insular. Maybe that’s not quite right… Protected. We know what’s going on outside but it… well, it doesn’t really reach us. Has this happened before?”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly but then seemed to reconsider. “In small bouts, yes, but nothing on this scale. There is usually a vigilante but I have not yet witnessed such a large amount of students united behind such a cause. I am not denying that it has happened before my time, but this is the first time I have had to deal with such an occurrence. I am trying my best to root out the problem, but it seems no matter what I try it is getting in.”

Hermione was slightly taken aback. During all the time she spent with him over the last year, she felt that this was the most honest Dumbledore had ever been with her. She sincerely felt his disappointment at having to hand Michael Gibson over to the aurors. Growing up, she had always been entirely impressed with Dumbledore, and then when she found out about his life and some of the memories Harry shared with her, she was so, so angry at him and completely disgusted with some of his choices. However, after getting to know him, she couldn’t help but feel for some of the decisions that he made, especially now. He just wanted the best outcome for good.

“But you can’t give up on them,” Hermione entreated, thinking of Snape. “Even the ones you think are lost. They can always find their way back. Even the most ardent supporter can change their mind.”

“A feeling I admire and reflect, Miss Granger, although I will admit it is difficult at times to remember that everyone deserves a second chance.” His expression was solemn and Hermione wondered if he was thinking of his youth -- Grindelwald, the quest for the elder wand, and their difference in visions for the future of the wizarding world.

“Shall we call it an evening?” she asked. The mood had grown quite solemn and Fawkes made a slightly mournful noise behind her. She had wanted to bring up the lessons he had promised her in legilimency, but summer would be here soon, and there would be plenty of time for that later.

“Yes, I think so. Goodnight, Miss Granger. Until next time.”

When exams finally arrived, Hermione was surprised by how easy she found them. She actually enjoyed taking them, filling scroll after scroll with all the knowledged she had accumulated over the past year, knowing that the missing results would be added to her school record. When the final one was done, she found Severus waiting at the door to the Great Hall, his nose so close to the exam parchment it was almost grazing it, re-reading the questions.

When she passed, he followed at a distance, and she was impressed how many trick stairs he sidestepped and groups of students he moved around without lifting his eyes. When she arrived at the door to her workroom, she held the door open for him.

“How do you think you did?” she asked.

He raised his hand toward her, finishing up reading before rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his rucksack. “Well, I think. You?”

“Same.”

They moved to the maze and Severus grabbed the mice from the cage and dropped them in. They all ran the implanted route. “Will you continue to experiment over the summer?” he asked.

She nodded.

“At home?”

She shook her head. “No. I have no home to go to. I’m staying here over the summer.”

He considered her for a moment before turning his attention back to the maze. “I wish I could do the same.”

“You can always write, you know,” she said hopefully. “And I can keep you updated as well.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he replied absentmindedly, watching the mice. He suddenly took a deep breath and straightened. “Well, best begin packing and getting on with things. Feel free to use my workroom over the summer if you must, Granger, but make sure everything stays there. Last year the house elves took the liberty of relocating two of my cauldrons, and it took me three months before I found them tucked away in one of Slughorn’s storerooms gathering dust.”

“Oh, dear,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Thank you. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

They descended into silence and watched the mice navigate the maze again. Hermione mulled over all the things she wanted to say to him. She desperately wanted to leave him with something -- something hopeful, something encouraging, something that let him know how much she appreciated his friendship over the last year, but she had trouble finding the words. Severus didn’t provide her with the opportunity as he seemed to come to himself once more. “See you later, Granger.” She had just enough time to call out “Bye, Severus!” before he was out the door.

The Leaving Feast brought the usual awards being handed out to especially gifted students. Ravenclaw won the house cup (no doubt thanks to James Potter and Sirius Black for losing an extraordinary amount of house points for Gryffindor over the year) and it was announced that Professor Rigby was
leaving, to the disappointment to a number of students. While not as popular as Lupin had been, he had been an effective instructor and many of the students had flourished under his tutelage. He gained a somewhat legendary status after apprehending Michael Gibson and it had convinced him that he needed to re-enlist his services as an auror.

“I had high hopes this one would stay,” said Sirius.

“They never do, Padfoot. They never do,” sighed James, giving his friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Hermione was surprisingly depressed as she watched everyone packing their trunks that evening and felt even worse when she watched them make their way downstairs. Her dorm mates had been running around in a flurry all morning and Hermione had to keep promising them that if they left anything behind that she would owl it to them.

She walked downstairs with them and watched everyone pile into the coaches that would take them back to the Hogwarts Express. She waited in the entrance hall, waving at people as they passed, hoping to catch Severus. Fewer and fewer students passed through the doors until they stopped altogether and the coaches disappeared. Hermione wondered if he had made his way down to the station early to avoid everyone. She stepped outside the front doors and waited until she saw the stream of smoke of the Hogwarts Express as it left the station before turning back to the castle and wandering the corridors back up to Gryffindor tower.

Her mind turned to her own journey. Days had turned into weeks which had turned into months and now it was nearly a year since she had transported herself back in time. Her year in the forest with Harry and Ron and the Battle of Hogwarts seemed both like yesterday and hundreds of years ago. She could still hear Voldemort’s voice ringing in her ears and yet she was beginning to forget the way the dragon scales felt under her fingers and the sound of the creak the third step on the staircase at Grimmauld Place made. As she turned them over in her head, she mourned the loss of those memories and relished the loss all at once because it meant that she was further away from it and didn’t have to think about it. There had been odd times though when the Marauders would come in from playing Quidditch and she would be assaulted by musty boy smells and suddenly she would be back in the tent with Harry and Ron, nagging them to at least cast cleaning charms on their socks, but those moments had gotten fewer and far between, and now were especially rare with the Dreamless Sleep potion Severus had created for her.

A year. A year that she gave herself to escape and work on a solution to the problem she caused and to try to save Snape, but she didn’t feel any closer to solving either of those things than she was when she first arrived. She had done her best to try to encourage him to look into snake venoms and cures, but it didn’t seem to interest him at all so far. As much as she knew she needed to, it hurt for her to think that Severus, her Severus, would one day be the man that she watched die on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

She would stop it from happening, and she would stay in the past as long as she needed to ensure that Snape survived, consequences be damned.

Chapter Text

“This research is excellent, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, tapping the pile of parchment Hermione had handed over to him. With all the students gone, the headmaster had found time to meet with her about her research within the first week of the summer holidays. She had just gone over everything she had trialled over the past year. “However, I have spotted one issue. Do you necessarily need a healing potion? Was anyone harmed or injured by your actions?” He lifted up the top page of parchment, noting her list of medicinal potions and restorative draughts.

“Yes. Well, no, I guess technically not, but I would like to repair the damage done,” she answered with concern. She had a feeling that she was not going to like what he said next.

“But can you consider what you’ve done to be actual damage? You didn’t take anything away. Nothing was removed. There were no holes to be filled. If what you told me about the event was correct, you just added. For all the subjects are concerned, they are living the life they have always been living. They have no lost memories. There isn’t a gap they can’t remember or any sort of confusion.”

He was right. She wanted to cry. She said herself that she didn’t use obliviate, so what exactly was she trying to fix?

“I can’t believe I have wasted so much time when I’ve -- everything has just been useless.” She felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. That was why none of the potions had worked correctly. All her and Severus’ work over the past year -- it had been pointless.

“Do not blame yourself. You felt that you had done an injury and were therefore looking to heal that injury. The way you have been thinking about it was in terms of healing -- to cure someone, but sometimes the best cures are not biological.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“All my research -- I’m going to have to start from scratch!” Hermione’s voice came out somewhat high to her own ears. She took a deep breath.

“Oh, no -- I don’t believe so. You have some excellent work here,” he tapped the pages of her notes laid before him again. “I just think you will need to approach the problem differently. Does the cure have to be a potion when it was originally accomplished by wand magic?”

“I was initially leaning toward a combination of the two. I have tested casting healing charms on the potions when they have been in the final stages of brewing and the effects have been successful -- very, if I do say. But it’s experimental and the results haven’t been consistent, so I’m a little reluctant to use them now.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore prodded, leaning forward in his chair.

Hermione took a deep breath and explained about the effect of the cheering charm on the potion Severus had brewed as well as some of the experiments that they had done with healing potions combined with spells, carefully omitting the fact that she did not work on it alone. She didn’t know how Dumbledore would react to Severus’ help just yet -- and she intended to keep it secret as long as she could. “I apologize for not telling you sooner -- I just wanted to be sure of the results before I shared the success, and since I don’t think that’s the correct avenue anymore…”

“I would be quite interested if you would share your notes with me.” Dumbledore requested.

“Of course.”

“I take it that you intend to stay with us a little longer, then?”

Hermione nodded. “If I may.”

“Yes, of course.” He glanced at an orrery that sat on his desk. “I do believe I made you a promise for some legilimency lessons. I have some time now if it suits you?”

Her despair over starting her research over again was immediately gone. “Oh, yes -- I’ve got nothing planned.”

“Did you read the texts I recommended?”

“Yes, and I looked at one by Orwell, and a book on theory by Burghley.” she replied. She had read them all several times over. She could probably recite them by heart if he asked.

“Good, now would you be more comfortable sitting or standing?”

“Sitting, I think,” she replied, adjusting herself so that she was seated more comfortably.

“Now, Miss Granger, say the incantation and try to find my memory of breakfast this morning. Remember that we must maintain eye contact.”

She nodded. “Legilimens,” she said confidently, meeting his gaze.

Although she had read about it, she could not have prepared for what it felt like to plunge into his mind. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. There were sights and sounds all around her -- conversations buzzing by and images flashing through her head, but she could still see him seated before her, as comfortable and unbothered as could be.

Breakfast, she thought, and something suddenly became clearer -- the Great Hall. She followed this and suddenly she saw him talking with Minerva, and another image came to the front of his mind: he was watching Professor Sprout dip her soldiers into a soft boiled egg.

“Now, gently lower your wand to withdraw,” he instructed, and she did so, finding herself clearly in his office once more.

“That was one of the oddest experiences I’ve ever had in my life,” she said, shaking her head.

“It gets better with time. Now, I helped you find that memory. Would you like to try to find something a little more difficult?”

“Yes, please.”

“Try to find one of my childhood memories,” he instructed.

She nodded and raised her wand, meeting his eyes again. “Legilimens.”

She fell once more into his mind and the same images and buzz of conversations were around her. She had no idea which images to push away and which to pursue, but after a moment's concentration, she felt a wave of nostalgia somewhere over… there. She pursued the feeling and felt herself diverted.

This was considerably more challenging and Hermione had to withdraw from his mind before she found the memory.

“How do you look for specific things?”

“Try to find the general feel of it -- summon it to you.”

She nodded and lifted her wand once more. When she was inside his mind again, she followed that feeling of nostalgia that came to her until a flurry of images and sounds filled her senses. She saw a young boy drop a stone into a tidepool, watching the tiny crabs it disturbed scatter.

“Got it!” she cried excitedly, tapping her shoes with excitement.

“Indeed.” Dumbledore glanced at the orrery on his desk once again. “That is fine for now. Well, I certainly think this has been a productive evening. Thank you very much for you time, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore dismissed her. Hermione noticed that Dillys Derwent suddenly began snoring again, and she had no doubt that the moment she left the room they would be deep in discussion.

Hermione went to bed that evening and found her attention turned back to Dumbledore’s critique of her research. She could not bring herself to sleep, and she desperately wished that she could speak to Severus about everything the headmaster had said. She had actually started to write him a letter but discarded it halfway through -- she realised that she had never actually asked him his address. Owls were smart and could usually find people without an exact location (after all, how many owls did Harry send to Sirius when he was in hiding?), but from the little Severus said about his home life, she was quite sure that a surprise owl would be very unwelcome. It was nearly dawn by the time her train of thoughts slowed and she was able to fall asleep.

Her dilemma was answered when she awoke the next day to a tapping on the glass of Gryffindor Tower. A small brown owl was clinging to the stone. She jumped from the bed to open the window, offering it a more secure space to rest. It gave a weak hoot and presented its leg to her. “Owlery’s up there -- be sure to rest,” she stroked it as she untied the letter and small package it was carrying. It bore Severus’ writing. She waited until the owl took off before opening them.

Dear Granger,

Apologies for missing saying goodbye to you on the last day. I was unfairly detained.

Please feel free to use my potions lab for any unofficial experiments. However, if you don’t leave it as you found it, I may dock your future pay as a business partner.

Enclosed are two vials of another variation of Dreamless Sleep. Please let me know how you find them.

Severus
8 Spinner’s End
Cokeworth

P. S. How fare the mice? I believe I have grown quite attached to them.

A letter -- and he had provided a return address as well! She wasted no time in writing a reply, thankful that he had gotten in touch with her so soon.

Dear Severus,

“Unfairly detained?” Did this have something to do with why Peeves is no longer welcomed by the other ghosts? He has thrown quite a strop and knocked over every bit of armor in the castle! I have had to help set them right.

I hope your summer has been going well. Hogwarts is not nearly as exciting without you here -- I keep revisiting our table in the library, and pretending you’re there pointing out something I’ve missed in my research. “Granger, you can’t mix those two unless you want to sprout an extra head!” or “Are you trying to boil your victim from the inside out, you fool?”

You’ve been quite helpful (if a little harsh) if I’m honest, but my mental Severus is beginning to run out of insults and Madam Pince is beginning to suspect I have gone a bit mad, I think. Please send inspiration.

The mice are doing quite well, thank you, and I believe they miss you, too. They don’t get nearly as excited when I enter the room as when you are there.

I have been encouraged to take my experimentation and research in a different direction. Dumbledore suggested that I am looking to heal something that never actually needed healing, so I am starting to explore other avenues. What do you think?

I do hope these potions are not house elf tested.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Jean

P. S. I have taken the liberty of cleaning your potions lab. The house elves are doing their annual deep clean of the castle, and I didn’t want them to misplace anything after you explained the mishap from last year.

Hermione’s summer descended into a flurry of letters and research. The days passed quickly between writing letters to Severus and savoring his responses in return and taking notes for everything she wanted to run past him.

Dear Lily,

I entered our dorm this week to find this sock sadly peeking out from under your mattress. I have a feeling that while the house elves were cleaning, it was found and they were doing their best to not touch it. I would have left it and waited for you to return but I just think it looks very sad on its own.

I hope your summer is going well.

Jean

-

Dear Granger,

Peeves thought it would be hilarious to flood the lower dungeons, so a number of the Slytherins could not get out. The Bloody Baron had a spectacular go at him. It certainly was something to behold.

Summer has been obscenely boring. I wish I could regale you with tales of seaside holidays, camping at Butlins, or something similar, but I’m afraid the most exciting thing that has happened was finding two packets of salt in my Salt ‘n’ Shake crisp packet.

That hair of yours must be having a negative impact on your brain if you’ve been imagining having a dialogue with me. Why not just owl?

I can’t say I miss Hogwarts just yet, but I do miss conversing with someone who has an ounce of brain in their skull. Or maybe the boredom has addled me -- do I really miss being around such an insufferable know-it-all?

The mice are partial to bits of apple. I’m sure your presence will grow on them if you bring them appropriate offerings.

The potion is not house elf tested. Like the others, it was tested on myself, and I can assure you it works perfectly and there are no ill side effects. I have been able to eliminate the powdery aftertaste that came with the other batch of potions. I am not able to get much brewing done at home but the little I have has been surprisingly successful.

I can see the headmaster’s point. When we studied implanting memories in charms, Flitwick never indicated that any sort of damage could be done, so it is very possible that there is no actual damage to repair. You just need to look at how to draw the original memories out if they are not forthcoming. It is a shame that there is no such thing as a memory-magnet to call certain ones forth.

Have you looked into Remembralls at all? The magic in them indicates something has been forgotten. Could something like that be used?

Awaiting your reply,

Severus

P.S. Thank you for that. I may have had to behead a house-elf had anything else gone missing again.

-

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Attached are the notes from the research and experimentation I have done thus far. If you have any questions, I believe you know where I can be reached.

Would it be possible to arrange a visit with St. Mungo’s? I would very much like to see how they treat their memory impaired patients.

All the best,
Hermione Granger

-

Miss Granger,

Thank you. Everything seems to be in order.

I am sure that a visit to St. Mungo’s can be arranged. I will speak to my contacts and let you know.

I am sure I will be seeing you for a lovely roast dinner this Sunday.

A. D.

-

Dear Severus,

Of course! I have completely overlooked Remembralls. How do they detect that something has been forgotten? I’ve just gone down to the village to get one! I’ll have a look later. I wish you were here to have a good look over it with me.

I have to admit that I am getting immensely frustrated with my research on memory charms. How can one word can make a person forget what they had for dinner and also forget some of the biggest events of their lives? Who would invent such a spell?

What kind of spell could draw something like that out? I have already looked into pensieves -- I believe the person has to remember the specific event for the memory to be recovered, sadly.

Also, I never got around to ask -- did you ever do any research into venoms and antivenoms? I’m sure you could do some sort of brilliant independent project on them.

Off to look at the remembrall. More later.

Jean

-

Dear Severus,

I have enclosed the Remembrall. See what you make of it.

I have many thoughts and I am sure you will come to the same conclusions.

Jean

-

Granger,

Two owls, indeed, though I must say I did appreciate the second, though I wasn’t expecting it.

I looked over the Remembrall as well -- it definitely has some sort of memory charm tied to it, but not linked to an obliviate, of course. I’ll return it to you at Diagon Alley, if possible. I was going on Wednesday next and would be happy to criticize your research in person, if possible. Do let me know.

I had done a small amount of research on venoms, but nothing to the extent of doing an independent research project. I will keep it in mind.

Severus

-

Miss Granger,

I have been able to arrange a meeting for you at St. Mungo’s the week before term begins. I regret that I cannot accompany you to this, but I have been assured that you will be in very capable hands.

You will be met at the information desk in the lobby by Healer Japes.

If you require anything else, please ask.

A. D.

-

Dear Jean,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I have just had a letter from Sirius and James -- we were all going to meet at Diagon Alley to get our school things. I know it is a bit last minute, but you are very welcome to join us. We will be going on Monday just before term starts.

All the best,

Remus

-

Dear Remus,

As you can expect, I have had a very boring summer without you lot here! Although I am very thankful that I don’t have to worry when I come down into the common room to see what James and Sirius had gotten up to while everyone else was asleep.

Please be heartily assured though that you are very much missed.

I am going to have to pass on Monday unfortunately, but do have an ice cream for me!

Looking forward to seeing you soon.

Jean

-

Dear Severus,

Wednesday is perfect. Should we meet at Flourish & Blotts at eleven? I’m sure you’ll spot me. My ‘mop of errant curls’ is difficult to miss.

Jean

Hermione could hardly contain her excitement for the next week. She spent the days doing her best to keep herself distracted, but her thoughts kept wandering to Severus and seeing him after the weeks they had spent apart. She really did miss his company. He was only an owl away but it just wasn’t quite the same.

When the appointed morning arrived, she ate breakfast quickly and returned to Gryffindor Tower where she spent the next hour agonizing over her wardrobe. She had never put this much thought or fuss into what to wear before. School robes had always taken care of that problem for her. She finally tapped her wand on a set of her black robes and turned them powder blue.

She left a note about her whereabouts on the noticeboard closest to the entrance doors, something she had taken to doing earlier in the summer. Her walk down to the school gates was pleasant -- it was a reasonably sunny summer day for Scotland. When she cleared them, she gave a twist and apparated into Diagon Alley. There were a surprising number of familiar faces as she made her way towards the bookshop. Some of them waved but others carried on with their business, taking no notice of their surroundings. With only a week until the term started, the streets were crowded and the shops were considerably busy.

Hermione was thankful that they had agreed to meet at Flourish & Blotts. Most customers were in and out of the shop quickly, departing when everything on their school lists were checked off. There were not many who stayed to browse the shelves, so she took advantage of the empty aisles to do some reading. She was deeply immersed in a book about transfiguration when she felt a tug at her hair. She jumped slightly, nearly dropping the book she was holding, but it was quickly caught by the perpetrator: Severus’ black eyes sparkled with amusement as he held it out toward her.

“Severus!” She threw her arms around him in greeting. She was surprised when she felt his arms wrap around her in return, though he pulled away from the hug sooner than she did.

The five weeks they had gone without seeing one another made it feel as though she were seeing him for the first time. She didn’t quite remember his hair being so black or his eyes so deep. It seemed that he had grown an inch taller. Had his head always been able to rest so easily on top of hers when she embraced him? Had he always been so lean and angular? She looked him over once more. It seemed as though he had had the same idea as her -- he was wearing a set of plain black robes that were indistinguishable from his school robes.

“I’m so glad you made it!” she gushed. “Here, I’ve grabbed the spellbooks already. Shall we have a look around, or --”

“I have a feeling your ‘look around’ will last a majority of the day and unfortunately this is the only opportunity I have to purchase my items for this year,” he interrupted, tapping the school list he had pulled out of his pocket.

“Right, school lists first then.” Hermione couldn’t hide her excitement. The anticipation of a new school year always made her giddy. Despite helping Harry, she really was disappointed she had missed out on her seventh year. When she was camping in the forest, there were times where she daydreamed of being in Transfiguration or Charms rather than cooking breakfast for Ron -- and she was very much looking forward to attending without Voldemort being in charge of the school.

“First things first, though,” he grabbed a few of the books that she had set aside for them, “I have some of these already -- and there’s no point in buying them new if they have any used copies, especially if I’m going to be writing in them.”

If it had been Ron, she knew that he would have blushed at the admittance that he needed -- or wanted -- to buy anything secondhand. Severus admitted it with a confidence and logic that she immediately respected.

Hermione nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” She immediately began reshelving the books and perused the secondhand section with Severus, helping him search out the cleanest copies.

Although she had spent some time with Severus in Hogsmeade, she had never actually been with him when he purchased anything. She had never imagined him to be a miser, and he wasn't exactly, but it seemed that whatever funds he did have, he guarded jealously.

In reality, he had to buy little. When she caught sight of his school list, she noticed it already had a good number of things checked off. He did not need new robes, cauldrons, or potions ingredients. They both needed new quills and ink, and Hermione needed a new notebook for her research.

They made their way through the streets once they had made their purchases, Severus resting easier now that he had everything checked off. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from pointing out various sights in the windows. She couldn’t help but marvel at the eccentricity of some of the displays. They briefly stopped in front of Ollivander's for a few moments to watch some new students get their wands, and Hermione wondered if the one in her pocket was currently sitting on one of the shelves in the shop.

“What kind of wand do you have, Severus?”

He pulled it out of his sleeve and allowed her to inspect it. “English oak and dragon heartstring. I had to try loads before I it. You?”

“Vinewood and dragon heartstring. I only had to try three,” she responded with a satisfied grin.

When they passed the pet shop, she looked longingly through the window at the array of animals on display. “Do you have any pets?”

“Yes. Three mice. Non-magical. Perfect for testing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I quite liked having the image of you cuddling a puffskein.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t get along with the mice.”

She pressed her fingers to the glass where a black cat mewled at them. “I used to have a half-kneazle. He was ginger and lovely.” She saw Severus grimace. “No, no -- he was lovely, he really was!” Hermione protested as they moved away from the shop and up the street. When they reached Gringotts, Hermione expected to turn around and head back towards the Leaky Cauldron, but Severus continued walking.

“Where are you going?” Past Gringotts there wasn’t much to see -- it all turned residential. She could see someone's washing hanging out down the road.

“Knockturn Alley.”

Hermione stopped walking at his response and bit her lip. Severus noticed she was no longer beside him and stopped as well, turning back toward her expectantly. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous?” she asked.

Severus gave an exaggerated sigh. “Of course it’s not. You’re with me. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her forward.

She let him pull her through the street and did her best to keep up with his long stride. She thought that by the time they were secured in the alley that he would release her hand but he kept it grasped in his. She was too shocked by the gesture to take in the sights of the first few shops until he stopped in front of one that looked familiar. She saw the salesman at Borgin and Burke puttering around his shop, looking much younger than he had during her previous encounter with him, but with the same air of suspicion. There hadn’t been anyone in the shop when she had gone in before, but now it looked as though it were positively heaving -- there were three people browsing the wares inside.

The window looked almost like a jumble sale. There was a series of macabre items -- a withered hand that promised to only provide light for a thief. A ring that promised to control any ghost or spirit within its sights.

“You can get some of the rarest potions ingredients in here. Or some of the rarest wizarding items. Apparently they had a decapitated witch’s head that told fortunes at one point.” Severus turned eagerly to Hermione and the excitement in his voice faded as he noted the look of disgust on her face, “Or so I heard. But it isn’t all bad stuff. Just stuff that you can’t find at ordinary wizarding shops. If you want your swooping evil venom, this is where you’d find it.”

She allowed him to drag her through the small alleyways, nodding in greeting to a few of the people he saw. He was comfortable here. He was more animated than she had seen him anywhere else other than brewing. Now that she had a chance to properly observe it, Knockturn Alley looked somewhat similar to her first visit there -- very quiet and having a thick tension in the air that lent itself to the atmosphere of foreboding. Hermione was tense but Snape seemed positively at home in the alley, his eyes raking over the window display and shop signs as though they were a feast and he was a starving man. He shrugged off the stall holders with nods or quick responses that left them in peace. “How do you know this area so well?” she asked.

“My mum has a friend who used to live above one of the shops,” he gestured down a side alley. “When I was little, they used to let me play out here as long as I kept within sight of the window.”

“Is that why you find the Dark Arts so interesting, Severus?”

He stiffened and finally released her hand, shrugging at her question. “There’s no harm in finding them interesting, despite what some people may say. And it’s not all dark magic here -- there is some, yes, I’m not denying that, but a lot of this is just stuff that has fallen out of use. Not all magic used to be the way it is now. There used to be other methods. I don’t think the old ways should just die out or be forgotten. Life for wizards used to be much harder and I think that Knockturn Alley reflects that.” He gestured to a book on witch trials in a window they passed. “As for my interest in the Dark Arts, I do find them fascinating. It’s because they just keep growing. You could use any old spell for anything, but, in the hands of someone creative --”

“-- their uses are expanded.” she finished. “Like a tickle charm being used for torture.”

“Exactly. Or that potion that we initially thought worked, for instance. We didn’t mean to create something quite so destructive, but we did. In the hands of someone creative, it could be used to make someone forget anyone or anything they’ve ever known -- complete amnesiacs.”

Hermione’s stomach turned at the thought of having created something so damaging.

“Severus! What a pleasure to see you,” a velvety voice approached them from the left.

Lucius Malfoy, sharp and blonde and coldly handsome as ever, stood before them. Severus’ eyes actually lit up at the sight of the older man. There was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. “Lucius!” he stepped forward and grasped his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Good to see you!”

“Yes, when was the last time we saw one another? MacNair's, wasn't it?”

“Far too long, in any case.” Who was this person and what had they done with Severus? He had dissolved into a mediocre version of himself, a simpering lackey. She didn’t think she had ever seen him display so much positive emotion.

Hermione bowed her head, but it was impossible to make herself inconspicuous when it was only the three of them.

“Ah, Severus, let me buy you a drink,” Lucius clapped his hand on the younger man's back in an affectionate way. Hermione noticed the smile that rose to Severus’ face was instantaneous and eager. “But of course you can bring your friend --”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of intruding,” Hermione protested. “Severus spends more than enough time around me and it gives me the perfect opportunity to run a few more delicate errands. You two enjoy, and I’ll see you later, Severus.”

“Ah, yes, I believe my wife is doing the same,” Lucius remarked offhandedly.

There was an awkward few moments where they stared at one another, unsure of how to part. She had expected Severus to bid her farewell but his manners seemed to have completely escaped him.

“Well, let’s be off then,” Lucius lifted his hand in a gesture of goodbye, already leading Severus out of Knockturn Alley and in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione, unsure of where to go, took off towards the book shop again, somewhat put out from the end of their encounter. She felt a bit slighted by Severus’ actions, but she was the one who declined to join. How could she when she was well aware of Lucius Malfoy and his feeling towards people like her? If she had joined, how long would it be before conversation turned toward blood purity and eradicating muggles and muggleborns? She became very aware of the scar on her arm -- it was in his home that one of the most terrifying moments of her life happened. It haunted her. If he only knew --

But it wouldn’t change anything. She and Severus had never spoken about her origin, her blood purity, and though he had let enough slit to hint that he didn’t come from a purely wizard origin, she had always been careful not to mention to him anything that might indicate a purely muggle heritage. And she had caught him subtly questioning her at times and if she did slip, it had been easy to pass off her knowledge as having read it in a book somewhere.

She contemplated heading back to the castle. She had planned to make a full day of her time in Diagon Alley and was disappointed at the thought of cutting it short. But why should she? There was no reason she couldn’t carry on just as well by herself.

She went back to Magical Menagerie and stepped inside, taking in the range of magical creatures once more. A kneazle stared at her and she made a beeline towards it. She spent a considerable amount of time stroking it’s lovely grey face before being approached by a member of staff and shoo’d out of the shop if she wasn’t going to purchase. Despite being pushed out, she left in a considerably happier mood.

Her thoughts turned to her parents and their first experience of Diagon Alley. When Professor Sprout had shown up at their door to explain that their daughter was a witch, they took it all in stride. Their daughter was not odd or unusual. She was gifted, and though they did not quite fully understand the world she was part of, they were proud of her.

Hermione directed herself towards Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. Her parents had always enjoying seeing the items on offer here: telescopes that showed you the stars despite the daylight, pins that kept hair in place until they were removed, weather forecasters -- anything one could dream of. She walked up and down the aisles, perusing everything.

She was among the watches and was watching one that showed the trains departing to and from Waterloo Station when Severus found her.

“I was afraid you had gone,” he said, slightly out of breath.

She felt a rush of heat run down her throat, pleased that he had returned to find her. “Oh, no, you still haven’t returned my remembrall,” she replied teasingly.

He gave her a small smile as he drew it from his pocket and held it out to her. She plucked it from his fingers and tucked it in her beaded bag.

“Do you have room for ice cream?” she asked.

“I’m not a fan,” he admitted. “But I’ll accompany you.”

When they were settled at Florean Fortescue’s, Hermione with a small Eton Mess and Severus with a hot chocolate, she began to question him about his lunch date.

“Who was your friend?”

Severus gave her a stunned look. “You don’t know the Malfoys?”

“No -- should I?”

“If you haven’t attended Hogwarts or follow wizarding news, I guess not.”

“So, someone important I should know,” she pressed.

Severus took a sip of his hot chocolate before he answered and she could tell that he was choosing his words carefully. “I attended Hogwarts with Lucius Malfoy. Well, he left a few years ago, but he’s a friend. He was a prefect when I started -- and he’s continued to look after me since.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Severus nodded and gestured towards her beaded bag. “What are your thoughts on the remembrall?”

“I would be interested in seeing if there was a way to adapt whatever magic there is that recognizes the lost memory. If I gave this to someone who had their memory amended, would it light up?”

“I doubt if we asked them what they used that they would hand over the spell.”

“I didn’t think so, either,” she agreed, fishing for the last bit of strawberry ice cream at the bottom of her glass.

“Well, there won’t be much to do when we get back to school. We can start testing right away,” he said, and she nodded in agreement.

They spent the next hour each saying that they should be departing soon, but neither seemed to find any sort of concrete reason to go or they became distracted when they began speaking on a new topic. Their empty glasses sat before them for at least an hour before Florean Fortescue himself came to collect them, drawing Hermione’s attention to the outside word. The streets hard hardly anyone in them. Evening was falling.

“Would you like to go get dinner?” she suggested, reaching for her bag, but Severus shook his head and checked his watch. “I can’t, I’m sorry. It’s my turn to make tea tonight.”

“How are you getting home?” she asked, immediately thinking of the Knight Bus. If he hailed it, she could ride it home with him before taking it back to Hogwarts herself.

“Apparition, of course.”

Hermione's palm went straight to her forehead. “Of course! I'm such a complete idiot - I never asked - of course you passed!” She had been so distracted with her research and revising for exams that she had completely forgotten that all of her peers had been practicing apparition and testing for their license.

A small smile passed over Severus's lips. He was obviously quite pleased with himself.

“And that means I don't have to sit on a train for eight hours next week.”

“What? But that's part of the experience!”

“No, thank you - one I'll gladly miss. I'll be apparating to Hogsmeade to meet the carriages.”

He rose, raising his arms above his head to stretch before reaching for his rucksack full of purchases. Hermione stood with him.

“I believe I will see you next week, Granger.”

“Of course, Severus. Thank you for your company.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether he would be open to another hug but it was answered for her. He reached out and tugged on one of her curls. “I expect this to be in good order when I’m back.”

“I’ll do my best,” she laughed. And with a turn and a crack, he was gone.

Chapter Text

Hermione expected the remaining days of summer holiday to pass by agonizingly slowly, but found that with the arrival of the staff back at the school and the trip Dumbledore arranged for her to St. Mungo’s, the days flew.

Hermione knew that her professors had lives outside Hogwarts, but it was a bit of a shock to be reminded of it when they began showing up at the school. They arrived in dribs and drabs with all of their trunks and packages full of practical items for their classrooms, some with their families alongside to help them get settled in for the term. Though she was excited to see her instructors, she especially enjoyed when they returned from holiday because many of them would bring back the most delicious wizarding sweets from other countries for the rest of the staff. Professor Sprout let her in on this secret when she dropped by, having only just recently returned from Lisbon. She was levitating a large parcel up the steps from the entrance hall when Hermione came across her. “Help me into the staffroom, dear?” she asked, and Hermione did so, surprised when the older woman unwrapped her parcel to reveal a large, dark cake. She immediately began cutting Hermione a slice. “You really must taste this!”

Hermione obediently took a bite of the spicy cake, and the taste of molasses filled her mouth. She was immediately filled with the warmth of bathing in the sun. Her skin erupted in goosebumps from the change in temperature she felt.

“Oh my,” she said, fanning herself lightly. “That’s lovely! I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

Professor Sprout waved it off. “This is nothing -- when Filius returned from Brazil last year, he brought boiled sweets that set off small fireworks from your mouth! I don’t think I’ve laughed so much as when Argus Filch opened his mouth to shout at Peeves and a Catherine wheel came flying out!”

By the middle of the week, she had also sampled pan de dulce from Mexico that were shaped and decorated like fantastical beasts, and gelato from Italy that didn’t melt until it was eaten. She was almost disappointed that she had to leave the castle to visit St. Mungo’s. She arrived at the hospital promptly at ten-thirty in the morning and was greeted by Healer Endymia Japes, a young witch who looked only a few years out of Hogwarts, who was eager to show her around. She was very open to Hermione’s questions about what determined their use of healing charms or potions. When she noticed the younger girl’s questioning leaned toward the use of memory charms, she directed them to that particular ward. “We have brief glimmers of memory from some of the patients sometimes,” another young healer explained to them, filling out a chart next to a man who was staring off into space. “But it only ever lasts for a few minutes and then they become rather despondent again.”

When Hermione inquired about their treatments with special attention towards the potions they used, the healers were very knowledgeable and open, even noting for her whether the ingredients that were used to brew them were fresh or dried, and whether they were brewed on site or supplied by an outside apothecary. Hermione wrote down everything and was pleased to hear that most of them were familiar. They were ingredients that she and Severus had agreed would needed to be used.

However, she was surprised to learn that each of the potions used at least one drop of water from the Rivers of Lethe, a main ingredient in forgetfulness potion. “Does that not counteract the healing effects of everything else?” she asked, tapping the ingredient in the recipe lists they showed her.

“We add it as a comfort to our patients,” Healer Japes explained, “So they forget that they’re in care. It wouldn’t do for them to get stressed out by being in an unfamiliar place, would it? It doesn’t affect their memories any more than they already are, and it’s not enough to throw off the balance of the whole potion administered.”

Hermione made an extra note of this. It didn’t sound quite right -- and she had never come across anything like it. Could one really isolate what a potions ingredient is intended to affect in a potion rather than having an effect on the whole potion itself? She scribbled it down to ask Severus what he thought.

The visit to St. Mungo’s gave her enough fuel to keep her busy in research to keep her mind off the impending arrival of the new term. It also gave her enough evidence to throw out her research into Remembralls -- when she handed one to a patient experiencing memory loss, it didn’t light up at all. The healers explained that it was because they weren’t aware that there was anything to forget. She was glad that she hadn’t pursued it too far before realising it would lead to a dead end.

When September first arrived, Hermione finally felt the butterflies that she had been expecting all week, and most of it was because she couldn’t wait to see Severus again. She had done her best to keep her thoughts away from him so that the week wouldn’t be unbearable, but she couldn’t resist letting herself indulge in remembering the feel of his hand against hers in the moments before she fell asleep. She desperately wanted to experience it again.

She was anxious to see everyone else as well, and was looking forward to the noise and excitement the arrival would bring. New classes, new material, new teachers, and new opportunities. It would be nice to see the castle full of students again. It had such a ghostly quality to it with everyone gone and over the past six weeks had reminded her a little bit too much of when the castle had been evacuated before the Battle of Hogwarts. A calm before a storm -- and she hoped that his year would be calmer than the last.

She made her way down towards the entrance hall in the early evening, and it wasn’t long before she heard the normal din of the students making their way up the steps towards the castle. As with last year, there were lots of people shouting and squealing with delight when they saw one another, asking how their summers were and replaying various Quidditch matches. Her heart leapt into her chest when she saw Severus make his way up the steps, speaking with some of his housemates. She watched him lift his head and rake his eyes over the entrance hall. His dark look brightened and a smile curled at his lips as he spotted her near the entrance to the Great Hall. She gave him a small wave and he nodded discreetly at her as he passed.

She followed him inside and took a seat towards the back of the Gryffindor table.

“Still here, I see, Granger,” Hermione heard Sirius Black walk past her.

“Of course,” she replied, turning to watch him take a seat further down the table. He was surprisingly tan from his summer exploits.

Hermione felt arms wrap around her in a hug and a warm cheek pressed against hers. The red hair that fell over her shoulder meant that it could only be Lily. “Much to our benefit and delight, of course, Sirius. Hello, Jean -- good summer?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione gave Lily’s arm a quick squeeze before she took off further down the table.

Remus patted her shoulder as he passed and motioned for her to join them.

“Later,” she said. He nodded and took a seat beside Lily and Peter.

It wasn’t long before the first years filed in looking frightened and pale as ever. One poor lad was quivering so much she could see it from the back of the hall. Merlin, was she ever that small and young looking? Everyone fell silent as McGonagall carried out the stool and Sorting Hat.

The hat immediately launched into a song about the founders and the qualities they looked for before descending into an explanation of how they fell out. There was an examination of each house and a pleading towards working together to overcome differences. It reminded Hermione very much of the song it sung in her fifth year.

It left the Great Hall in silence.

Gryffindor gained a surprising twelve new students that evening. The meal that evening had a somber undercurrent, and the enthusiastic conversations that were taking place before the sorting didn’t resume. Dumbledore’s speech expanded on the Sorting Hat’s words, encouraging the students to work together to overcome their differences. It was one of the more uncomfortable start-of-term feasts Hermione had attended.

Despite the large intake, the Gryffindor common room didn’t feel as crowded when Hermione passed through it that evening. There were a number of students running up and down the staircases to find that there were fewer beds than they expected in their dormitories. It seemed with the rise in political tensions, enrollment at Hogwarts had fallen. No beds had gone missing in the seventh year girls dormitory, thankfully, and when Hermione entered, she was pleased to see that her three roommates were present. It seemed as though they had noticed the drop in numbers as well. Sita was in the middle of counting off people she knew who had withdrawn their enrollment over the summer.

“Bridget O’Hanlon’s gone off to Beauxbatons,” she said. “And rumor had it that Mulciber was going to go off to Durmstrang, but I saw him this evening.”

Lily sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Congratulations on Head Girl, Lily. I’m not surprised,” Hermione jumped in, desperate to change the subject. The other girls immediately chimed in as well.

“Thank you -- you know who was a big surprise, though? James getting Head Boy! With as much trouble as he has been in over the years? It should have gone to Rmus -- and that’s coming from me!”

Hermione nodded. “I hope Remus isn’t too put out. I have a feeling there are bigger things at play in their decision -- not that you both don’t deserve it, of course, but I think the political climate --”

“I understand. No, I think Remus is alright. He told James he was very pleased for him on the train,” Lily turned back to her unpacking. “Did you guys have a good summer?”

Hermione listened the girls discuss their summers. Sita had gone to India with her parents to visit family, and Mary, though she stayed home, enjoyed a flirtation with a muggle boy who lived on her road.

“And yours, Jean?” Lily asked.

“Oh -- yes. I got lots of reading done. I went out a few times. It was nice. Yours?”

“It was lovely -- we went to visit James’ family -- Godric’s Hollow is so interesting -- have you been there?” The words were spilling out of her mouth and she kept cutting herself off with her enthusiasm.

Hermione hesitated before answering, recalling her visit with Harry.“Once. It was Christmas.”

“Ooooh, the village would be lovely in snow. Was there snow?”

Hermione nodded. “It was very lovely.”

Despite having not done much all day, Hermione was exhausted and it wasn’t long before she and the other girls climbed into bed, their chatter dying down as each one drifted off to sleep.

Schedules were passed out the next morning with the exception of the seventh years who were all given appointment times with McGonagall to go over their plans for their NEWTs and future careers.

“When’s your meeting with McGonagall?” Lily asked, trying to peek at Hermione’s card.

Hermione angled it toward her. “This afternoon. Yours?”

“This morning,” she replied confidently.

“How do you think it’s going to go?”

Lily nodded. “I’m pretty comfortable. You?”

Hermione shrugged, doing her best to appear nonchalant. “I think so.” She nodded towards the boys. “What do you reckon?”

“Scraping by, Auror. Scraping by, Auror,” she pointed at James and Sirius. “On track to work at the ministry,” she pointed at Remus, and finally pointed at Peter. “Scraping by, ministry.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Peter. “Really?” After sitting through several classes with him, she noticed that he was never an outstanding student. Middling, at most. What successes he had was usually with the help from his friends -- Remus most often would help him with the more nuanced wand movements in the common room in the evening. If he didn’t have his friends, Hermione guessed that there would be little chance that he would pass his exams with more than a “D”.

“Oh yes -- he’ll have some lackey job. He’s likeable but not...” Lily paused, searching for a good word. “He’s so loyal to the boys and he tries his best. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t always have the skills that are always needed.”

“And you?” Hermione asked.

“I’d like to go work for St. Mungo’s as a healer. I’ve always had a knack for it and Madam Pomfrey has agreed to let me do some training here. I visited James’ father there over the summer, and it was just so amazing.”

“Oh really? A specific department or just general healing?” Hermione was genuinely shocked. She had never considered Lily and James Potter having career goals of their own, but here was the evidence before her. How long did they get to pursue them before they were forced into hiding?

“I was just thinking general healing at first, but I saw some of the nurses who deal with long-term conditions, and I think I’d quite like to work my way there.”

“I was just at St. Mungo’s as well about some research I’m doing on something similar,” Hermione explained. “Maybe I could give you the name of the healer I spoke to and I could introduce you?”

Lily broke into a beaming smile. “That would be great -- did you want to go into healing as well?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not sure, to be honest. It was for an independent project I’m doing.”

“Oh -- I’ve always wondered what you’ve been working on.”

“Yes -- lots of healing potions.”

“Is that why you spend so much time around Sev?”

Hermione nearly dropped her spoon at Lily’s mention of Snape. “Oh -- yes. It is. He’s brilliant when it comes to brewing.”

Lily looked as though she were carefully considering her words before responding. “He can do great things when he sets his mind to doing them for good.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, good luck!” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and rising from her seat. As much as she was curious what else the girl had to say about Severus, the breakfast table was not an appropriate place for that conversation, especially not within earshot of James and Sirius.

“Thanks, you too!” Lily called after her.

When Hermione entered McGonagall’s office later that day, she was pleased to see a tea tray set out with some biscuits. Not a terribly formal meeting, then.

“Have a seat, please, and do help yourself,” the older woman motioned to the chair across from her desk.

McGonagall had the courtesy to wait until she was seated before she began speaking. “Miss Granger, I understand from Dumbledore that you are here under special circumstances and you do not need guidance or help when it comes to your future. However, I would feel remiss in my duties as your head of house if I did not take the time to ask you about your future plans and how you feel you are progressing. Have you any plans at all, Miss Granger?”

“Well,” Hermione paused. “A few?”

McGonagall pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and poised herself to write.

“I had hoped to do something judicial, I think.”

“Well, you are certainly on track for that -- and many more.” McGonagall pulled up a record of Hermione’s schedule. “I think the only two classes you aren’t taking are Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, and I’m happy to report that all your professors have considered your performance to be satisfactory.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

“Have you thought of where you might like to start?” asked McGonagall. “Perhaps I could have a word with someone. I know a few people on the Wizengamot and they can give you an idea of where they began their careers.”

Hermione was touched by the older woman’s enthusiasm. She had planned for this, though. She didn’t want McGonagall to get too invested in her future. “To be completely honest, Professor, considering the environment, I don’t think I should pin all my hopes on a future too soon.”

“Of course,” McGonagall paused in her writing and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“After all, only yesterday the Daily Prophet reported that two magical law enforcement officers were found to be under the Imperius Curse…” Hermione continued.

“I completely understand. While I don’t think it should put you off from pursuing your future, I respect your hesitancy. If you do change your mind, I am here to assist -- as long as it is within reason. No asking to go straight to the Minister of Magic.” she said, pushing the plate of biscuits toward her.

“Thank you, Professor,” said Hermione, taking a sip from her tea. They chatted easily for the rest of her half hour slot, Hermione diverting the conversation by asking for book recommendations for Transfiguration.

“How did it go?” Hermione asked Lily when they sat down to dinner that evening.

“Oh, good! McGonagall has given me the names of a few people, and I'm right on track. You?”

“Yes, fine,” she replied. “Lily…”

“Hmm?” Lily was fully engrossed in buttering a dinner roll.

“Are you nervous about joining the job market considering your background?” Although Hermione had given McGonagall a valid reason for not exactly having her future plans laid out, it was one that she had constructed to prevent further questioning. It wasn’t until afterward that she wondered how Lily felt about entering the wizarding world with her well-known status as a muggleborn. Though Lily had guessed that Hermione was not from purely wizarding heritage, they had never discussed it.

Lily shook her head. “McGonagall said that unfortunately more and more people were commenting about that in recent years -- not wanting to go into certain professions or wanting to go into purely Muggle professions instead. I don't care. If I can help someone, I'm going to help them, and they shouldn't care if I'm magical or non-magical if they're bleeding out of their eyeballs. How would they even know the difference?” She took a determined bite of her dinner roll.

Hermione's breath was very nearly taken away by Lily's passion. Her heart broke. How different would the world have been had Lily lived? How many lives would she have personally touched, how many lives would she have saved herself had she not died on that October night? But why should she die? Why should she have to?

The guilt ridden feelings that led Hermione to the past began to flood her. The indignation, the anger, the injustice - her heart hurt.

She opened her mouth. She didn't know what she was going to say, but she wanted to say something. She wanted to tell her about Harry, and how he helped promote a future where they would be welcome. She wanted to tell her about how she did help people -- she helped lots of people through her sacrifice --

But her tongue cleaved to the top of her mouth leaving her unable to speak. She saw Dumbledore look up sharply from his position at the head table through the tears that began to fill her eyes.

“Oh, Jean - I'm so sorry - I know this is such a sensitive subject for some - so many muggleborns feel so lost right now.” Lily put her arm around her.

“No - I'm sorry,” gasped out Hermione, taking a deep breath when she could to help the tears stop. She wiped at her eyes.“I'm sorry I can't help.”

What had she almost done? If she had said something - anything - she risked Harry's life. How could she sacrifice one friend, the saviour of the wizarding world, in favour of another? How many more people would die if Lily did not give her life to save Harry and enact that ancient magic? Hermione almost felt ill with the weight of it.

“Merlin, Granger, is the shepherd’s pie that bad?” James took a seat across from Lily. He was mud-splattered and his hair was sticking in all directions -- just like Harry. It was too much just now and made her feel even more guilty.

“Shut up, James,” Lily said sharply, throwing the rest of her roll at him.

“Excuse me,” said Hermione, rising from her seat.

“Shall I come with?” Lily asked, beginning to rise as well.

“No, no - I just need a minute alone. Eat your dinner.” Hermione walked quickly until she found a discreet alcove and ducked behind the statue it housed. She had thought she was fine, but suddenly the weight of her decision crashed down on her. She wasn’t supposed to be here this long. She should have found a cure for her parents already -- and Harry and Ron were back in the present. Her heart ached with missing them despite their dirty socks and dishes and overly loud games of Quidditch.

“Miss Granger, just the person I was looking for.”

Hermione jumped at Dumbledore’s voice. She should have guessed that he would have followed her. She inched out from behind the statue to face him, wiping her eyes once more. She didn’t say anything for fear of breaking out into tears again.

“Should we go to my office?”

She nodded and followed him through the corridors. They walked wordlessly, but somehow Dumbledore’s presence emitted a calm over her. By the time they stepped on the rotating staircase to his office, she was feeling almost peaceful. Hermione was fairly certain he must have been casting a calming charm on her.

He invited her to take a seat. “I’m sure you have guessed why I have sought you out.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t expect -- I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t plan on that, either. I just… there’s so much injustice.”

Dumbledore nodded. “In times like these, there definitely feels moreso.”

“It won’t happen again,” she assured him.

“I have come to greatly respect you. Hermione Granger, and I have a lot of faith in you and your promise. I understand why my future self sent you here.”

Hermione bowed her head, feeling the blush rising in her cheeks. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

“Now, let us turn to more pleasant subjects. I believe we were due a catch-up anyway. How did you find St. Mungo’s?”

Hermione launched into recounting her time with Healer Japes and what she learned, explaining how she hoped it would apply to her research.

When she returned to Gryffindor Tower, she spotted the Marauders and Lily next to the fire. She was content enough to settle in next to Lily to watch James and Sirius team against Remus and Peter to play an especially theatrical game of wizard’s chess. If she could not prevent what was going to happen to them, she could appreciate them in this moment.

Because they did not start classes immediately and Hermione had been preoccupied with her own research in her workroom, it was a number of days before she saw Severus. She had hoped that the familiarity he had showed her at Diagon Alley would continue into their life at Hogwarts, but it did not. It appeared he had his own things to attend to, and she had to remind herself of this every time she entered the library and saw that he was not there. It did not last forever, though. She was startled one day when there was a gentle knock on her workroom door and she opened it to find him.

“Did you change the password?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to get in for the past few days, but you haven’t been in, either.”

“Oh, yes -- sorry, it’s ‘Witherwings’ now.” She moved aside to let him enter, following him to the cage that held the mice. They all ran to the edge, pleased to see his tall form. He pushed some bits of apple through the bars for them.

Her heart swelled at the kindness he was showing them. How did this young man become the cruel potions master who would torment Neville with threatening to poison his toad? She saw flashes of his older self sometimes, especially when James Potter or Sirius Black were around, but the past year with Severus, especially watching him during times like this showed her that there was a gentler, kinder side to him that she never saw when she was in the future.

He turned to her with a small smile. “I’ve just had my first potions drop off of the year. A sixth year who had an unexpected side effect from an ageing potion.”

“Oh, dear. I won’t ask,” she giggled.

“Their stupidity equals my gold, so I won’t complain.”

“Have you had your careers meeting?” she asked. “I’ve had mine with McGonagall.”

“No.” He shook his head and sat in the chair he had conjured for himself the year before. Hermione had quite enjoyed this little amendment he had made to her workspace and decided to keep it.

“When is yours?” she asked, leaning against her work table to face him.

“I won’t be having it,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“What?” She straightened in surprise. What in the world would prevent Snape from having his careers meeting unless he had joined Voldemort already? Had he joined? Her eyes darted to his left arm but there’s no way she could know -- he was wearing his standard long-sleeved uniform.

“Think, Granger.”

She gave him a stunned look. Her mind was whirring, going down so many different directions, but it kept coming back to her fear that he had joined Voldemort already. Was that what Lucius Malfoy was dragged him off for last week? No, he couldn’t have received the Dark Mark then, but they certainly could have made arrangements. If only she had gone with him -- she could have done something -- she really should have joined them for that drink.

He sighed, exasperated when she did not immediately answer.

“Come on, Granger. You’re out of practice. Who is my head of house?” It clicked. Of course. It wouldn’t be Severus at all - it would be Slughorn. Although he came across as jovial and involved with his students, unless they could gain him something, he rarely bothered.

“Is Slughorn really that lazy?” she asked.

Snape shrugged. “In ways.”

She felt guilty for the direction her mind immediately went. Of course, though. She really was out of practice. Slughorn had his little club to check progress and push students towards successful alumni. He did it all the time -- why have a formal meeting about it? He would only need to meet with the few who didn’t rise to his standards.

Hermione shuddered. “I couldn’t deal with that -- it’s too… disorganized isn’t quite the word, but too spur of the moment --”

“I have a lot of respect for McGonagall in that sense. She’s one to make sure everything is done correctly. And she’s fair.” Hermione thought back to when James and Sirius had attacked Severus outside the Transfiguration classroom. Despite not having witnessed it and the protest of her Gryffindors, all three were punished, and she made sure that Severus was taken care of.

“But what about your progress? Doesn’t he speak to you about it?”

“It’s Slytherin. We’re expected to do well. We’re also expected to settle any problems in-house. Anything that distracts Slughorn from his nightly sherry and crystallized pineapple is unacceptable.” He smirked at her obvious annoyance.

“And his social engagements, I expect.”

“Those, too,” he agreed.

“I never thought I would appreciate McGonagall as much as I do now.”

“Did you tell her that you were going to work as a private potioneer?”

Hermione laughed. “No -- I told her I didn’t know what I wanted to do.”

“Did you send her into apoplectic shock?” He raised an eyebrow at her. She had never actually discussed her plans with him, either, and she knew that her answer wasn’t in keeping with the image she had put forward of herself.

She laughed once more. “No -- she understood.”

He gave her a calculating look. Something else that didn’t fit in with whatever he thought of her. He rose and stood beside her at her worktable, taking a survey of it. She was thankful she tidied before the term started.

“What exactly are your post-Hogwarts plans?” she asked.

“You haven’t guessed?”

“I didn’t think you were being serious!” He had always alluded to her joining him on some business venture, but she figured it had been a joke. Severus Snape would go on to become a potions master at Hogwarts. There was no other alternative for him.

“Granger, I have been saving gold since I’ve been a second year. I have a good business model. Of course I’m going to open my own shop. Why not?” Like Lily, she had never considered that Snape would have had plans other than becoming potions master at Hogwarts, but like her, he was a young man with his own hopes and dreams. He had a life before Voldemort interfered.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t -- I’m just a bit surprised,” Hermione replied honestly. “You should look into printing your own potions text, Severus -- I really think it world revolutionize brewing --” If he was going to try to pursue his own path, why not do something extraordinary?

“And have all the apothecaries and suppliers rise up against me when I point out they’re making too much profit from ineffective and outdated methods? I’d rather just brew it myself. I’ve made a nice sum so far and believe I can continue to do so if I cast my net a little wider.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“You’re still welcome to join me. You’re a competent brewer and can follow directions, and I see no need for me to formally interview you.” He gestured to her potions workspace. Hermione immediately imagined Severus behind a desk asking her questions and couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that rose from her.

“And have you throwing abuse at me daily?” She nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“I only do it to people I like.” He was looking at her intently now, a small smile was hidden at the corners of his mouth. A tension rose in the air that Hermione, though she desperately longed for, was afraid to address. She had battled with herself, spent nights awake turning her thoughts about her actions here over and over since her encounter with Lily. If she began a relationship with Severus, how would that endanger the future? How reckless could she be to let herself get into this situation? She needed Severus to still be so in love with Lily that he turned to Dumbledore for the Potter’s protection. And she caught little hints of it here and there -- she caught him looking at Lily and James sometimes across the Great Hall or during class, a slight look of something she couldn’t quite name on his face. She couldn’t take that away from him just now.

She had to be careful with her response as well. If anything, the past year had taught her that Severus wanted to be valued, and Hermione had certainly shown him that in her friendship.

“Then you must love James Potter and Sirius Black,” she answered. The tension immediately broke.

He rolled his eyes. “What are you plans for brewing this year, Granger? Still the same?” He pulled a sheet of her potions notes toward him.

She shook her head, thankful he changed the subject. She hadn’t done hardly any experimental brewing over the summer -- she was too nervous to do it without Severus around. Although he had taught her what to look for when experimenting with new ingredients and she had begun to recognize the signs when a potion was going to go bad, she still preferred him to be around. He was much more experienced at observing the nuances that came with the whole process.

“Yes and no. I have some things I wanted to ask --” She pulled a notebook from her rucksack and opened it to her notes from the hospital.

“Dumbledore arranged for me to visit St. Mungo’s and they showed me that they regularly give their patients. Does anything here look odd to you?”

He pulled it toward him. “Oh. I see,” he pointed to a single ingredient that appeared in each of the potions. “Rivers of Lethe.”

“Exactly. They said it’s to help the patients forget they’re in care. How does that not affect the whole potion?”

Severus tilted his head to the side in thought. His fingers were at his lips now, slightly tracing them. She could tell he was looking for an explanation.

“If you add an ingredient to a potion, how do you make sure it works for that single reason?” she prompted.

“I’ve seen something like this before. It isn’t something I’ve done myself or that we’ve gone over in potions. Give me a few days to do some reading,” he answered.

The seventh years resumed their classes, and it felt as though they were given more free time than ever, though it became apparent why when, at the end of their first Charms lesson, Professor Flitwick asked for a six foot long roll of parchment on the variations of wrist inflection when spellcasting. This earned a groan from most of the students, but Hermione was secretly pleased -- she would finally have enough parchment to be able to squeeze in everything she wanted to.

More time in classes was spent on theory rather than practical application, something that helped Hermione understand how Severus had such a grasp on potions brewing. He mastered the lessons on this in his first and second year, and while she certainly wasn’t behind by any means, she had never been five or six years ahead in the curriculum. But, for all his faults, Slughorn was a decent teacher and with Severus’ previous explanations, she soon had a grasp of all the different variations of how steam rose, the slight difference between all the different levels of simmers and boils, and the spectrum of color changes.

She and Severus resumed their early library sessions, taking advantage of the nearly empty library to being working their way through the restricted section once more. They had found some very old spells having to do with memory which Hermione took note of, but it seemed that they had fallen out of use in favor of the modern obliviate. There still didn’t seem to be anything close to allowing restoration of lost memories, though.

They were going through a book on poisons, some of which seemed to cause very unpleasant and horrific ways to die or torment the unwitting victim. Hermione was reminded of her objective for Severus once more when she was confronted with a particular illustration picturing a snake jumping out of a potions bottle and into the victim’s throat. The next picture showed a cut-figure illustration of the snake inside the person’s stomach, biting their insides and injecting their venom into the victim. She tapped the image, causing it to animate. She grimaced at the events playing out before her over and over. She tapped it again and they ceased, once more becoming inanimate.

“Severus, have you given any thought to working on an antivenom?”

“Why are you so keen on this, Granger?” He didn’t raise his eyes from the page, but his lips curled slightly downward in a frown.

“I told you why.”

“Well, then why not work on it yourself?” He lifted his eyes from the book and pushed it back toward her.

“I have other things -- I just figured if you were looking for something independent that this may suit you.” She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant.

“We’ll see how bored I get. The Slytherins have been playing a game where they try to invent new jinxes, and if they can’t be fixed by spellwork, they’ve been turning to me to fix it.”

“Oh, is this something you personally take part in?”

He smirked. “Might be.”

“What have you come up with?” Was this when he would invent sectumsempra? But that wasn’t a jinx -- that was far, far worse.

He looked around the room. A first year Ravenclaw had just entered the library and was standing near a shelf of herbology books. Severus discreetly put his hand on his wand and pointed it toward the boy. His head immediately went forward as though someone had smacked him upside the head.

The boy whipped around, looking for the perpetrator.

“No worries,” Hermione called. “Peeves likes to play tricks sometimes.”

“But I just saw him upstairs,” replied the first year, looking around.

“Peeves is funny like that, being a poltergeist and being able to move through walls,” added Snape.

The first year nodded and headed off into the stacks.

“That was mean!” Hermione whispered.

“That’s mild,” he shrugged, brushing off her concern. “Someone had a six hour nosebleed the other night.”

Hermione shook her head and turned back to the book. “I need to start on my charms homework.”

“I’m halfway done. Are you referencing Spangle’s work?”

“Yes, and Crimp’s. Do you mind grabbing them while I take this back?”

He nodded and rose. When they both returned to the desk, Hermione began her essay.

Hermione had only gotten as far as dating her paper before she stopped. “Oh,” she breathed.

“Something wrong?” Severus paused in his perusal of Charms of Defense and Deterrence.

“No, nothing. Today is my birthday.” she remarked nonchalantly, beginning to write again.

“What?” he asked. “You’ve never said anything!”

She shrugged. “I don’t have much reason to celebrate it right now. Maybe I will again someday.” How old was she now? She had stopped celebrating the summer they left the Burrow for the forest, and she turned eighteen then. Was it twenty? Should she add up all the time she had gone back with the time turner as well? She had calculated it all once, but had forgotten the exact amount when she had to fill her head with everything else that was important. An additional four months?

He looked troubled at her explanation.

They worked together in silence until Severus needed to disappear for Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione moved to her workroom. The library was lonely without him.

Later that evening she returned to her dormitory to find a box of her favorite chocoballs from Honeydukes on her bed.

“Ooh, Jean! Who’s that from?” Mary asked, craning her head to see the card.

“Severus,” she replied, opening the card. She didn’t have to open it to see the sender. He was the only person who knew. She opened it, hoping for a lengthy message, but still appreciated the “Many happy returns” written on the inside. She placed the card on her bedside table. It pictured a cauldron on the front that, as it bubbled, spewed steam that rose and wrote out “Happy Birthday”.

Lily gave her a concerned look as Mary responded, “Oh! That was thoughtful of him,” in a less enthusiastic tone.

Hermione ignored her and climbed into bed, pulling the curtains tight around her. She wouldn’t let anything spoil how lovely she felt right now.

Chapter Text

“Very good, Miss Granger, I’m impressed. Would you like to try your hand at Occlumency now?”

It was an evening in early October, and Dumbledore had invited her for one of their check-in meetings. She did not have much to discuss, so they quickly moved to legilimency and Hermione had just found her fifth successive memory. Dumbledore had even tried to conceal the last one, but she quickly saw through his diversions and was able to pluck the hidden memory of his school days out amongst memories of Wizengamot meetings. She was elated. She would need more practice if she was ever going to be as good as the Headmaster, but she had perfected the basics, and if she needed to search for memories, she would be able to do so. She was confident that when she met them again, she would be able to find out how well she had concealed her parents memories.

“Yes, I think I would like to give it a try,” she agreed.

“Good. Now clear your mind, and try to prevent me from finding the results of today’s Quidditch match. Are you ready?” Dumbledore lifted his wand in preparation to cast the spell.

Hermione nodded, doing her best to quickly recall Edwin Burghley’s recommendations on keeping her head thought-free. She desperately tried to clear her head of anything related to Quidditch. She had sat through the match earlier, mostly uninterested, only lifting her head from her book when there were cheers, but she was still very aware that Ravenclaw had won.

“Legilimens.”

She felt that uncomfortable tickling sensation on her brain and did her best to bat away any thoughts of the sport, but they kept coming to the forefront of her mind and she panicked -- Dumbledore had found them easily. If someone wanted, how simple would it be to find her memories of anything else? Her memory of Harry nearly swallowing the snitch at his first Quidditch match jumped to the forefront of her mind and Dumbledore’s wand began to glow. He withdrew from her mind, his features unreadable.

“That wasn’t as easy,” said Hermione, rubbing her temples. Though she had experienced occlumency before, she had never actively tried to fight against it, and the sensation created an uncomfortable pressure in her head.

“No. This is the more difficult of the two,” Dumbledore explained. “Would you like to try again?”

Hermione nodded, doing her best to clear her head once more.

“I am not going to tell you what I am looking for this time. Let’s see if we can prevent my wand from lighting up again. Legilimens.”

Her head was clear for all of three seconds before images began flashing through them of her Transfiguration lessons. She did he best to recall her Ancient Runes lessons, but after two flashes of looking through translations, he was back in Transfiguration. She tried her hardest to divert her thoughts again, but found that she could not.

His wand did not light up, thankfully, but he withdrew from her mind. They tried again. And again, and again, and after a fifth try, decided to stop for the evening. She felt exhausted and helpless and a bit of a failure. She suddenly felt terrible for giving Harry such a hard time over his Occlumency lessons in fifth year -- and he had Snape teaching him! He would have been nowhere near as forgiving as Dumbledore.

“I just… I can’t do it,” she admitted, disappointment undisguised in her voice. She had read all the books he had recommended, and more besides. She implemented everything they recommended. How could they have failed her?

“Sadly, some people cannot. It is not anything to be ashamed of. You will simply need to make sure that you are not in a vulnerable position with an adept legilimens.”

“Will I will ever become skilled?”

Dumbledore’s expression became thoughtful and he hesitated before he spoke. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Miss Granger. That is why you are finding this particular skill difficult.”

“I’m sorry, I --”

“I did not say that it is a bad thing. I only meant to imply that it puts you at a slight disadvantage. You can acquire the skills, but it will take some time, and some practice.” When she did not brighten at his reassurance, he added, “Meditation can help.”

Hermione sighed. She was not used to being unsuccessful in life, and with her failures in her memory potions recently, it looked as though it was something she would need to get used to.

It did, however, put her in a foul mood for the next few days, and unfortunately, Severus noticed, practically tearing a book out of her hands because she was turning the pages too hard. Though she was annoyed, she was lucky it was him who caught her. Madam Pince would have banned her from the library had she rounded the corner and saw her mishandling the tome. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

She shook her head before letting it fall onto her folded arms against the desk. “I’m feeling very disappointed in myself right now.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously close to a snort. “Don’t be, Granger. Calm down.” She felt a tug at one of her curls and lifted her head. He leaned towards her in a conspiratorial manner. “At least you’ve not got detention during the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, like the Head Girl and Head Boy have.”

Hermione gasped, immediately straightening in her seat. “You’re joking!”

Severus ignored her exclamation and turned back to his work, a smirk on his face.

Hermione’s shock was not all from this bit of gossip -- she was surprised that he had mentioned the pair. She was always conscious to never bring Lily up in his presence, and she noticed that though his actions weren’t quite as extreme as the year before, he still did his best to avoid any interaction with her. She wanted to pry, but was worried that he would close himself off.

His tactic (if it was a tactic) seemed to work, though. Hermione turned back to her work without any thoughts of occlumency creeping in, and she didn’t get the nagging feeling of guilt that she should be working on a solution to her parents memory problem rather than focusing on her charms essay. Severus seemed pleased by her change in mood as well -- he offered the book back to her when he was done referencing it.

Hermione never did gather the courage to ask Lily if what Severus said was true, but when the Hogsmeade weekend arrived, it did indeed seem that James and Lily were not attending -- and neither were the other Marauders. It was odd not to see them push their way to the front of the queue to leave the school. She did, however, spot Maeve and Alfie, now third years, who looked beside themselves with excitement and were amongst the first to exit the school.

Hermione didn’t see Severus when she was walking down to the village, but she wasn’t sure where they stood on public interactions yet this year. He still spent quite a bit of time with the Slytherins, but it was no secret that if Hermione was in the library, the seat across from her was reserved for him. Even Remus declined to sit in it when he joined her, opting for the one just beside her. She smiled to herself, remembering the feel of her hand in Severus’ as he led her into Knockturn Alley. There was probably no chance of that happening today.

Hermione didn’t see Severus in the cauldron shop when she stopped in to check the price of an iron cauldron, and she didn’t spot him when she stopped in Scrivenshafts. However, it was still early in the day. The streets were steadily growing more and more crowded with students and weekend shoppers as the day progressed. She checked her watch. It was nearing midday. If she stopped in Tomes and Scrolls, that would bring her up to lunchtime, and she could head back to Hogwarts.

She was browsing through their new collection of journals and had become fully engrossed in an article about human to partial animal transfiguration when she felt a tug on her scarf. She turned.

Severus was standing behind her, and appeared to be captivated by a shelf of wizarding adventure books. Hermione spotted Gilderoy Lockhart’s first book among them.

“Oh, hello,” she smiled, lowering the copy of Transfiguration Today she had been perusing. Her smile immediately turned into a frown when she saw the state he was in, though. There was a slight sheen of sweat on him as though he had just been running and it appeared he was doing his best to control his breathing. His nostrils were quivering with the effort.“Is everything alright?”

He did not return her smile. There was a tension around his lips and eyes that she only normally saw when the Marauders were near. “Do you have everything you need?” he asked.

“I think so. Why?”

“Why don’t we head back to the castle?”

“Severus, is everything alright?” she repeated.

He shrugged, but grabbed the journal from her and placed it haphazardly on a shelf. “I have something to show you, and I can’t very well do that here.”

She began to protest, but he hissed for her to be quiet with such ferocity that her words immediately caught in her throat.

Severus grabbed her hand and directed her out of the shop and through the village. She was having trouble keeping up with his stride. He was speaking about researching venoms but what he was saying wasn’t making much sense -- he was jabbering. It was probably the most she had ever heard him say at one time. To anyone else, it would look like they were having an intense conversation about schoolwork.

When they passed through the castle gates, he slowed his pace and visibly relaxed, but Hermione felt more tense than she had in ages. She could feel her heartbeat begin to quicken. “Severus -- what’s going on? What did you need to show me?”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you when we’re in my lab.” He dropped his hand from hers, and Hermione suddenly became aware of how sweaty her palm had become. She wiped it against her robes.

They had just made it into the entrance hall when the divination professor, an elderly man with a van dyke beard who reminded Hermione of an animatronic fortune telling machine, ran down the entrance hall stairs and out the front door. He was followed by another teacher who ran by so quickly Hermione couldn’t make out who they were. She turned to watch where they were going and was immediately stunned by the sight of the green skull and snake floating above the village, strikingly visible against the pale sky. Small puffs of smoke were rising from various spots around the turrets and chimneys and there was suddenly a crowd of students running up from the village to the castle gates. The professors gathered them in, though some rushed forward into Hogsmeade.

Hermione could see flashes of light from spells being cast even from the castle steps. She immediately pulled out her wand and stepped forward but felt Severus’ arm catch around her waist, suddenly tight around her.

“No, Jean -- it’s not safe.” She didn’t struggle against him despite everything in her being telling her she needed to run down and help.

There was a rush of bodies. Some of the students had finally made it to the entrance steps and professors appeared in the entrance hall en masse with checklists, attempting to make sure all of the students who had left that morning returned.

Hermione caught sight of familiar faces -- Alfie alongside Maeve -- among the crowd of students making their way toward the castle.

“What happened?” she asked as they approached. Severus had let go of her once she made it clear she wasn’t going to take off into the fracas. He stook awkwardly beside her, his arms crossed, surveying the students walking in and looking very much like his future self. She would have found it more amusing had the situation not been so serious.

“We were in Honeydukes and suddenly there was a loud bang --” Alfie started.

“And lots of people screaming --” Maeve continued.

“And then these cracks from everywhere and people started apparating into the village. There were aurors --”

“But some of them were wearing masks --”

“Was anybody hurt?” Hermione interrupted.

“I don’t think so.” Maeve shook her head. Her dark hair was covered with a slight sheen of dust that must have settled in it as they passed through the chaos. “I didn’t see anybody, but there were a lot of bricks in the middle of the street -”

“But I had to leave my chocolate behind!” Alfie chimed in.

Maeve looked at him, disgusted. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Alfie had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

“Get inside,” Hermione advised. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She watched the duo move through the doors. The noise in the entrance hall was almost deafening with the amount of students talking.

“We should do the same.” Severus finally moved forward and put his arm around Hermione, directing her back inside.

She pulled him down the steps that led toward the dungeons and cast muffliato.

“Did you know?” she asked.

He pursed his lips and looked around, only answering when he was sure there was no one near them. “Not explicitly.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped and it felt as though her blood ran cold.

“There were whispers,” he explained. “And I noticed there were hardly any Slytherin’s heading to the village. I put it together.”

“But you could have warned --” She began, lifting her finger at him accusingly.

“How?” He interrupted, holding out his hands in exasperation.

He was right, as much as she didn’t want him to be. What could he have done? Severus said himself that Slytherins take care of their own and settle their own business, with little or no involvement from anyone outside the house. He couldn’t very well have alerted anyone unless he wanted a target on his back. And he said that no one explicitly told him… he wouldn’t have gotten involved had she not been in the village. How many Slytherins would stick their own necks out like that?

She felt angry on his and every other Slytherin’s behalf -- how many people had been deprived of justice because things were settled “in house”? She had never felt any sort of hesitancy when going to her head of house when something was wrong -- why should anyone else?

“Please don’t make this difficult, Jean. I’m trying to do the best I can.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it and closed it once more.

Severus was staring at her intently, his eyes pleading.

“I know you are,” she replied, reaching out to grab his arm in confirmation. He had -- and he had risked himself in the process. If she hadn’t been in Hogsmeade, she doubted he would have bothered. “Thank you.”

At dinner that evening, it was announced that until further notice, all Hogsmeade weekends had been cancelled. This was met with a groan from quite a few of the younger students, but applause from others. She guessed the ones who appreciated it had been present in the village earlier. Thankfully, there had been no students hurt -- the Auror’s had been quick. Hermione’s anxiety shot through the roof -- if Severus had not retrieved her, what could have happened? She could have been seriously injured, or even… Ron and Harry would never know what had happened to her.

It seemed that Dumbledore had the same thought. She was summoned to his office a few evenings later. “Miss Granger,” he greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat. There was a note of weariness in his voice. The Daily Prophet for the past few days had been overly critical of his running of the school, and for allowing students out of the boundaries (though it had been done for at least the past seventy years).

“Yes, Headmaster?”

“The events of the last week,” he began, but seemed to think better of it. “Your presence here. Have you accomplished anything towards your mission?”

Hermione felt the color drain from her face. “Well, a bit, but as you’re aware, my research had to go in a new direction --”

“I was under the impression that was your personal mission. What about the one I sent you here to accomplish?”

Snape. Well, she was working on it. “It’s coming along.”

“How much longer do you feel the need to remain here?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. My interference hasn’t quite taken hold.”

He studied her over his steepled fingers. Hermione couldn’t quite meet his eyes, afraid of what he might discover if he chose to dive into her thoughts at that particular moment.

“You were in Hogsmeade, were you not?”

“Yes.” She decided to leave out how she had been fetched back just in the nick of time.

“It would not do for Hermione Granger to go missing. If you have a way back to your own time, I suggest you have it handy should such a situation occur again.”

Hermione returned the Gryffindor tower that evening feeling properly told off, and when she was alone in the dormitory, pulled the future copy of the Daily Prophet from her school trunk and stashed it away in her beaded bag. It wouldn’t be too difficult to begin carrying it with her again.

Hermione’s nightmares returned that evening. Truth be told, she had almost forgotten that she had them. The altered sleeping potion Severus had provided her with previously worked, but only when she remembered to take it, and she had run out over the summer. Though she dreaded the first night without it, there was no recurrence of dreams, and she went weeks without an episode. She had forgotten to ask him for more. She should have anticipated them with the events of late.

This time is was Bellatrix at Malfoy manor, teasing her with a knife, carving into her skin and holding it against her throat. She could feel the cut of the knife against her skin. Then there was Dobby, dead, the knife that had been threatening her stuck deep in his back. Then Gringotts, the terror and fear of breaking in and the dragon, the vaults, the multiplying cup and the burns. She was tearing at her arms, trying to stop the burning against her skin.

“Jean,” she was shaken awake. It was Lily again. Always Lily. She thrust her dressing gown at her and they padded down to the hospital wing together.

Madam Pomfrey, though woken from sleep, was patient at helping Hermione into a bed. She methodically dosed her with Dreamless Sleep and checked her over for any harm she had inadvertently done to herself. Finding nothing to be too worried over, she left Hermione to drift off.

Hermione woke the next morning to Severus’s fingers stroking her wrist, just below the cuff of her pyjama top. He held a finger to his lips when she met his eyes, gesturing to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

“Did you run out of potion?” he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

She nodded.

“Are you alright?” He gestured to his neck and Hermione’s hand raised to her own where she felt a long scratch that had already scabbed over.

She nodded again.

She heard the bell chime, signalling the end of breakfast. There was a rustling noise from Madam Pomfrey's office and with a quick squeeze of her hand, Severus was gone.

Madam Pomfrey released her from the hospital wing just after lunch, and she headed immediately to her workroom. There was a small crate of purple vials waiting for her, and the mice had been fed, watered, and their cage cleaned. She couldn’t help but sigh in gratitude. It seemed that Severus could anticipate her thoughts.

Unfortunately, with the cancellation of Hogsmeade weekends, the castle began to take on the same air of pent up energy from the year before. And, like the year before, this led to an unfortunate rise in incidents in the corridors and a surprisingly steady flow of students visiting the hospital wing with ailments ranging from being unable to stop whistling to broken bones to engorged heads. There hadn’t been an explicit use of any unforgivable curses but Hermione felt that some of the spells she heard being thrown weren’t far off.

Within a week, teachers began to encourage clubs to up their membership intake to give students outlets for their extra energies and suddenly every noticeboard was covered with recruitment posters advertising everything from charms club to gobstones league and five-a-side Quidditch (which she was extremely surprised Severus joined).

And, though he may have complained about his extra time being taken up, she knew that Severus was pleased. No trips to the village for the students meant more business for him, and pretty soon he was filling orders for basic beauty potions and hair tonics as well as everything else.

It was a week after that when an explicit attack happened on a third year. A muggleborn boy had a piece of parchment with the world “Filth” attached to the back of his school robes with some type of permanent sticking charm. Relatively harmless, but it still made other muggleborns feel uncomfortable. Though the club intake had lowered the amount of curses being thrown in corridors, it did not solve the problem.

Lily, Gryffindor that she was, began coordinating groups of students with mixed heritage to walk together for protection. She recruited Hermione to join this campaign and soon Hermione found herself escorting younger students during her free time. Despite their efforts, there were still two attacks in the week leading up to Halloween: one muggleborn girl’s toenails broke through his shoes as they began to grow so quickly he soon could not walk, and a muggleborn boy had snakes sprout from his head like horns that immediately began to attack him.

Unfortunately, this rise in attacks also meant that James as head boy (and boyfriend of a muggleborn himself) became very proactive in his efforts for protection and began to run a type of self-defense class with Sirius in the common room every night. It was on Halloween Eve when they were finally discovered. McGonagall was drawn to the bangs and screams coming from the common room long after dinner.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Black! While I appreciate your efforts, there are far more appropriate spaces for this. One should be able to read in their common room without fear of arson,” she gestured to a fourth year girl who was gingerly holding her Care of Magical Creatures text in front of her, her blonde hair unfortunately singed and smoking at the ends.

Within a few days, a room off the seventh floor corridor was allocated for their use. The meetings became quite regular. If James and Sirius did not have Quidditch practice (or detention), there was a defense session. Although Hermione was familiar with many of the spells and techniques they taught, she still tagged along, purely to watch James and Sirius.

James reminded her so much of Harry, standing in front of everyone demonstrating spells and stances and wand movements. Although Harry lacked James’ over-the-top confidence, seeing him speak to the group transported her back to the Room of Requirement in her fifth year. Everyone was rapt watching James, just as they were Harry. She was glad she encouraged Harry to start Dumbledore’s Army, especially now that she saw James doing exactly the same thing. If she could share one of her memories here with Harry, this would be it, especially with Sirius at James’ side, and Remus and Lily on the other, helping the younger students. Seeing the four of them together filled her with a feeling that was not quite love, but not quite pride -- it lay somewhere in between and made her chest feel as though it were about to burst and brought tears to her eyes with the emotion she felt. It was a pleasure to have been involved in something and its beginnings and seeing it carried on, both in the past and the future.

After one particularly rigorous evening of blocking spells, Hermione couldn’t resist approaching the duo. “You guys are going to be brilliant aurors, you really are.”

“Ta, darlin’,” Sirius winked at her. “I’ll come to your aid anytime.”

Lily rolled her eyes and nudged him. He rolled his eyes and shrugged at her. “I have to get her away from Snivellus somehow.”

Lily sighed in frustration, and the look she gave Sirius would have withered a less arrogant wizard.

Hermione’s mood soured at Sirius’ comment. She had wondered if they would bring up her friendship with Severus again this year. While there were small jibes and passing comments last year, for the most part, they were left alone. However, since the Hogsmeade attack, Severus surprised her by not keeping his association with her a secret. While he preferred to spend time in her workroom with her, he openly walked with her to the library or from class to class, and once had even sought her out while she was with another group of students.

Remus gave her an apologetic smile and followed her back to Gryffindor tower. “You know they got the inspiration from you. Last year with those spates of attacks and your response. Lily suggested it to James and Sirius and said it would be good for their CV. I just thought you should get credit as well.”

She reached out and touched his arm in a gesture of thanks. “You’re a good man, Remus.” And he was -- it was a shame that there was a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, because Remus should have filled it from the moment he left school. He was patient and fair and, though she did witness him trip up a few times under the influence of his friends, responsible. It disappointed her that he didn’t stand up to them more when some of their actions bordered on bullying, but he was so desperately thankful for being included that he let their actions slide.

She wondered if the same could be said of Severus. She knew that he was of mixed parentage, but a majority of the people he was friends with were pureblood. Either they didn’t know or they did and accepted him for who he was -- and he was thankful to be offered that friendship. She thought of his immediate fawning over Lucius Malfoy in Diagon Alley -- yes, he was pleased to be acknowledged. From what little he said of his childhood and his home life, it was dismal, and when he excelled at school, especially knowing the amount of darker magic that Sirius boasted he practiced, he was suddenly sought after. Why shouldn’t he seize the opportunities that came to him here?

She was shocked that it had never occurred to her before. Remus and Severus were two sides of the same coin, two young men from backgrounds they hoped to forget who, under the influence of friendships they were thankful to have, acted in less than perfect ways sometimes. Yes, Severus had a predilection for slightly darker things due to his upbringing and the influences of his house, but… she understood him now. She knew that he wanted to be valued, but she had never actually put together exactly what that meant.

“Are you alright?” she heard Remus ask. She had stopped in her realisation and the Fat Lady was looking at them expectantly.

“What? Oh, yes. Yes, sorry. Niffler,” she said, and the portrait swung open and they climbed inside.

Chapter Text

“What do you think of combining something like wormwood and puffskein hair?” Hermione pressed her palms to her eyes. She had been going over notes for hours and felt like she was going cross-eyed from it. Now comfortable with her workload for the year, she had started experimenting with potions again, and unfortunately the first potion she brewed was a dud. The mice did not react to the draught at all. Although she tried not to be discouraged, some of her disappointment must have shown, because Severus was quick to remind her of the fact that there were seventy-two different versions of the standard Pepper-Up potion before one was found that worked correctly.

“It would taste terrible, for starters.” Severus was across the room at his workstation, slicing something green and slimy she couldn’t quite identify from where she was sitting. Hermione had taken the liberty of converting his impromptu potions laboratory into something as comfortable as hers and was currently reclining on a settee she had transfigured from a moth-eaten high-backed chair. It wasn’t the prettiest settee, but Severus appreciated it and she found it to be comfortable.

“I’m not really concerned about taste. I just want it to work.” Though the bitterness of the wormwood would be off-putting, she hoped that the relaxant effects of it would loosen whatever bound the original memories, and the puffskein hair would help them surface.

“Well, it won’t work very well if it tastes so vile they can’t swallow it.”

She sighed, throwing her notes down to the floor. They landed with a satisfactory thud. Everything she thought of combining they had already tried a variation of, and she felt as though she was running out of options.

“I can try to find something to neutralise the taste,” he offered, not looking up from his work.

She watched him with interest as he added several ingredients to one of the cauldrons and adjust the flame beneath it before cleaning up his work area. His movements were so smooth and precise when he was brewing -- absolutely seamless. It was almost like watching a ballet. She felt a sense of loss from never having the opportunity to watch him brew anything while she was a student. How much more would have learned by observing the way he gripped the small knives, how easily he cut away the soured parts of ingredients in favor of the freshest parts, and the way he held the stirring rod just so?

He began to wipe his hands and caught her staring at him. She smiled and he raised an eyebrow. When she didn’t speak, he decided to fill the silence.

“I found out about adding ingredients that are meant to target specific ailments. There was a mention in Potions Monthly of some theoretical practice of it ten years ago, but nothing else since.”

“I wonder why St. Mungo’s are doing it, then.” Hermione sat up, her mind racing, the warm thoughts she was having regarding Severus tucked to the back of her brain to return to later. With the number of things going on, she had completely forgotten she had asked him about Rivers of Lethe.

“More proof that best practices aren’t always best,” he shrugged.

“There would be no guarantee that even if they used it and it worked on one patient that it would work on the next. They could be undoing any sort of damage that they’ve fixed.” She was waving her hands around now, and her voice had gone slightly high pitched with the intensity of her thoughts. If she could convince St. Mungo’s to stop administering the drops, if -- when -- she eventually moved on to human subjects, she would know that nothing would be interfering with her remedies. She opened her mouth to continue but Severus held his hand up to her.

“Indeed.” He was leaning back against his work table now, watching her with a small smile on his face. “As much as I enjoy watching you get worked up, Granger, we have potions in ten minutes.” He gestured to a clock he had affixed to the wall and reached down to pick up his satchel.

Hermione reached down to gather up her research she had discarded earlier but Severus stopped her. “You know you can leave your things here. The wards on the door know you, so you can come and go as you please. I trust you.”

She did her best to try to suppress the grin that leapt to her face at his words, but was unsuccessful. She could tell that he was pleased by her reaction, though, from the playful nudge he gave her as they made their way to the potions classroom. “Don’t test your luck. If I find any ingredients missing from my personal stores…”

Instantly reminded of sneaking into his potions stores in her second year, a high-pitched giggle escaped from her throat that sounded painful to her own ears. “I can’t promise that,” she replied. Hopefully he would see the humor in that in a number of years.

They entered the classroom and made their way to their shared station. She felt a rush of pleasure thought of it being theirs. The first day of term, he had been quick to remove his items from her side of the desk when she walked in. He had saved her seat, and Slughorn was happy to see that they had continued the arrangement he started. For the most part, they were left to their own devices, though they were occasionally visited by Slughorn who was always eager to look over Severus’ potions.

After a few minutes, Slughorn entered the room and stood in front of the cauldron that was simmering away at his desk. “Good morning, everyone! Do come forward and have a look!”

Everyone obediently rose from their seats and shuffled toward the front of the room. Though there weren’t many of them, it was still difficult for Hermione to make out what was inside.

“Does anyone know what this is?” Slughorn asked, gesturing to the cauldron.

Lily raised her hand, tossing her glossy red hair over her shoulder.

“Yes -- of course you’ll know, Miss Evans!”

“Amortentia. It’s a love potion.” There were giggles from some of the girls in the room. Hermione couldn’t help rolling her eyes. She had hoped that making it to seventh year would remove some of that silliness.

“Correct! And how did you identify it?”

“By the spirals and the color, and by the smells, of course. They’re all my favorites.”

Her answer prompted everyone to take a deep breath.

“Right in one! Five points to Gryffindor. The fragrance of this particular potion will smell different to every person as it will smell like what that person finds attractive,” he explained.

This was old ground, but Hermione couldn’t help but hang on to every one of Slughorn’s words. This, to her, was magic: a potion that got into your psyche and drew upon things that maybe you hadn’t realized for yourself. She remembered how the scent of amortentia helped her realize that she had serious feelings for Ron. She wasn’t close enough for the fumes to reach her. She stepped forward with some other students and breathed in deeply. She could still detect parchment and cut grass, of course, but she couldn’t make out anything else distinctive. The smell of Ron had gone as she knew it would be.

She glanced at Severus who had inched forward beside her to smell the potion himself. If he detected anything unexpected, he didn’t give it away. His face remained composed, though she noticed he kept his eyes affixed to the cauldron and the steam rising from it. She wondered what scents he was detecting.

She was surprised they were covering this so late -- didn’t they go over this potion in her sixth year? Unless there was a reason for the change in lesson plans. Slughorn seemed to be reading her train of thought with his next question.

“Now, why would the brewing of amortentia be restricted?” Slughorn asked.

Of course, she thought. Hermione raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“It removes free will from the person who drinks it. Administering this potion can be just as bad as casting the Imperius Curse,” she answered. Despite one or two of the girls frowning at her, she continued. “It also creates such a powerful infatuation or obsession that people have murdered under the influence of it.”

“Exactly. Another five points to Gryffindor. Although the potion will wear off after a time, there is an instability that comes after imbibing that is highly dangerous. Administering it without someone’s knowledge can lead to some serious consequences, so no whipping this up for Valentine’s Day! Needless to say, we won’t be brewing any of this today.” There were giggles from some of the girls again.

Slughorn gestured for them to return to their seats. “Today we’re going to be brewing something else that is personality altering, though it won’t send you to Azkaban. We’re going to brew a potion to induce euphoria, something that should cheer you up and counterbalance any sort of disappointment from your loss of Hogsmeade weekends.” He waved his wand at the board at the front of the room and information about the potion appeared.

The room was full of noise of everyone getting their ingredients out and opening their copies of Advanced Potion Making. Hermione had her text open and had begun lining up her ingredients when Severus motioned to get her attention.

“You should try it my way,” Severus suggested quietly, angling his book toward her.

She leaned forward to read some of the annotations cramped between the printed text and shook her head. “No, I think not. Slughorn won’t grade me down if I follow the recipe in here, and I’d rather not risk it.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and pulled the book back toward himself.

There was nothing wrong with Hermione’s final potion. It matched the exact color of sunshine yellow that the book described and Slughorn was pleased with her sample. However, when Severus produced his final product, Slughorn couldn’t fault it. The color of it, though still a shade of yellow, was more buttery and reminded Hermione of soft spring sunshine. Slughorn was so intrigued he even took a small sip from the phial. “Ah, peppermint! Inspired addition, Mr. Snape! You really are a talented brewer. Ten points to Slytherin,” he gushed, his cheeks taking on a reddish glow as though he had just downed an extremely strong drink.

“Thank you, Professor,” replied Snape, a satisfied smirk on his face instantly. Although she was pleased that he was getting the recognition that he deserved, he was usually insufferable after things like this.

“Quiet, you,” Hermione warned as they climbed the steps from the dungeons. There was a group of second year Gryffindors waiting for her at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got to get this lot to Transfiguration. I’ll see you in my lab later?”

“I have an order drop-off, but you’ll see me,” he replied, swiftly making his way past her and up the next staircase.

Hermione’s days continued in this same pattern. When she was not in class, she was attending to her lab or with Severus in his, often researching or reading while he brewed. She would finish up her evenings working on homework in the library, with Severus if he wasn’t filling orders, and often with Remus if Severus wasn’t present. While doing all this, she also found time to help escort younger students to class, and even attended the odd impromptu extra defense lesson when the mood struck her. Whoever was throwing spells in the corridor this year had not yet been clumsy enough to get caught, and it’s not as though their formal Defense classes were helping.

Their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year, Monsieur Bernard, was a somewhat flamboyant Frenchman who reminded Hermione a little bit of Gilderoy Lockhart -- but he could actually do some spellwork. However, he wasn’t quite sure how to run classes and usually just set the students upon one another in the hope that they had all done their assigned reading for the week. The classes usually started out related to the lesson with the professor giving a demonstration or two, but by the end often descended into some sort of chaotic faux duelling club with all sorts of hexes and jinxes being thrown. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever used her shield charm so much.

It seemed that despite his flaws, Monsieur Bernard had a modicum of awareness of house politics: he usually paired members of the same house together to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. However, numbers were not always perfect and there had been an odd class or two where Monsieur Bernard paired Hermione and Severus together. She was always secretly pleased when this happened. Not only did he stay on task, but he challenged her to perform to her usual standard -- she had to, with him at the other end of her wand.

She quickly learned that he was a swift, sharp, and unforgiving partner. His spellcasting might have appeared mildly aggressive toward anyone else, but Hermione knew he was testing her and enjoying it as much as she was. It was immediately apparent that he was a more than capable duellist. Just like his brewing, he threw spells with minimal effort, and Hermione, though more than proficient, found herself victim to a stinging hex more than once, though he was always quick to cast the counterspell as soon as her skin broke out in red welts.

For the most part, classes were relatively quiet for Severus and Hermione. It seemed that despite some of Sirius and James’ comments outside of class, they left the pair of them alone. Severus, for the most part, pretended that they did not exist, and Hermione only caught him watching Lily a handful of times. It was certainly more than she noticed last year, though she couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Had his feelings toward Lily receded to the point where he could bear the sight of her, or had he simply gotten to the point where he no longer cared who noticed his attention?

Regardless of this minor slip, Severus had done an excellent job of avoiding any sort of interaction with Lily until Monsieur Bernard found himself with an odd number of students in his class and assigned them as duelling partners. By all appearances, everything seemed to be going smoothly, though there was an odd tension between them that, by the end of class, resolved in Lily practically running from the room and Severus looking more than mildly uncomfortable. James Potter immediately began to whisper threats towards Severus that Monsieur Bernard overheard and gave him detention for. Hermione was slightly offended that Severus took off from the classroom without waiting for her as usual.

She was quick to follow him down to his potions workroom, and if he noticed her enter behind him, he did not acknowledge it. She decided to recline on the couch with her textbook, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, and did her best to read over next week’s lesson. Severus, however, was moving around more noisily than usual, setting things down and moving them with more force than perhaps necessary, chopping ingredients with a viciousness that she hadn’t seen before. It was half an hour before the noises resumed to their normal level and Hermione felt brave enough to speak.

“Severus… May I ask you something?” She lowered her book slightly to see if he reacted. He was entirely focused on whatever he was doing, and did not answer her for a few moments.

“Something else, you mean?” he answered, not looking up from his work.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes.”

“Go on.”

Hermione took a deep breath and did her best to keep her voice steady. “What happened between you and Lily Evans?”

His face grew pale and his eyes darkened. He ceased his chopping.

She knew she shouldn’t have asked it, but how could she not? She didn’t plan on having feelings for him. She didn’t plan on her heart quickening every time he waited for her after breakfast, or when he joined her at their table in the library. She didn’t plan on depending on him so much for her own research, on him being so useful and engaging at the age of seventeen, but he was absolutely brilliant and clever, and his attitude towards her was so different from her home time. Yes, he was sarcastic and acerbic, but he praised her intelligence, he encouraged her to explore, and he gladly broke the rules for her. He didn’t go mental at her expressing an opinion, or going to a Professor about something in the same way Ron did. She definitely had deep feelings for Severus Snape, there was no denying it now, and as silly as it sounded, she was jealous of Lily for having a shared past with him. Although Severus had playfully flirted with her at times, she wanted -- no, needed to know what he felt for Lily.

She warred with herself constantly over this -- her feelings for him, and his feelings for Lily. Or what she assumed his feelings for Lily to be. Hoped and dreaded. Why did feelings have to be such all-consuming things?

“You don’t need to answer,” she offered.

He very seriously looked like he was not going to, and, though she was dying for his answer and what it would reveal, at this point, she hoped he wouldn’t. She wished she could take the question back. She wished she had never asked it, she wished --

“We were friends.” He set his knife down and turned to face her, studying her for a reaction.

“Friends,” repeated Hermione, holding his gaze, hoping he would expand on his answer.

“Best friends,” he replied quietly, his voice just above a murmur and they descended into silence for a time. He was rolling his right thumb and forefinger together nervously.

“What happened?” she prodded, gripping the cover of her textbook. She had gotten Lily’s brief version of how their friendship soured, but what was his view?

“We aren’t anymore.” his eyes flashed at her, dark and glittery. His voice was full of tension, almost daring her to continue questioning him.

She rose from her seat and cast her textbook aside to join him at his worktable. He averted his eyes from her to focus on the ingredients spread out over the work surface. She reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly until he let out a long breath. “Shall I skin these bulbs?” she asked.

He squeezed her hand in return and they turned back to his brewing.

Hermione’s stomach clenched with the answer she received. Whatever happened between Severus and Lily upset him too much for him to speak to her it about easily. They had both only said that they were no longer friends, and unfortunately Harry didn’t elaborate about what happened — just that they had a falling out. Lily had warned her about Severus planning on becoming a Death Eater — did it have something to do with that? That would explain why he wasn’t so open with her about it. He was still careful to keep that part of his life separate from her.

It was probably best to stick to topics of research and schoolwork from now on. Not that there was much going on there.

Her own potions research was becoming borderline infuriating. Any meetings she had with Dumbledore yielded no further inspiration, and they had become infrequent again with the continued muggleborn targeting in the corridors.

She had been experimenting with brewing the combination of puffskein fur and wormwood (with an addition of rosemary at Severus’ suggestion) for two weeks now. She had to vanish the first two batches of potion because they hadn’t combined properly. However, the third batch looked promising. The color of the mixture and the way the steam rose was just what she expected it to be: a sea foam green that appeared to be slightly carbonated, with small bubbles floating upward from the surface, caught in the updraft from the heat.

However, when she gave it to the first mouse, the potion wasn’t as successful as she had hoped. It ran halfway through the original path and then became confused and reversed.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes and devastation settle low into her stomach, making her feel slightly ill. Failure after failure was becoming exhausting. “No, no,” she whispered, picking up the mouse and dropping it at the beginning of the maze again, her tears wetting its fur. It didn’t listen to her plea, though. It once again made it halfway through the original path, and then reversed.

She heard her workroom door open behind her and the sounds of a satchel hitting the ground. Severus. His Care of Magical Creatures class must have finished.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“I’m beginning to doubt the memories of the original path still exist,” she cried, clutching the edge of the table holding the maze. “They must be gone completely. I think it just knows where I want it to go and then goes the other way just to upset me.”

“Don’t be silly, of course they’re still there. Look -- you were partly successful,” he crossed to her to observe the scene. He picked up the mouse and placed it back at the beginning of the maze and watched it followed the original path halfway through before becoming lost and ending up at several dead ends. “You’re on the right path, a majority of the ingredients are correct. We just need to find out which ones aren’t and in what quantities. We’ll keep trying.”

She heard him fish something from the pocket of his robes and a cloth was held out toward her. She grabbed it and dabbed at her eyes.

Where did this encouragement go, this kindness, this optimism? How amazing of a professor would he have been if he acted like this with all his students? Yes, he was still acerbic and sarcastic, but somewhere beneath all that was this Severus, her Severus. He tugged at one of her curls. “Give it a rest. You’ve been working too hard. Your brain will come to the right solution eventually.”

Severus began to make sure that when Hermione was in her workroom, it was only to look after the mice. He encouraged a temporary hold on all experimentation on her part. He would escort her there in the evenings to check their food and water, and help her clean their cage when needed, and then they would make their way to the library together. They resumed their reading of the restricted section, although Hermione was no longer looking for anything related to memory potions or spells. She was pleased to note, though, that Severus began to make notes of antidotes to poisons and antivenoms. It appeared he had accepted her challenge.

She suspected that another reason that he began escorting her around the castle was that the movement against muggleborns had continued. Hermione never expected that she would be victim to this having been relatively quiet about her heritage, but after a Gryffindor boy from mixed parentage was hit with a spell that half transfigured him into a teapot last week, she wasn’t so sure. It had gotten to a point again where Professors were monitoring the corridors between their classes to try to catch the culprit, but there had been no sign of them. Like before, there was no logic or pattern to the attacks - they never happened at a specific time of day or any day of the week.

By late November, the castle corridors had taken on a chill from a freshly fallen snow outside. Hermione had eaten dinner quickly and left the Great Hall, compelled to visit her workroom. A warming spell needed to be put over the mice’s cage -- she didn’t want them to be too uncomfortable. She knew she should have waited for Severus, but she hadn’t seen any sign of him at dinner, and she wanted to get it done quickly. And besides, there were still plenty of students in the halls making their way downstairs.

She nodded at a few of the second years as they passed her heading down to the Great Hall for dinner. Another group of students had just passed her on the fourth floor when she heard the sound of screams behind her. She turned to see a seventh year Hufflepuff suspended in midair, his eyes rolling and blood streaming from his nose. The professors were still at dinner and there was no one around to alert.

Hermione watched the chaos unfold around her. A number of students fled down the corridors away from the noise, and she could hear distant screams and cries for help. Some were drawn to the spectacle, their mouths hanging open in shock. She saw Snape several paces behind her, staring up at the boy, his clenched fist just visible in his sleeve, a dangerous look of anger on his face.

Hermione was stunned by the sight. His eyes were on the seventh year, unmoving. She did a quick scan of the corridor -- no one was looking at Severus. Everyone was looking up at the suspended boy, all in various states of horror and distress. She quickly crossed to him.

“Severus,” she spoke in a low voice and grabbed his arm. She felt the tiniest flick of his wrist and the seventh year dropped to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

She had acted just in time. Monsieur Bernard had been drawn by the screams and attended the seventh year. “Did anyone see?” he asked the crowd who had gathered, and thankfully, everyone shook their head. No one had witnessed who had cast the spell. After checking that everyone else was alright, he levitated the unconscious boy towards the direction of the hospital wing.

Hermione walked alongside Severus in silence. When they reached her workroom and were safely ensconced inside, she turned to him, a number of reprimands at the tip of her tongue. She didn’t know what to lead off with. He was still pale with anger. “He was about to curse you behind your back,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “He won’t be doing that again.”

Although Lily had warned her previously, although she knew from his old textbook, and although she had little hints of it here and there, Severus had never outright performed any sort of dark spell in front of her, and now she could no longer ignore the evidence of his dabbling in dark magic.

She felt herself at a juncture, and knew that her reaction, her response to him now was all important. As much as she wanted to, she could not bring herself to remark on her distaste at his action, especially as it had been done to prevent harm to her.

She swallowed down her anger and nodded. “Thank you.”

He nodded and exhaled, and his whole body seemed to loosen in response. “We should get back down to dinner before anyone notices we’re missing.”

She cast the warming charm over the mice and they descended back down to the Great Hall, though Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he now seemed to walk with purpose, almost like her own personal bodyguard.

The first week went by with no corridor attacks at all. The staff had been called off their monitoring, and the students could once again wander the corridors without being under the scrutinous eyes of their professors. Though Lily still coordinated escorts to and from classes for the younger students, hardly any of them took advantage of it now. The next time Hermione met with Dumbledore, she walked to his office without an escort and, after idle chat about current events and gossip surrounding the upcoming Yule Ball, couldn’t resist questioning him about this change.

“Have you found the culprit, then? Was it the boy?” She could not imagine the Hufflepuff with the boyish face intentionally targeting other students, but Severus assured her that it had been him, and when he didn’t make a reappearance in corridors, she had to conclude that he was right.

Dumbledore nodded, a grim look suddenly upon his face. “I had suspected. His family have made a name for themselves recently in a certain circle, and though I hoped it would not be true, it appeared it was. Pomona has done her best to try to intervene over the last year, but I fear that the boy was too set on his goal.”

“And it has been confirmed?”

“I called in Aurors who took the liberty of casting priori incantatem on his wand.” He let this evidence hang between them for a moment before continuing. “It is a mystery, however, how he came to such a state of unconsciousness. Madam Pomfrey was forced to make quite the effort to revive him.”

Hermione couldn’t quite meet Dumbledore’s eyes. “I hope the rest of the school year continues to be quieter than the beginning.”

“One can only hope, Miss Granger.”

Chapter Text

December arrived with less tension than November, thankfully, and with the immediate threat within the castle walls gone, all minds turned to the upcoming Yule Ball. It became chaotic within days. The fact that there was a Yule Ball on when there was still a ban on trips to Hogsmeade caused more of a panic than Hermione anticipated. She overheard more than one frustrated conversation in the toilets about dress robes purchased by parents, and was immediately reminded of Ron in their fourth year. She could sympathize. It wasn’t long before there was a petition out begging to be allowed to go to the village in small groups if escorted by a professor, but unfortunately it was rejected.

“There are owl order services,” McGonagall explained to the crowd gathered in the common room, brandishing the petition full of names at them. “And you are young witches and wizards. If you have not learned enough to make a few adjustments to your own clothing or brew some simple potions, then I believe your exam scores need to be re-evaluated.”

“I’m good at charms,” Lily offered the room when McGonagall left. “Jean, you’ve got a talent for transfiguration. Maybe we can help?” At her agreement, Lily quickly made up some flyers to post in the common room offering their services, and it wasn’t long before they were inundated with dress robes and requests.

The seventh year girls dorm quickly entered into a state of disarray, but with some rearranging, they eventually had adequate space to work. One section of the room became an impromptu studio that reminded Hermione of a tailors shop. They had been able to construct a rack of sorts which had a number of dresses on it, each with a name attached and the adjustments the owner wanted made to it. And, from the sounds of it, they weren’t the only ones offering their services: Hermione heard from Severus that the girls in Slytherin had arranged something similar, and the amount of orders he received had more than doubled in the past week.

Despite all this, Hermione and Severus still found time to retreat to the library in the evenings, although she noted with some disappointment that she had fallen behind in her coursework: she was now only one week ahead in the curriculum rather than her usual two or three.

They were sitting in silence one evening not long after working on their homework, scrolls and books scattered between them when Severus’ voice startled her out of some arithmancy calculations.

“Jean.”

“Hmm?” Hermione grabbed her wand and muttered a quick evanesco on the ink she spilled, doing her best to not siphon away any of her writing. When he didn’t answer, she stopped and turned her attention toward him. He was gazing at her with an intensity that made heat rise to her cheeks.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “If you’re not completely opposed to the idea, I was thinking we could attend the Yule Ball together.” The words erupted from him so quickly that if she had not been accustomed to hearing his voice, she would have had to ask him to repeat himself.

Her stomach leapt into her throat. To say she was surprised would be an understatement. The number of dismissive remarks Severus had made about the event over the past few weeks had made it clear he wasn’t interested in attending, and she had not made plans to attend either, though a small part of her had nursed a sliver of hope that he would ask her. With the Yule Ball just over a week away, she had given up on that hope.

She reached across the tabletop and rested her hand on top of his. She could detect a slight tremor in it. She couldn’t help the stupid grin that leapt onto her face at the realisation that Severus Snape was just as much of a nervous teenager as everyone else, especially when faced with the possibility of rejection. “Of course. I’d be pleased to go with you, Severus. Excited, in fact.”

There was a hint of pink at the top of his cheeks and he immediately turned his eyes back to his work. His nose twitched with the breath he released.

“Yes. Good. We’ll make arrangements closer to the date, then.” He withdrew his hand from hers and they continued working. Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on her arithmancy work, but Severus seemed to be filled by a newfound energy and finished his essay with a flourish and a satisfied smile.

She knew exactly how he felt. She couldn’t hide the smile from her face, either. Though she tried to suppress her feelings, though she tried to be rational, she could not help but fall deeper and deeper into her crush on Severus. She thought that the confirmation of his dabbling in the Dark Arts would deter those feelings, but they did not disappear at all. Though she could not quite stomach the realisation, she found that she, too, was sometimes entranced by some of the things he showed her when they were going through the books from the restricted section. If she were being completely honest, there was a tiny part of her, that voice in the darkness, that promised her that her research of this knowledge wouldn’t end because, as Severus pointed out, it would just keep growing like a many-headed hydra. She could devote her life to the study of the Dark Arts and never run out of reading material.

And she wanted to be with Severus, damn the consequences. She wanted someone who she could depend wholly on, and hadn’t he shown her that he was capable of that? He had gone out of his way on a number of occasions to make sure that she was looked after and safe. After years of taking care of Harry and Ron, after years of them coming to her for help and advice, why shouldn’t she be able to go to someone else for that? It felt nice, and no one was more shocked than she that Severus Snape of all people provided that for her.

She lay in bed that night, happily reliving that moment in the library, the way he stared at her so intensely, the way his hand shook under hers from nerves, and the elation she could feel radiating off of him after she agreed to go.

Who knew when she first laid eyes on Severus Snape that she would end up falling so completely for him? That they would spend so much time and actually enjoy discussing not only potions but magical history, charms theory, and everything else under the sun as well? Who could have guessed that he valued her opinions, liked spending time with her and enjoyed it enough to actually ask her to the Yule Ball?

A few days later brought the last Saturday before the Yule Ball and Hermione and Lily found themselves alone in Gryffindor Tower finishing up the final adjustments on the dress robes. It seemed as though the rest of the house had headed off to partake in their various clubs -- she knew James and Sirius were hosting their last meeting before the end of term. Hermione had stopped attending as regularly after Sirius’ last comment about Severus, and every time she saw Sirius, she couldn’t stop the memory from rising to the front of her mind. Now that she was going to be attending the Ball with Severus, she was worried about what Sirius might say or do -- but she hoped that it had been a baseless remark, something stupid that he had said for attention.

“Lily, may I ask… is there actually an effort to keep me away from Severus?” She pulled her wand away from the set of dress robes they were working on, having adjusted the color from a midnight blue to more of a teal.

Lily bit her lip and took a moment to adjust some pins on one of the sleeves before she answered.

“Well… no… and yes.”

Hermione frowned at her.

“Oh, please don’t be upset, Jean. It’s just the boys. They’re just concerned about you. You two spend so much time together, and you didn’t know Sev growing up.” She set down the pincushion she was holding and turned to face Hermione, crossing her arms. She did not expect Lily to get this defensive at her question.

“But I do know him now,” Hermione answered, her own voice hardening in response to Lily’s comment. She slightly regretted asking the question now, but she needed to know for her sake - and Severus’. “And I like being around him.”

“And what about his friends? The people he spends time around when he’s not with you? Does he tell you about them and the hexes they throw at muggleborns?”

Hermione shook her head. Severus seemed to always try to keep that part of himself private -- he did not ever approach or acknowledge Hermione if he was in the presence of his Slytherin friends unless he was absolutely required to or knew they weren’t paying attention, and she had learned not to approach him during those times unless she wanted them to throw some taunting remarks toward her. After her encounter with Regulus last year, she didn’t want to. And, she was fairly certain that they did not know that he was around the Gryffindor as much as he was. The Yule Ball would be their first evening where they would present themselves as not just two people from separate houses who happened to interact sometimes, but two people who chose to interact and enjoyed it so much they wanted to spend the whole evening together. “No,” she sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before, Lily.”

“Yes, and I just want to remind you of it. I like you, Jean. I don’t want you to get hurt, and believe it or not, I don’t want Severus to get hurt, either.” Lily’s voice was rising with her passion on the subject. Hermione sincerely believed her and was actually slightly intimidated by the other girl.

“He won’t. I won’t,” Hermione answered, lowering her voice slightly, hoping Lily would lower hers as well. They didn’t need to attract any attention.

“And when he comes home one day with the Dark Mark on his arm? What then? Are you going to hide the fact that you’re not pureblood from him forever? Can he hide it from his friends? Can you stand by and watch him champion to eradicate people like you and me?” Lily was waving her arms around now, and her voice had started to shake with emotion. When Hermione met her eyes, they were slightly glassy.

Hermione couldn’t answer. How could she? How could she let Lily know that Severus would eventually become the man that she hoped he would become? The only thing she could do was shake her head.

“It’s just… I don’t see this ending well, Jean.” Lily’s voice had returned to normal and she reached out to touch Hermione’s arm.

While she appreciated the gesture of comfort, she couldn’t bear to stay in the room with Lily. She couldn’t risk another incident that would cause Dumbledore’s wand to light up and she didn’t know how they would be able to turn to any other conversation. Hermione checked her watch. “I have some stuff I need to check on. Carry on without me.” She turned and headed down the spiral stairs, through the portrait hole and down to her workroom. She didn’t know what to do, so she spent the next hour repeatedly placing the mice in the maze and watching them run it over and over. The potion she had given them a few weeks earlier had finally worn off and they had reverted to the false path completely.

Part of her wished Severus was there. She knew that she would find him in his lab, but she really didn’t want to interrupt him. He had told her that he was devoting that day to brewing and trying to fill orders before the Yule Ball the coming weekend. And, she knew if she saw him, she wouldn’t be able to resist airing all of Lily’s concerns with him. She did not want a repeat of the last time she had raised the subject of Lily, and she did not want Severus to get defensive over his extra-curricular activities.

She grabbed a copy of Hogwarts:A History that she kept near her workstation and settled in a chair to read, turning to the comforting familiarity of the words to calm her down. Hermione lost herself in the words, in the biographies of the founders and the history of the school, and by the time she came to herself again, realised she had missed dinner. She summoned Dobo and asked him to bring her some bread and cheese and asked him to take something to Severus as well.

When she finally felt confident enough to return to Gryffindor tower that evening, she was relieved to not see any sign of Lily in the common room. Her heart dropped, though when she entered their dormitory and found her sitting on her bed, waiting for her. Hermione quickly averted her eyes, surveying their workspace to see if the other girl had continued without her. It looked as though she hadn’t fared much better throughout the day -- the same pins were stuck in the sleeve of the dress robes they were working on earlier.

Lily cast aside the copy of Witch Weekly she had been reading and pulled herself to the edge of the bed, watching Hermione intently. “Are we still friends?” Lily asked her hesitantly, breaking the silence.

Hermione nodded and faced Lily. She grabbed the other girl’s hands and looked her in the eyes. Despite the tension of their conversation earlier, Hermione had been touched when Lily had said that she had cared for her, and she only wished that she could share something of herself in return with the other girl. On her way back up to the tower, her mind had been racing through all the things that she could say, anything she could do let the other girl know that she wouldn’t let her down. “There’s a reason I’m here, Lily. I can’t speak about it, but Dumbledore knows and he trusts me, and I want you to trust me as well. I appreciate your concerns but there are reasons for my actions -- I have to do certain things that you may not understand.”

Lily stared at her for a moment and then squeezed Hermione’s hands. “You’re not stupid, I know, Jean, but I would feel remiss in my duties as a friend if I didn’t say anything.”

Hermione nodded and Lily drew her into a hug. It felt good to share this, to offload on someone who she could share a tiny bit of her situation with. While she had never been particularly close with any of the other girls in her years at Hogwarts, she had grown extremely fond of Lily over the last year and valued her as someone she could at least call a friend. It was unexpected, but she was grateful.

“I guess I should let you know that I’m going to the Yule ball with him,” admitted Hermione when they had stepped apart.

Lily nodded. “I figured. I’m glad it’s you,” she waved her hand dismissively, but Hermione could tell that she meant it.

The week passed in a blur of final adjustments to dress robes and a scramble to finish any homework that was due before the end of term. Hermione and Severus only had the opportunity to see one another briefly outside of class on Friday where they arranged to meet in the entrance hall.

As with the year before, the day of the Yule ball brought a flurry of activity to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione almost felt sorry for the younger students having to bear witness to all the minor dramas that happened throughout the day: broken nails, lost hair clips, and shoes that were slightly too small to name a few.

In her flurry to help get everybody else sorted, Hermione hadn’t had time to get as involved as she had hoped in her own arrangements. She was able to make a few adjustments to her dress robes, though, and she hoped that Severus would be pleased with the changes. When she was ready, she headed down towards the entrance hall. She was much earlier than the other Gryffindors, but she didn’t want Severus to be intimidated by her approach with anyone else, especially if any of the Marauders were around.

He was waiting for her about halfway down from Gryffindor tower, in an alcove that housed a statue of Gwendolyn the Gifted. His hair had lost the oily sheen that it often gained when he spent a majority of his time brewing, and he looked healthier than he had last time she had seen him. The dark circles were gone from his eyes and his skin had gained a healthier pallor. His dress robes reminded her of his teaching robes, high-necked and fitted at the top with a row of silver buttons down the center, accentuating his height. She didn’t remember them being quite so decorative last year, and suddenly felt bad that she hadn’t put more time into her own dress robes -- she just changed the color of the chiffon scarf at the back from red to green and had changed to sleeves to be a bit more voluminous and lantern-shaped. She capped the cuffs with green to match her scarf as well. She had pinned her hair into a chignon with the help of some Sleekeazy’s rather than letting it tumble over her shoulders as usual.

“Good evening,” he greeted her. “I know we said we would meet below, but…” he let his voice trail off and seemed to have trouble finding what he wanted to say. He held out a small posy of moly towards her.

She took it and brushed her fingers against the small white flowers. They really were quite pretty, and they shimmered in the light that came from the candles lining the corridors. She smiled at him. “They’re lovely, thank you. I love these little flowers.”

“I’m quite fond of them as well,” he replied. He looked thoughtful for a moment and withdrew his wand from an inner pocket of his robes. “If you don’t mind…” At her shake of her head, he tapped the small arrangement of flowers and they immediately rearranged themselves into something resembling a corsage. He secured it around her wrist. “I saw a picture of my mum wearing one of these once,” he admitted, the tops of his cheeks blushing. “I think it’s the proper thing to do.”

She lifted her wrist to admire his arrangement. “It’s lovely, Severus, thank you.” He offered his hand to her, and she took it, and they began to make their way downstairs at a leisurely pace.

“You look amazing,” she remarked, reaching out to touch the silver button at his cuff.

“And you. Is that the dress --”

“From last year. Yes, sorry -- I didn’t have time to make too many changes, and I just couldn’t settle on something by owl order --”

“No -- it’s fine. I like it. It’s stunning. You look stunning.” He squeezed her hand for emphasis.

“Well, that’s a better compliment than poor posture and skinny ankles,” she remarked.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, just something someone said to me once,” she replied. They had descended the steps into the entrance hall and turned into the Great Hall.

It was decorated much nicer than the year before -- or maybe it was because Hermione was more excited to be attending this year. There were snowflakes falling from the ceiling that dissipated before they reached the tables. There was an ice sculpture as a centrepiece at the drinks table of a snowy mountain that had miniature figures sledding and skiing down it. Every once in a while a yeti appeared from a gap in the ice and scared the figures into the ice trees, and they came back out when the yeti retreated back into its cave.

The tables had blue flames crackling from the middle of their tabletops, and each setting had a long fork for toasting with a selection of small breads and marshmallows and fruit. They tried to choose a neutral table -- one which wasn’t too occupied by Slytherins or Gryffindors, and thankfully, there were two seats at a table with a few Ravenclaws Hermione recognised from her arithmancy classes, though they didn’t stay at the table long. After some small talk with their neighbours, Severus placed his hand on top of her own. “Would you like to dance?”

“Yes, of course,” she beamed, rising from her seat.

Severus was far less hesitant to touch her this year, and far more confident in his dancing. His hand, rather than shying away from the exposed skin on her back, eagerly embraced it, and he used it to lead her around the room. When she was asked to dance by other students, she always deferred to him. He would wave her off with a smile, and she was pleased to see that he was never without a partner for long, even pairing with Selina a few times.

It was just after she finished dancing with Remus that he rose to greet her when she arrived back at their table. “Shall we get out of here for a few moments?” he shouted over the din of voices and music. Hermione nodded and he grabbed her hand, steering her through the tables until they reached the outside.

The outdoors were just as bewitching as the indoors. Enchanted topiary lined small pathways that meandered into the dark. There were hedges shaped like dogs that wagged their tails and turned their heads to watch passersby in hopes of a stroke. A giraffe lowered its long necks in greeting, and Hermione couldn’t resist giving it a caress as she passed, her fingers brushing against the leaves as easily as they would across fur.

They passed a secluded couple on a bench in a covered alcove and another leaning up against a shaped yew.

“I hope you aren’t planning on us joining these duos, tucked away in a dark corner somewhere,” Hermione remarked with a smile.

He scoffed and despite the darkness, she could see some color in his cheeks. “No -- of course not -- I have more taste than -- I wouldn’t expect --”

Hermione dissolved into a giggle. “I’m just teasing you, Severus -- of course I know you don’t.” But part of her really hoped he did.

He squeezed her hand and they walked on, admiring more topiary beasts lining the paths.

“Which has been your favorite?” she asked.

He gestured to the snake up ahead, rising and writhing, its leaves rustling with every turn.

“Spoken like a true Slytherin.”

“And yours? Let me guess. The lion?” He pointed towards a topiary lion shaking out its leafy mane and showering the path with debris.

She shook her head. There was a kitten that kept attempting to jump to catch the fairy lights that were floating through, but was tethered to its pot. She gestured to it. “It’s very sweet.”

They found a bench and seated themselves on it, watching the fairy lights float through the gardens. Severus seemed to be full of a nervous type of energy. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Very much,” replied Hermione. “I think this is the best Yule Ball I’ve been to.”

“You’ve only been to two.”

“Still. It’s had the nicest decorations, and the nicest food. I’ve had the nicest date,” she leaned in to him at this comment and she saw him purse his lips in an effort to hide a smile but she continued, “And I’ve really enjoyed myself this time.”

“I think this is the best Yule Ball I’ve been to as well,” he returned.

“Oh?”

“It’s definitely the only one I’ve attended where I have wanted to attend. Every other time I’ve been dragged along.”

“You didn’t seem very happy last year.”

“I spent a majority of the evening carrying on conversations which could just have easily been carried out in a common room, and I wouldn’t have been assaulted by loud music. The only positive of the evening was being asked to dance by someone who positively intrigued me and left me in utter frustration by not being able to find out anything more about her.” His fingers had moved to her bare back again and they were dancing up and down her spine, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile, savoring the feel of his fingers against her skin. “Intrigued or annoyed?” she asked.

“There’s a fine line,” he replied with amusement.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the relative privacy and watching the topiary animals. Unfortunately, their time was interrupted as several rather loud bangs erupted from the Great Hall. A roar sounded that brought the first task of the Triwizard Tournament to Hermione’s mind followed shortly by a number of screams and raucous laughter.

“What in Merlin’s name...?” Severus grasped her hand, keeping her behind him as they wove their way back through the pathways to the Great Hall. It was a scene reminiscent of Lockhart’s cornish pixie pandemonium and of the Weasley twins and the chaos they had created when they left in their final year of Hogwarts.

“Potter and Black once again,” Severus sighed and rolled his eyes, gesturing to a scene in the middle of the stage. “It seems that I will never have a peaceful, pleasant moment in my life as long as those two are within a mile of me.”

Peeves was pelting odd green goo bombs at the floor of the Great Hall, and it appeared anyone who trod through the debris had been stuck in place. Fireworks were going off, and there was one in the shape of a massive lion kept running up and down the length of the Great Hall, fixing itself firmly in front of those who had been stuck and roaring in their faces before taking off in another direction, leaving its victims slightly singed. Dumbledore was looking on with an amused smile and McGonagall was loudly shouting and pointing at Sirius and James who were having difficulty looking ashamed of themselves. The band that had been performing (who looked like a precursor to the Weird Sisters) were standing awkwardly on the stage, their set having been interrupted.

The boys were soon removed from the stage and the ball completely, and the Bloody Baron was summoned to retrieve Peeves who didn’t hesitate to unload the rest of his weapons, covering the whole of the hall with the slime. A number of girls were left in tears at the state of their dress robes, and the decoration in the middle of the drinks table had been damaged. Dumbledore clapped his hands, bringing the hall to silence, and waved his wand. The goo gathered itself up from all over the hall and siphoned itself into his wand, looking for all the world like the world’s longest, stickiest streamer. When it was clear, he waved his hands at the crowd. “Apologies. Please continue enjoying yourselves.”

The lights were lowered once more. The music resumed, though not nearly with as much vigor as before the incident. Severus and Hermione took their seats at the table once more and nibbled away at the small bites in front of them, putting together more and more elaborate things for the other to try. Severus had just toasted a bit of brioche with marshmallow and pineapple for Hermione which tasted lovely, and she offered him part of a warmed croissant with chocolate and strawberries in return. She never thought she had seen him smile so much.

Hermione had fully anticipated hat Severus would kiss her by the end of the evening despite his protestations over the circumstances of how a kiss should be and spent the rest of the night bracing herself for it. The ball was winding down after the shenanigans, and couples were beginning to leave. The band was beginning to play slower and slower songs in an effort to get people to leave the dance floor, and by two in the morning, Dumbledore clapped and the lanterns in the hall brightened.

As they made to their way out of the Great Hall, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Unless something spectacularly awful happens between here and the tower, of course,” she replied. A number of teachers had begun to separate students and send them in the directions of their respective houses, so he would not be able to escort her to the door, as it were.

They were standing close, so close together now, almost as if they were out on the dance floor again. One of his hands had moved to play with the chiffon at the shoulder of her gown, and she was running her fingers along the silver buttons on the front of his dress robes. His hand moved to her neck, and up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her bottom lip. His eyes were black, intense and deeper than she had ever noticed them to be. It would be unnerving if she wasn’t in such a state of anticipation. She could feel her breathing quicken as he began to lean down toward her. She closed her eyes, and the next thing she felt was his warm breath next to her ear.

“Goodnight, Jean.” He gave her hand another squeeze as her eyes popped open in surprise and he turned to make his way down the stairs and into the dungeons, Slughorn giving him a playful pat on the shoulder as he passed.

Hermione had a difficult time getting to sleep that evening.

The shenanigans at the Yule Ball caused rumors to fly around that it was to be cancelled indefinitely and Hermione knew from her own time that they would prove to be true. James Potter and Sirius Black had missed out on suspension for a number of weeks. If they were not going home for the winter holidays, they would have been handcuffed to beds in the hospital wing to scrub out bedpans, and they already had detention everyday in between.

The next morning was business as usual for Hermione, and she had been carefully peeling some runespoor eggs when Severus entered the lab. He had been right. By not directly concentrating on the problem, her brain continued to work on it in the background and she woke that morning with this hit of inspiration.

“Ugh, I’m just about done,” she informed him, separating out the last of the shells she needed to grind into a powder. “Do you mind?” She held her hands out toward him.

“Evanesco,” he flicked his wand and the bits of shell and albumen were instantly gone from her hands.

“Thanks. I don’t usually get squeamish, but that nearly did me in. I just kept thinking of how venomous it is.” She poured some water into a basin and submerged her hands, scrubbing at her nails. “The number of times I’ve used that spell, and I still never feel clean after.”

“Any luck?” he asked, peering into the cauldron that was simmering beside her.

“Nothing yet.” She was drying her hands when he was suddenly beside to her.

“Your hair,” he tugged at a curl. “You’ll want to have that up. You don’t want to accidentally contaminate anything. The way you had it last night was perfect.”

She rolled her eyes. “You keep going on about this. I’ve never had a problem with my hair before.”

“You obviously haven’t been brewing under my high standards,” he smirked. He swiped the curl he had been fondling behind her ear. The atmosphere in the room changed as his hand lingered at her neck. Hermione could feel a slight tremor in it. He was nervous. Her heart quickened.

“You look so beautiful,” he said, meeting her eyes. Hermione’s heart was beating so fast now she thought he could surely hear it. They stared at one another for a few moments before he ducked his head and kissed her.

It was gentle, slow, and hesitant, as though he were waiting for her to push him away.

But she didn’t. She placed her hands on his shoulders to help balance herself and leant up to him, eagerly returning the kiss.

“Merlin, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he gasped after they broke apart.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting ages for you to do that,” she replied, breathless as well.

His arm, which had snaked its way to her waist at some point tightened and pulled her closer.

“I keep telling myself that things can’t get any better with you, and they do,” he admitted. “I kept holding back for fear of ruining everything.”

She tilted her head up and ran her lips over his jawline. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling.

“Let’s do this in your lab next time,” she suggested. “You have a couch there.” She felt him smirk against her lips and they kissed, again and again, until Hermione’s lips felt raw and Severus’ were noticeably swollen.

If Severus and Hermione were attached at the hip before, it was nothing compared to now. Hermione had never considered herself to be an exceptionally affectionate person, but she couldn’t help but want to hold Severus’ hand as they walked through the corridors on their way to classes. When they were in the library together, she kept her leg rested against his, and when he was reading, he would often absentmindedly run his fingers along her arm. Where they may have had affectionate or reassuring touches before for comfort, now it was almost to reassure one another that they were still there. She could tell Severus enjoyed it as well, try as he did to pretend he did not. She caught him watching her as though he could not believe her presence at his side.

When Sita tried to question Hermione about it in front of Lily, thinking it would shock the other girl, Lily met the news with mild surprise and a shrug. It seems she had taken what Hermione had told her to heart, and it seemed that she had already had a word with James and Sirius about it as well. Where she previously received “good morning”’s or casual “hey”’s from them, there was now silence. It unnerved her, but she preferred it to being pestered about it.

When Severus informed her several weeks before that he was staying for Christmas, she wasted no time in ordering him a gift in an effort to show her appreciation for all of his help over the past year. She had put a lot of thought into what to get him -- at the time she didn’t want it to be too personal, but now she feared it seemed a little boring. It didn’t seem as though he had celebrated many happy Christmases growing up, and she wanted his experience of the holiday and their time together to be special.

They made plans to meet in his lab at eleven, but Hermione arrived early, transfiguring a desk into a Christmas tree and creating an artificial fire in the room. She hung a stocking next to the fire and placed his present beneath the tree. She pulled the transfigured sofa closer to the tree so they could be next to the warmth. Dobo had been happy to bring her some mince pies and even arranged them on a tea stand.

The stark difference between the two halves of the room was almost comical: one was spartan and bare, obviously home to a studious individual, and the other looked as though it was a Christmas set from a film. It seemed that Severus had had a similar idea to her as he arrived at ten-thirty, and looked startled to see her there.

“Ah,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “You’re here.”

“Merry Christmas, Severus,” she greeted him, gesturing toward the sofa. He entered and warded the door behind him, taking a seat beside her.

“It looks very nice -- festive,” he complimented, admiring the tree and the tinsel she had placed on it. “Much better than what I had in mind.”

“I’m sure what you had planned would have been just fine. How was your morning?”

“Splendid now that I’m here,” he reached his hand across the cushion to grab her hand. It was ice cold.

“Should we take a walk in the snow like last year?” she suggested. “It might help you warm up.”

He shook his head. “I’ve already been. It’s nice and warm here,” he pulled her closer to him and reached down beside him to fish inside the bag he had been carrying, producing a plain paper parcel which he placed on her lap.

“Shall I open it?” she asked, lifting it gently.

“I believe that’s the main purpose of presents, yes.”

She opened it to find a set of enchanted hair ribbons that would hold her hair in place until she decided to take them out. “No slipping ribbons, no lost ribbons!” they advertised themselves. Below them was a book of historical wizarding sites in Great Britain. “I figured we could visit them together,” he explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who was genuinely interested in the headquarters for the Goblin Rebellion.”

She flipped through the book, spotting sites such as Stonehenge, a section on wizarding London, and there were even a few pages devoted to the Forest of Dean which Hermione had a difficult time looking through after spending such a long time there last year.

“This is such a thoughtful gift, Severus. Thank you!” She tied her hair up in one of the ribbons and reached forward to grab his gift from under the tree.

She handed him a long slim package which he opened eagerly. “It’s a dictaquill,” she explained. “And an impervious notebook.” The notebook was a dark green and had SS embossed on the front. “I thought you could use it when you were brewing so you don’t have to keep stopping to take notes,” she added.

“Ah,” he nodded, running his hands over it. He then opened it, balanced the quill in the notebook and began speaking. “25th December, 1977. Received thoughtful gift of this journal from a beautiful girl. Best Christmas ever. Endquote.” The quill copied his signature spiky handwriting and dropped when he finished his sentence. “That’s brilliant,” he said again, running his fingers over the cover and the embossed letters again almost reverently. “Thank you.”

She grabbed his stocking as well, pushing it on him. “I went a little overboard, I think,” she said, grabbing a mince pie from the table and taking a bite into it. He pulled a number of sweets from his stocking, including the chocoballs that Hermione favored so much, and came to a small mechanical mouse. “I thought it was cute,” she shrugged.

He took a bite of a chocoball and set the mouse on the floor, and they watched it zoom around the room.

They cuddled on the couch together until it was time for the evening meal, stuffing themselves on chocolates and mince pies and laughter. They both didn’t want to leave their little impromptu Christmas, but there was such a small number of people staying at Hogwarts this year that they would definitely be missed if they didn’t attend.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, there was a single long table set for twenty people, and Severus and Hermione sat at one end opposite from one another. They had fun pulling crackers and reading jokes, and she didn’t think that she had ever seen Severus so merry. It filled her heart with joy to know that she could provide someone with as much happiness as they did her.

And, over the next few days until the start of term, they enjoyed their solitude and learning to adapt to one another as a couple, and Hermione did her best to ignore a nagging little voice that kept inconveniently reminding her that she was not meant to be here.

Chapter Text

Hermione and Severus enjoyed the solitude the remainder of the holidays brought, but it was soon back to reality as the start of the new term arrived and the rest of the students with it, many of them adorned in new jumpers and hats, carrying new satchels, and showing off new gadgets they had received for Christmas. After having the castle to themselves, it was a bit jarring.

They avoided the crowds in the corridors by spending a majority of the next few days in her lab working on another variant of the memory potion. Severus had been pleased with the ingredients she had thought to incorporate. Although they didn’t traditionally combine and were known to produce side effects, each ingredient was carefully chosen to cancel those effects out, hopefully leaving a potion that would be pure enough to seek out and recover any missing memories. Hermione thought he was even more pleased by the fact that it required extensive brewing times which gave them more time to indulge in one another’s attentions.

She had never thought that Severus Snape would be a particularly affectionate person, but it quickly became apparent that affection was something that he craved. If they were walking side by side, his hand would brush hers questioningly until she reached her fingers out to intertwine them with his. When they were seated together, it was never long before his fingers would dance slowly across her back until they came to rest on her shoulder and pull her close to him.

However, there was always a hesitation in his actions that made her feel a bit sad. She wanted to attribute it to a relationship being a new experience for him, but she couldn’t quite get that explanation to stick. Affection had always flowed freely between herself, her family, and her friends. If Severus had lacked that growing up, then she would see to it that he was showered with the same attentions she had been, and his birthday was the perfect opportunity to do so.

His birthday arrived bitterly cold and snowy. Hermione was struck by the grimness of the day -- it had rained all night and turned the snow into a grey sludge that matched the sky and made the air feel even more icy. Even the portraits appeared to be shivering as she passed through the corridors on her way down to Severus’ lab. It was slightly too early to find him at work yet, but she left a parcel for him on the sofa and removed the Christmas decorations that were still hanging by the fireplace. After conjuring some streamers and a small banner wishing him a happy birthday, she was satisfied with the change in the room and headed off towards breakfast.

She was just packing her Herbology textbook into her satchel and preparing to take off for her class when she spotted him in the doorway of the Great Hall. He had grabbed a bacon roll from the Slytherin table and was eating it hurriedly, exchanging a few words with his housemates between bites. He was already on his way back out the doors and in the entrance hall before she caught up with him.

“Severus!” she called, causing him to stop in his tracks. He turned toward her, a smile playing at his lips.

“I thought I had missed you. Thank you,” he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a slight squeeze as she caught up with him. They took off for the greenhouses. “This will be great for Quidditch.” He reached up to stroke the new black scarf against his throat. Although her knitting had improved, she was pleased that he wasn’t fussed over the slightly uneven width in places.

“If you find the warming charm to be a bit much, I can always adjust it,” she offered.

“It’s perfect. I’ve already been out to the forest to do some checks and I didn’t feel the cold the whole way there and back.” She couldn’t help but beam at his compliment and leaned up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Come on in, you two,” called Professor Sprout, holding open the door to Greenhouse Three. “I’ve got a lot to cover today, and I won’t get through it if you dawdle.”

Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks as Severus dropped her hand and they hurried in to the greenhouse together.

After a harrowing two hours harvesting venomous tentacula leaves, they were released, and decided to forgo their usual library time in favor of lounging in his workroom. They feasted on cauldron cakes that Hermione had ordered from Honeyduke’s, and she had conjured some balloons to float about the room that chirped “Happy Birthday!” anytime they floated near. (Severus appreciated the sentiment, but eventually banished them to a corner of the room.)

He was seated upright on the sofa and she was stretched across the length of it with her head against his leg. He was stroking her hair absentmindedly while reviewing some of notes when Hermione couldn’t resist breaking the silence they had lapsed into. “Had you really been wanting to kiss me for ages?” One of her favorite things to fall asleep to was re-living the moment he had first kissed her -- the way she felt, the tension in the room, and his admission after he had done it often left her with a butterflies in her stomach and a smile on her face that she often woke up with.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “I couldn’t stand you, either, so I hope you understand how confused I was.”

“Couldn’t stand me?!” She sat up, indignant at his response. She knew that he had been wary of her, but couldn’t stand her? She thought she had done reasonably well to reign in her more annoying habits and remain relatively inoffensive.

“Of course not,” he began matter-of-factly. “You not only had the nerve to sit at my table in the library on your first day, but you also assumed that I would help you after we were forced to sit together in Potions,” he shuffled his notes and put them down, finally turning his full attention toward her.

“I assumed that you would help me? I believe Slughorn assumed that!”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. He was enjoying winding her up.

“The only reason I kept sitting around you was to make sure the werewolf didn’t try anything. I might have been given an award for special services to the school if I fended off an attack.”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. “You enjoyed the competition of trying to get to the library table first. You enjoyed gloating if it was you.”

“I certainly did not. I just enjoyed exerting my superiority over you.”

“Shut up, Severus, I know you enjoyed watching me just as much as I was watching you.” She nudged him playfully.

“Oh, you were watching me?” he asked. “I never would have known if it hadn’t been for you slipping me potions ingredients, casting spells for my protection in class… Gryffindors have no subtlety.”

“You enjoyed the attention.” She rolled her eyes and reached for a cauldron cake. She nibbled on it -- it was full of lemon curd and white chocolate.

“I do have a confession to make.” Severus reached for one of his own and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I may have taken that parchment from you that day I met you outside the greenhouses.”

“Really!” She nearly dropped the remainder of her cake. She remembered that day -- that was the first day he had spoken to her voluntarily. And she was surprised he had done it. How many students would have gone out of their way to return something that had been dropped? But if it was taken...

“You were too wrapped up in your own reading to notice that someone had accio’d something out of your bag,” he continued to explain. She was surprised he had been able to get away with it. And she had thought that he had been too wrapped up in his own reading and observing Lily Evans to notice her!

“Severus!” When she had questioned him she had never expected him to open up this much. Despite her protestations, she was enjoying this.

“I was desperate to know what you were doing. I’m glad I did it, though. Helping with your research has been the highlight of my last year,” he admitted.

She was glad he did it as well. She enjoyed the time she spent with him because of it, and he had taught her so much through their work together. He had become invaluable to her research and experimentation, and she felt that she had grown, personally and academically, through their partnership. And, she was pleased that it had brought them together, of course. She had never expected to find Severus Snape to be her ideal romantic partner, but now she had trouble imagining him as anything else in her life.

“And when exactly was it that you realized you wanted to kiss me?” Hermione asked, probing further.

Severus finished off the cauldron cake he had been holding before he answered. “I think it was when you turned Black down for the Yule Ball. You said that you would rather go with a hippogriff. I was tempted to find one just so you could prove your point.” He smirked at the thought.

“I wish you would have,” she teased. “I think it would have saved me a lot of stress.”

“And you?” he asked.

It was his birthday. She would let his ego be stroked. “I knew I had been fighting a crush on you. My mood lifted considerably whenever I saw you, but I think it was after the Yule Ball, when you asked to borrow my potions notes. You didn’t need them.”

“I did not,” he confirmed.

“But it was later when I finally admitted it to myself -- I think I had planned on you being in the library and when you didn’t show I was unreasonably disappointed.”

Severus grabbed her hand laced his fingers through it, raising it to his lips before lowering it into his lap and tracing the outline of their hands together. They sat in silence, Hermione enjoying the feeling of the light touch of his fingers against hers.

“We waited ages.” She stated after a time. She knew the reason on her part, though she shoved that uncomfortable reminder of the possibility of changing timelines to the back of her head.

“I wanted to make sure you were a worthy candidate for my affections,” he teased.

“A worthy candidate!” she scoffed.

“Yes, well, once I knew you weren’t an idiot, it was full steam ahead. I did have my worries about Lupin, though. You did spend an inordinate amount of time with him.”

“Remus Lupin never desired my attention as anything more than a friend,” she explained. “I can confirm that he doesn’t desire anybody’s attention, and probably will not until he comes to terms with his condition.”

“Less talk about the wolf, please. More talk about me and how great I am.” Despite his teasing, he was really enjoying this conversation as well. He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him considering some of the topics of conversation.

She rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss him.

“That works, too.”

They stayed in his workroom until dinner forced them to separate and Severus assured her that it was the most pleasant birthday he had had in a number of years. The only other thing he requested was a small lock of her hair -- which she granted, after a severe promise from him that it wouldn’t be used in anything like Polyjuice. “Of course not,” he had replied. “Your hair -- in the light -- in the sun --” he began to blush. “It glows gold and copper -- it’s one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen.”

Their days continued in comfortable variations of this: attending classes and meals, spending time in her workroom or his (although Hermione preferred his -- it was more comfortable and there was less of a threat of Dumbledore or McGonagall stopping by unexpectedly), and spending their evenings in the library. When he asked her what her plans were for the day, or he informed her what his were, there was always the unspoken question of her joining him.

In the evenings when it drew near to curfew, Severus usually accompanied her back to Gryffindor tower. Although there had been no corridor attacks for weeks now, she was thankful for his company, and they usually lingered outside the entrance to the tower until the Fat Lady began shooting them disapproving looks and chiding remarks.

Life was pleasantly quiet for a few weeks until Hermione arrived at breakfast one morning to find the din of the Great Hall was a bit louder than usual. Through her read-through of her Potions text that morning, Hermione’s ears caught the names “James Potter” and “Sirius Black” thrown around by a number of students, and when she looked along the Gryffindor table, found them to be missing, though that wasn’t a highly unusual occurrence. However, when she attended Potions to find Severus missing, her stomach began to turn in knots, and she desperately hoped that the two were not connected. As soon as Slughorn dismissed the class, she went to Severus’ lab to find it empty, and then ran up to Gryffindor Tower to see if she could find anything out.

She was lucky -- Maeve and Alfie were just on their way out of the portrait hole when Hermione approached.

“Sorry, but have you seen James or Sirius?” she asked them.

Alfie’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard?”

Hermione shook her head.

Maeve immediately launched into an explanation. James Potter, Sirius Black, and Severus Snape had been caught out of their beds by Argus Filch, and they were having a fantastic duel in the entrance hall. Apparently Filch was still scrubbing at the scorch marks.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. Severus had been on his way back from accompanying her to Gryffindor Tower for the evening, and she was fairly certain that James and Sirius were on their way back from the kitchens -- she had heard Peter mutter the word “eclairs” as she passed through the common room. Words were traded, (though no one was quite sure what) wands were pulled, and the three of them were in the hospital wing again.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “Thanks,” she hissed through clenched teeth before climbing through the portrait hole. She was tired of this, and she had only had to deal with it for a year. Six years of being bullied -- six years of always having to watch his back -- no wonder Severus hated James Potter and Sirius Black.

She spotted Remus across the common room playing gobstones with Peter, and had stalked across the room to them before they even had time to acknowledge her.

“Remus -- why do you never stop James or Sirius? Why do you allow them to be so cruel?” Hermione screeched, her eyes flashing in anger. The few other students in the common room stopped what they were doing to watch the trio.

Remus jumped at her words, shocked out of his concentration at the game and looked up at her, taken aback by the anger directed toward him. He opened his mouth to reply but Peter immediately jumped in.

“But we weren’t -- but Snivellus --” he stammered.

“And you!” Hermione pointed at Peter. “You two may think it’s okay to stand by and let things happen, but it’s not -- it’s really not -- and you’re just as bad as they by allowing them to do things like this!” Hermione turned and climbed back through the portrait hole before they had a chance to reply. She raced down to the hospital wing, full of fury at the injustice of the situation. Severus had been doing so well, he hadn’t been subject to any sort of irritation or bullying for weeks now, and Hermione had hoped that her presence had put an end to all that -- but she should have known that they just wouldn’t be able to resist, that they would seize any sort of opportunity that they had to antagonize him.

When she entered the hospital wing, there were three beds with curtains drawn, and two beds toward the end where James and Sirius were chatting almost merrily. She had planned on sitting with Severus, but the sight of the two was just too much for her.

“You!” She pointed at Sirius Black, her raised voice causing him lose concentration and drop the pitcher of water he was charming to float across the room toward them. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the infirmary. She saw curtains part behind her. “You! And him!” She pointed at James. “You two are terrible human beings, picking on another student for your own amusement! Just because they’re from another house!”

“Miss Granger!” Madam Pomfrey appeared from the confines of her office. “You need to leave --”

“They need to hear this!” She shook her head at Madam Pomfrey, continuing to point at the pair. “They heard what the Sorting Hat said just as much as everyone else did. If anyone is responsible for turning anyone to the dark side, they are with as much as they torment other students!” Hermione turned her attention back toward her housemates and took a step closer to them. “I am tired of you two walking around like you’re Merlin’s gift to this school, but you know what? You’re not -- you’re really not, you’re no better than Hippogriff droppings on the bottom of someone’s shoe.”

“At least we’re not fucking one of them,” Sirius remarked offhandedly to James. The other boy sniggered at his comment.

Hermione snarled in fury and before Madam Pomfrey could stop her, pulled out her wand. “Avis oppugno,” she whispered. Small birds shot out of the end of her wand and flew straight for the pair.

“Miss Granger, this will be reported to your head of house! Leave at once!” Madam Pomfrey shouted after her, but she was on her way out of the door already. She was pleased to hear several shouts of pain from behind her before Madam Pomfrey had a chance to vanish the birds.

She didn’t know where to go. Her frustration had abated slightly, most likely as a result of her attack on the boys, but she was still filled with restless energy from the injustice of the situation. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the familiar gargoyle at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. “Blood pops,” she muttered. The gargoyle obediently opened and Hermione took the spiral staircase to the top of the landing. Dumbledore was not in his office when she arrived, so she took her usual seat in front of his desk. The portraits were all pretending to sleep, but at times seemed to forget to snore and would crack an eye open to make sure she was still there before launching into their pantomime with enthusiasm once more. It was late afternoon when he arrived, and she could see the sun setting from his window.

“Ah, Miss Granger. I believe Professor McGonagall is looking for you,” he informed her, removing his travelling cloak and holding it toward a coat rack that grabbed it eagerly.

“Yes. I guess I should apologise, Dumbledore. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I completely understand that I am fully deserving of detention. It’s just -- the sorting hat warned us at the beginning of the year to come together, to put aside our differences, and -- to see them continually picking on Severus and the other Slytherins -- and Severus was accompanying me to the Tower! He was making sure I got there safely!”

“I understand, Miss Granger,” he nodded as he seated himself at his desk. The portraits were all awake now and nodding along with him. “I have come to understand that you have a soft spot for the boy.”

Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks, but continued on her tirade, refusing to address his comment. “I don’t understand why they do it. I don’t understand why they pick on weaker students -- I don’t understand why they pick on people who are different than them if they’re in other houses, especially when they are so inclusive in their own house.”

“I can assure you that Mr. Potter and Mr. Black have had plenty of time in detention to reflect on their actions, and will no doubt be given much more time before their tenure here is finished.”

“But it doesn’t stop them, does it? It’s not fair to anybody to be picked on because they’re from a different house --”

“You must admit, Miss Granger, that some of the houses do not make it easy on themselves.” He had his fingers steepled before him now and was looking at her pointedly over them. Hermione wanted to let out an exasperated sigh. They had had this conversation before.

“Dumbledore,” she took a deep breath, trying to choose her words so as to not cause his wand to light up. “You are…” she felt her tongue began to pull toward the top of her mouth and stopped. He gave her a warning look. “Slytherins have more uses in this world than playing the villain, and far more than you believe to be possible.” There was an uneasy quiet for a moment before he answered her.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I appreciate your insight.”

“Hear, hear!” she heard Phineas Nigellus’ familiar voice pipe up from behind Dumbledore. Dumbledore twisted slightly toward the portrait and gave it a slight smile before turning back to Hermione.

“Now, I believe that, admirable as your spell was, we have a detention to arrange.” He made his way to the fireplace and threw a small amount of floo powder in. “Minerva?”

He stood back, and a few moments later Professor McGonagall came through the fireplace with an elegance that Hermione wished she could master.

“Dumbledore?” she asked before her eyes caught Hermione’s form in the chair behind him. “Miss Granger!”

“Good evening, Minerva. Miss Granger and I were just discussing her plans for detention. She was so guilt ridden over her actions that she felt the need to speak to me directly. Are you amiable with her brewing potions for the hospital wing for the whole of next week?”

Professor McGonagall seemed both grateful and slightly disappointed that she did not have a chance to speak with Hermione. Although they got on well, Hermione had done her best over the last year to have the least amount of contact possible with Professor McGonagall unless she was summoned to her directly. “Yes, that is absolutely fine, Headmaster.”

“And I will let you pass on the compliments that Madam Pomfrey had over Miss Granger’s spellwork. No doubt a reflection of your skill as a professor, Minerva,” he continued.

“Yes, certainly admirable, but Miss Granger, if you do find yourself angry at your housemates again, please do bring the matter to myself,” she admonished, her accent growing thicker in her reprimand.

“I’m sorry, Professor.” Hermione replied. She had gone all afternoon without feeling any sort of guilt about her actions until now. There was something about Professor McGonagall that made her desperately eager to please her, and she was struck with the older woman’s disappointment in her.

Dumbledore clapped his hands. “Fantastic! All settled. Have a good evening, Miss Granger. Minerva, I have a matter to discuss with you…” Hermione took her leave and exited down the stairs.

Hermione was in her bed reading over the next day’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson when Lily made an appearance. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in their surroundings, but the pair were alone. Sita was out with her Hufflepuff boyfriend, and Mary was at a Charms Club meeting.

“Hello, Jean,” greeted Lily quietly, setting down her satchel.

“Hello,” she returned, sitting up and closing her book, bracing herself for Lily’s reaction. How angry would Lily be that Hermione had deliberately attacked her boyfriend?

“I’ve just come from the hospital wing,” she continued.

“Oh?”

Lily sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Jean.”

Hermione bristled. “I wish they hadn’t acted like complete arses -- if you had heard what they said to me, I’m sure you would have done the same.”

“I know, I know -- I got the gist of it -- but James isn’t in a good place right now, and Sirius isn’t either because of it.” Lily lowered her voice despite their privacy. “James’ dad has been told he has Dragon Pox and they don’t know how long he has. His parents told him over Christmas.”

Hermione was taken aback at the news. Although she had grown up reading loads about Harry, she hadn’t ever bothered to look into Harry’s family history. But regardless of that, she found it difficult to feel sorry for James. “Getting bad news doesn’t excuse someone to be a terrible person.”

“No, it doesn’t but James and Sirius aren’t exactly the most mature people, are they?” Lily sat on her bed heavily. Hermione was suddenly reminded of herself and the long conversations she used to have with Ron about Harry and his behavior, especially over the summers after their fourth and fifth years. It was difficult dealing with his moodiness and trying to be sensitive toward him while also begging him to be rational. She could imagine Lily doing the same. Maybe it ran in the family.

Hermione shook her head in agreement with Lily’s statement. “They’re not.”

“I’m doing my best to keep them distracted, Jean, but I can’t be everywhere at once.” There it was -- the echo of that same frustration she felt at trying to keep Harry happy and distracted, but still trying to live her own life.

“I’m not asking you to be, Lily. I’m just asking for them to stop bullying Severus.”

Lily sighed again. “Well, I’ve tried to convince them to leave you alone -- you both alone -- but I have a feeling that they’re going to retaliate. I wanted to warn you.”

“Thank you, Lily.” Hermione opened her Defense book again and tried to immerse herself in the lesson, but found her mind racing through their conversation until she fell asleep.

She didn’t dare try to visit the hospital wing again, especially if James and Sirius were still there. She knew that Severus would be alright under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful eye, and would understand her decision to stay away.

She was surprised the next evening when Remus sat next to her at their library table. She hadn’t seen him or Peter since she had blown up at them, and she did feel deeply sorry over it. He had no more control over the actions of his friends than she did over Harry and Ron’s -- or even Severus’.

“Remus -- can I just say that I am so so sorry for yesterday -- I really shouldn’t have yelled at you. Or Peter,” she added, thinking of the smaller man’s efforts to defend his friends.

“I agree -- on both counts, actually. No, you shouldn’t have taken it out on me, and though in that instance I couldn’t help because I wasn’t there -- there are many times where I should, but do not prevent James and Sirius from doing harm. Their friendship means a lot to me, and I don’t want to endanger that.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Just tell me how shocked they were when birds went flying in their direction, please,” he leaned forward with an eager look on his face.

“I can’t even do that! I thought Madam Pomfrey was going to murder me so I had to leave right away!”

He sighed, his head dropping down to his chest with his deep disappointment. “Such a shame.”

Remus opened his satchel and pulled out some books. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“James and Sirius,” he started. “They’re having a bit of a rough time right now --”

“Lily has said, yes.” Hermione interrupted.

“They knew something has been wrong -- James’ dad has been ill for a while, and it’s been a big blow to them. James is really angry, and I think he’s taking his anger out on whoever or whatever is there. He and Sirius have spent loads of time at the pitch hitting bludgers at one another to distract themselves, but he’s also started throwing hexes at other students. He gave a Ravenclaw antlers the other day.”

“He needs to be careful,” Hermione warned. If he wasn’t, he could easily spiral into something much darker. With that behavior, it was no wonder that people suspected him of killing Peter Pettigrew.

“I agree,” Remus whispered, ducking his head back toward his work.

Madam Pince walked by, staring at them and their table full of books and parchments suspiciously, so they worked in silence for a while.

“I’ve missed this,” Remus said, rolling up his Transfiguration essay. “It’s nice to sit and do homework without James and Sirius turning every bit of paper into impromptu Quidditch balls and Peter giggling his head off about it.”

“Severus is going to be busy with an independent project for the next few weeks. You’re very welcome to join me. Although I have a detention to serve at some point...”

“I’m sure James and Sirius will be busy as well,” he replied with amusement. They worked together quietly for the rest of the evening, enjoying one another’s company until Madam Pince cleared them out of the library.

The next morning she was surprised to hear her workroom door open to reveal Severus wearing a thick bandage around his left arm.

“Detention later?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Brewing for Madam Pomfrey all this week. You?”

“The same. Dumbledore had a word with Slughorn and saved me from scrubbing trophies.” He raised his arm. “I can still brew with this.”

“Not too bad then?” she asked, securing the mice back in their cage. “I didn’t expect to see you for another few days.”

“Not the worst,” he answered, crossing to her. “Can I just say -- you’re brilliant.”

Hermione beamed at him. “One day you’ll stop showering me with compliments like that.”

“Never,” he laughed, pulling her to him with his free arm and pressing his lips to the top of her head.

Chapter Text

By February, Severus was able to take the bandage off his arm, and the snow outside lightened in time for owls to deliver Valentine’s Day gifts. The Great Hall that morning was awash with red and pink envelopes flying back and forth between the tables, and though she and Severus had agreed not to exchange anything, her attention was caught by a pink missive landing in front of him. His table companions wasted no time in nudging him with their elbows and letting out whoops of interest.

He raised an eyebrow and held it up, lifting his eyes to meet hers. She shook her head gently, her brow furrowed with interest. He opened it and she watched his expression immediately sour before he lifted his wand and reduced the offending article to a pile of ashes. A first year next to him yelped as his napkin caught fire and he scrambled to put it out.

Hermione was desperate to know what the envelope contained but did her best to keep her curiosity to herself through their morning and afternoon classes. Severus didn’t offer up any information: he was deadly silent throughout the day and wore a scowl that kept the other students at bay. When they were safely ensconced in his workroom later that evening, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from distracting him while he brewed. She had only just been able to actually concentrate on the text she was reading when he set down a jar with some force, pulling her out of her text again.

“You asked me about Lily Evans some time ago.”

“Yes.” Hermione closed the book and raised her eyes eagerly toward him.

“You asked what happened between us.”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“I think I would like to tell you now.” His stance had changed, almost as though he had been petrified. He had drawn himself to his full height and his arms were drawn tightly to his sides, his hands clenched into fists. Hermione was desperate to rise from her seat, to cross to him and tell him that it was okay, he didn’t have to tell her if it upset him so much, but she was so desperate to hear this story.

“My fifth year --” he began, but paused. He took a deep breath, and began again. “You are, of course, familiar with how I have a tempestuous relationship with some of the students here.”

“Yes,” she nodded, praying she didn’t sound too impatient.

“We had been taking our OWLS. I was reviewing the questions and my notes one day when I was set upon by Black and his friends. A crowd gathered to watch. They hung me upside down, prevented me from defending myself, and Lily tried to intervene. Potter told her he would only stop tormenting me if she dated him. I got angry at her -- I already had my housemates making remarks about my hanging out with a muggleborn, and for her to jump in and defend me, especially…,” here he paused again, swallowing deeply, his delay adding more weight to his next words. “I called her a mudblood. I regretted it deeply, but she already decided that we were heading down different paths in life, and when I tried to apologize, she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

She was shocked. She knew that Snape had been in love with Lily and that their friendship had fallen apart in their fifth year, but had never had the details behind it. Of all the things that Harry had recounted, this is one part of Snape’s tale that he didn’t tell -- but maybe he didn’t know? She searched her memory for all the times Harry had dropped a few details from his viewing of Snape’s memories -- Harry mentioned that Snape had told Phineas Nigellus off for calling her a ‘mudblood’ before bringing the sword, so surely he must have known. Her heart went out to Harry, who had been quick to protect Snape’s reputation despite the older man’s dislike of him.

“Severus, you made a mistake. You made a stupid mistake, and you showed remorse for it. You tried to apologize --”

He shook his head at her response. “I have better control of myself than that --” he sounded disgusted with himself, and Hermione couldn’t bear to hear it. She couldn’t help interrupting him.

“I think, considering the circumstances, you should have been forgiven. If that had happened to me, and my best friends didn’t step in sooner, I would have called them much worse and hexed them.” And she had -- she had cast spells on Ron when he angered her. She had gotten angry at Harry, too. How many times had they insulted her intelligence and called her a know-it-all, but she forgave them? How many times had she insulted Ron’s emotional maturity and they moved past it and were still friends? How many times had they been angry with her? Not spoken to her for weeks over some disagreement they had?

“I couldn’t help myself,” he explained. “I was so angry. And then what does she do? Goes and gets together with Potter! Potter -- master of my torments! Potter who promised her that if she dated him that he would leave me alone! Potter, who nearly killed me last year! The same Potter who, alongside Black, seemed to make it his life’s mission to make me miserable - to make my life a living hell. Did you know that I spent my entire life before Hogwarts dreaming of coming here, how great it would be, how I would finally fit in? Every time things got bad, my mother promised me things would be amazing here --” he was breathing heavily now, his face had gone white and he was shaking, gripping the back of a chair and causing it to rock against the stone floor. One of the torches used to light to classroom was flickering wildly, and some of the jars housing potions ingredients had begun to shake. His voice had caught in his throat, and though he was trying to continue, he was expending far more energy trying to control his magic.

Hermione jumped up and threw her arms around him. Despite her touch, he remained rigid, and the flickering and rattling didn’t stop.

“Severus, look at me,” she entreated, lifting a hand to his face, touching her fingers to his cheek. He tore his eyes from the floor where he had focused his gaze and met hers. The rattling began to lessen.

“You’ve proved that it doesn’t matter. We all say things when we’re angry. We all say things when we’re stressed. Maybe not -- well, maybe not that, but…” she trailed off, struggling to find words. How would she have reacted if Harry or Ron had called her that? She had heard it hundreds of times from Draco, but… she had made peace with her heritage. How many times had she called herself a mudblood to Harry and Ron, and said she was proud of it? The word had ceased to bother her, but if she had heard it from someone she cared for, someone she defended, would she have forgiven them so easily? She could understand Lily’s actions, but after getting to know Severus, after becoming familiar with the bullying, she could understand why the word had come from him in a time of stress. If he heard it used casually in his house, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use it, especially if he associated her with the people who were tormenting him.

Their relationship would change, yes, but she wouldn’t be able to discount years of friendship over it.

“I miss Lily so much,” he admitted, and she was sure that she saw his eyes glistening, though he closed his eyes in an attempt to hide it. “She was my best friend. She was my one friend that I could share my life with outside of Hogwarts. She didn’t judge me. She didn’t laugh at me in the same way the other kids at home did. Her family opened their home to me. We even used to have joint birthday parties! I just… I just…”

“It’s difficult losing a friend,” Hermione finished. “You’ll always have that connection with her. No one can take that away from you. Lily just has to do what’s best for her as well, and she made her choice, and you have to do your best to respect that.”

His arms had finally enveloped her into a hug, using her for support. His magic had withdrawn and there was no danger of anything accidently exploding now, thankfully.

“Is that what the card was about this morning?” she asked.

He nodded. “Potter thinks it’s funny. Strange how he could make all those promises to Lily about leaving me alone, and when she finally gives in, they’re all out the window.”

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she said.

“Me too,” he replied.

She led him to the couch and they curled up together in silence, and Hermione stroked his hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner until the curfew forced them to part.

Severus ran hot and cold the next few days, seemingly afraid for Hermione to turn her back on him, but when it became clear she wasn’t, they resumed their normalcy, and, despite her distraction, Hermione did everything she could to reassure him that she would not be banishing him from her company anytime soon. The latest incarnation of her potion did something to the mice, but it did not have the desired effect, either. They seemed to have much more energy than they usually did, running the maze with ease, but it did not revert back to the original path she had trained them to run. So, the pair of them were in the library once more, Hermione researching her ingredients and Severus looking through books from the Restricted Section. They worked in silence, their only interruption coming from a group of Hufflepuff fifth years at the next table.

Hermione felt stuck. She had tried everything she could think of, and she could feel that Severus had exhausted his knowledge on the subject as well. She had already read all the texts in the potions section thrice over, as well as all the books in the charms and herbology sections. Her attention kept wandering away from everything in front of her. She had watched Peeves from across the room chuck some inkwells at some second years, and Madam Pince chase him out of the library. She had watched a fifth year couple canoodling behind the arithmancy section. Right now she was absentmindedly watching the group at the table next to them. One of the girls pulled out a tube of lipgloss and applied it, the sickly sweet artificial scent of strawberry wafted over to her and Severus -- the scent reminded Hermione of being in primary school. Her hand fell onto the table with a strike of inspiration.

Why had she not thought of that before? Scent -- it had the strongest ties to memory -- if they could brew something like amortentia -- something that could seek out the psyche -- was that the key?

“Severus, to brew amortentia…” she began cautiously, trying to think of the best way to phrase her question.

“No.” He didn’t even give her the courtesy of looking up from the manuscript he was reading.

“I’m not asking you to brew it,” she replied, annoyed that he didn’t let her finish her thought.

“No, you’re ruddy well not -- I should think you knew better than that,” he finally raised his eyes toward her, an eyebrow raised.

“What gives it its scent properties?”

“The scent individuality, you mean?”

“Yes. I think it smells like grass and parchment --” she ignored the snort of amusement he gave at this -- “what causes that exactly?”

“That would be the pearl dust interacting with the ashwinder eggs.” He ticked the ingredients off on his fingers as he answered.

“That works on attraction, though -- do you think that if one of those ingredients was combined with something else that it could work in the same way, but for a different purpose?”

“What kind of purpose?”

“Do you remember when I read that scent has the strongest connection to memory?”

“You want something to trigger these lost memories.”

“Yes -- something that would draw them forth, and restore them -- almost like restoring memories from a pensieve.”

He grabbed a piece of parchment and pulled it toward him, writing down ingredients and arithmancy calculations. “We can start with the ashwinder eggs as a base. That’s what interacts with the consumer individually. If we change the rose -- no… If we change the pearl dust, that’s the ingredients that gears it toward attraction -- we can try to replace it with jobberknoll feathers or even mistletoe berries -- something that’s associated with forgetfulness or retrieval.”

Hermione ran to the library shelves and pulled out five books about potions ingredients and spent the rest of the afternoon coming them over, a renewed vigour to her research. There was something about this that made her feel as though she was going to be successful -- this was the right path, the type of thing she should have been researching all along. This was the potion that was going to search for deeply hidden things.

She spent the next few days between classes trying to put together possible ingredients, but she felt that Severus’ suggestions would be the best. She didn’t want to brew it without him, and he was busy with a project of his own, so it would be at least another week before they were able to start. She had spent most of her evenings between the library with Remus and the lab with Severus, but he had specifically requested her presence with him this evening.

“Done,” he said, pushing a cork into a small spherical vial.

“Oh?”

“I got a head start this year. I took an average of the number of stamina potions I’ve sold over the past four years and have brewed them early. They’ll keep for a month,” he gestured to his desk proudly.

“Clever,” she said, rising to inspect his work. There were two crates of bottles, all meticulously measured and labelled.

“More time for us,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him.

“And for revising,” she added, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

He sighed heavily and rested his forehead against hers. Though he acted annoyed at her reminder, she knew that was the real reason behind his early start. He wanted to do just as well at his NEWTs as she did.

“I’m sure I can schedule some time in for you somewhere,” she teased, tilting her face up to meet his. She kissed him and felt his lips curl into a smile against her own. He walked her back toward the couch and eased her down onto it and they became lost in each other for several minutes.

The warning bell rang, reminding the students to get to their dormitories before curfew and they drew apart reluctantly.

Hermione checked her watch. “I’ll walk up on my own tonight -- it’s too close to curfew. I don’t want you to get caught out,” she said as they exited his lab.

There was a sudden flash of light and they were both stuck in place.

“Well, Snivellus -- this is where you’ve been hiding. Do you two have a little love nest in here?” Sirius’ voice came from in front of them and he and James seemed to appear from nowhere. Just on the corner of her sightline she could see James tucking something into his robes and the worn Marauder’s Map in his hand.

For all the times Hermione had been in danger, she had never felt as close to it as now. Her heart raced. Lily had warned her -- she should have been more careful, she should have taken precautions to make sure they wouldn’t be targeted. She could hear Snape beside her. It sounded a though he was on the verge of murder, a stream of curses making their way out of his clenched teeth.

They hadn’t had a chance to ward the door behind them yet, and Sirius and James took advantage of that. The sound of smashing bottles and vials came from inside. Hermione’s heart sank at the sound.

Snape was fighting the spell so hard, and she needed to become free before he did -- before he did something stupid. Those games the Slytherins were playing to amuse themselves -- and the curses Snape had been learning from the books from the restricted section --

“Don’t do it, Severus,” she whispered desperately when she could finally move her lips. “Please.”

She could tell he was angry, so angry, much worse than the Order of Merlin being snatched from him in her third year, from believing he had caught Lily’s murderer. The torches in the corridor began to flicker with the magic rolling off of him.

She began whispering counter spells, praying that Severus was too distracted by his anger to do the same. She was thankful she had been holding her wand, and prayed that though she wasn’t able to perform the spell movements, that the magic would take hold.

“Finite,” she mouthed, her breath barely moving past her lips. “Finite. Finite. Finite Incantatem,” she chanted the words silently, over and over like a litany.

She didn’t know if the spell cast on her was weak, or if it was sheer will, but she felt the spell’s hold on her release and knew if she tried that she would be able to move. She begged for forgiveness from Severus as she silently cast another freezing curse on him, holding him in place, hoping that he was too distracted to see the tiny movements of her wand.

James and Sirius made a reappearance through the door.

“I’m a bit disappointed, Padfoot. I thought there would be all sorts of slimy things in there,” James remarked lazily.

Sirius chuckled and leaned in close to Severus’ face. “Nah, he’s cleaned himself up now that he’s got a girlfriend. I bet he washes his pants now, too. Do you, Snivellus?”

One of the torches at the far end of the corridor extinguished. And then the next.

“Oh, he’s mad now. Should I tell Jean all about how you were all over Lily?” James placed one of his hands on Hermione’s shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. “Panting after her like a dog with a bone,” he mock whispered, loud enough for all of them to hear. Sirius barked with laughter. Severus had gone deadly silent.

Hermione’s wand was at James’ throat before he knew it, and he was so startled by her sudden movement that he dropped his. She backed him up against the wall. “You whisper a word of this -- you find us again and invade our privacy, and I will personally ensure that the Ministry is notified that there are three unregistered animagi at Hogwarts -- and how would that look for you, James? How would that affect your father, just having been diagnosed with Dragon Pox? And your poor mummy?”

It was dirty, and it was low, but the gauntlet had been thrown and she couldn’t help but respond in kind. They wouldn’t dare.

Sirius snarled at her, pointing his wand toward her. The tension was so thick that she thought she could see sparks flying.

“Come on, Padfoot.” James uttered, his voice cracking with emotion, his whole body sagged with defeat. He retrieved his dropped wand, turned and walked away from the pair, and Sirius took off after his friend, thankfully without any parting words or spells. Hermione thanked whatever deities were helping her and silently released her spell on Severus.

He immediately turned and made a slashing movement with his wand, his arm moving through the air so fast that it was a blur before her eyes. A tapestry further down the corridor immediately fell, completely in shreds. He turned and began to kick and flail at the stone walls.

“Protego,” she aimed her wand at him, protecting him from the blows he was inflicting, doing more damage to himself than to the wall.

His head was against the stone now, his fists clenched in anger, pounding against it. He was breathing fast and ragged, as though he had just run the length of the Quidditch Pitch at full speed. There was sweat trickling down his temples.

Hermione approached him cautiously. “Severus?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

“I’m moving it tonight,” he rasped out, ignoring her concern.

“It’s late, Severus.” She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were twitching beneath her fingertips and she could tell he wanted to shrug her off. “I doubt they’ll come back.”

“No. It needs to be done.”

“They won’t be back. Not after my threat. And we don’t have anywhere to move it yet.”

He pulled back from the wall and his hands immediately fisted in his hair in agitation. She grabbed them and held them in her own, squeezing them gently. He finally met her eyes. They were on fire, red and black with fury. It was the first time that she was with him where she actually felt uncomfortable in his presence.

She swallowed down her fear. “We will find somewhere suitable,” she promised.

Severus nodded and turned into the workroom to survey the damage. For as long as James and Sirius spent inside, there was surprisingly little disturbed with the exception of Severus’ crates of potions. They were completely smashed, and the floor was flooded with stamina potion and littered with shards of glass. Nearly a month’s worth of brewing was gone.

He swiped his wand toward the mess and it was gone in an instant. Another spell showed that his stock of ingredients, thankfully, had not been disturbed, so they would not be in need of replacement.

“I’ll help you,” she assured him, and though he nodded, he could not bring himself to speak.

There was no question of returning to their dormitories now. Severus warded the door behind them and they retreated to the sofa where they remained in silence until Hermione drifted off to sleep, and when she woke in the morning, Severus was gone and she was fairly sure that he had not slept at all.

She didn’t see him in lessons or in the library at all that day, nor did he join her in her workroom. When she tried his workroom, she found it completely empty. She summoned Dobo and made him promise her to make sure that Severus ate, no matter where he was, and the house elf nodded eagerly in agreement before disappearing.

Remus came out of the Great Hall just as she was passing that evening and quickly crossed to her. “We need to talk.”

“Did Prongs and Padfoot tell on me?” she asked.

Remus paled. “Jean…”

They walked in silence up to Gryffindor Tower together and sat down in a pair of chairs in a darker corner of the room. There were a few other students who had returned from dinner as well.

“Muffliato.” He flicked his wand at their surroundings before turning to her. “Sirius is livid.”

“They had no right.”

“Threatening James’ father and their livelihood?” he asked incredulously. “I didn’t expect this from you, Jean.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t threaten his father. I just threatened to tell his father about his extracurricular activities.”

He sighed. “They just wanted to see what you are up to. You may not have seen it, but some funny things have been going on around here lately, and they want to make sure that you’re not involved in any of it.”

“Oh, is that what they told you? Did they tell you some of the vile things they said? What they did to Severus?” Hermione could feel the pitch of her voice going higher and higher with each question she asked. She took a deep breath and tried to speak in a steady tone. “What we are up to is none of their business.”

Remus pressed his palm to his forehead in exasperation at the situation. Of course his friends wouldn’t give him all the details, but he replied anyway. “It is if it involves the Dark Arts.”

She gave him a horrified look. “Do they -- you -- really think that I would be practicing or performing dark magic -- here -- right under Dumbledore’s nose? I meet with him twice a month, for Merlin’s sake!”

“These are dark times -- you don’t know who to trust, and Snape --”

“Stop, Remus.” They sat in silence for a few moments, watching other students pass through the room on their way back from dinner. The common room was beginning to get busy.

Remus leaned toward her and took a deep breath. “Jean, please listen to me. Snape has made it clear that he agrees with Voldemort -- or at least his followers. He has a history of --”

“I know his history.”

“So you’ll understand why we’re so concerned, then.”

“Have you ever considered that through my friendship with him that I might be trying to turn him away from that path?”

Remus gave her a thoughtful smile.

“Well, it did mine, but --”

“Shall I make a wand oath to you that I would never consider, nor will I ever join the organization known as the Death Eaters?” she asked. She would if it would keep them away, make them leave them alone.

“I think it would just make us all more comfortable if we knew his intentions -- what you were up to.”

She opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself. What business of it was theirs? Why should she let them know every detail of her life to appease them? The fact that she had Dumbledore on her side should be enough.

“How do they know about it anyway? What concern of it is theirs -- or yours?”

Remus stumbled over his answer. He wouldn’t dare reveal the map.

“We just passed one night and heard you two, and kept passing again, and noticed you were always together there. And you always disappeared off down corridors together. James and Sirius -- without my mature guidance -- couldn’t resist a confrontation.”

“And seized the opportunity when you were ill.”

He nodded. It was his first day back after the full moon.

She sighed, her earlier indignation gone. If it would make them leave her and Severus alone, she would need to do it.

“Remus Lupin, I am performing some potions experiments with the express permission of Albus Dumbledore. I am sure that you have noticed that Severus Snape has a natural talent and indication for what will be successful and I am using his knowledge to my full advantage.”

He held his wand out toward her.

“Do you swear?”

She met her wand tip to his.

“This I so swear.”

They glowed brightly for a moment.

“I will keep them from bothering you again,” he promised.

“Severus has moved the lab already. If they bother us in our new location, if I even suspect that they are hiding under that cloak in the same corridor, I will hex their bollocks off,” Hermione said with an edge to her voice. She trusted Remus completely, but she did not trust James and Sirius to not seek them out again using the map.

“Jean,” Remus began, his voice low despite the spell muting their conversation to curious ears. “How did you know?” he asked.

“I was out collecting potions ingredients one night and I thought it pretty strange to see a werewolf running around with a stag and one of the largest dogs I’ve ever seen,” she replied. “Followed by a rat who was just a bit too curious.”

Remus’ face blanched.

Hermione reached for his hand. Despite his friend’s horrible actions, her heart went out to him.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she assured him, squeezing his hand gently before releasing it.

“Did Snape tell you?” he asked.

“No. You always having something to do around the full moon did. And James and Sirius calling you “Moony” and talking about your ‘furry little problem’ didn’t help, either.”

“I think they bank on people being too wrapped up in their own lives and business to pay attention.”

“They’re too arrogant for their own good.”

“Be careful, you’re beginning to sound like Snape,” Remus teased.

“Finite incantatem.” she whispered, cancelling the spell. “Have a good night, Remus.” She grabbed her rucksack and headed towards the spiral staircase leading towards the girls’ dormitories.

“And you, Hermione.”

She bit her lip, willing herself to keep moving forward, cursing her own arrogance and thoughtlessness. Hadn’t Remus himself explained that the Marauder’s Map never lied? She tried to put it to the back of her mind, hoping that her threat towards James and Sirius would be enough to keep them quiet.

Although she never initially meant to alienate Sirius and James, the whole incident worked out in her favor. She was no longer clearly invited to join them in their ventures or games. If she was already seated in the Great Hall when they entered, they sat at the opposite end of the table. Remus still found time to study with her, but again, it was only when James or Sirius were in detention or otherwise occupied. He would always give her an apologetic smile when he passed her, though.

There was a change in Severus over the next few days as well. If there were ever a time that Hermione was reminded of their surly potions master, this was it. He was quieter than usual, and unusually cool towards her. She saw him engage more with his Slytherin friends and spending fewer hours in the library with her. Their contact had become minimal, and she had the feeling that there was a part of himself that was deliberately hiding from her.

His aloofness allowed her to experience a little bit of what the other students saw in him. It became easy to see why there was so much suspicion of him and his association with the Dark Arts. He did know quite a lot, and it was quite clear that he was proud of that knowledge. He was downright terrifying at times.

Hermione kept having to remind herself that she had to allow history as it happened, but it was very difficult to not interfere. Every time she saw him with some of his housemates, she wanted to approach him and reassure him that she had sorted everything and he would be fine, but she didn’t dare to. However, she was quite sure that Severus was well on his path to joining the Death Eaters now, as the company he was keeping included faces she recognized from Azkaban posters.

Despite what she knew it would bring, there was a sense of relief that he was continuing that path. While her presence in the past had had an impact on him, it had not had an impact on the big decisions he was making in his life.

Hermione knew that he was angry that the situation had once again made him feel so powerless. She would have preferred it had he just duelled with them again and had it out, but they invaded his personal space, his sanctuary, and interfered with his livelihood. He would not forgive them for that.

And, Hermione feared that there was a part of him that was annoyed that she had been the one to interfere and sort it out. Lily had done the same thing, hadn’t she? And what had he done? But he had kept quiet this time -- he had to -- and Hermione had to do it to make sure they all didn’t get expelled. His distance since the incident played on her mind and made her wonder if he wanted to continue with their relationship or if he was going to break off his relationship with her.

It was a week before Severus finally grabbed her hand and led her down a series of corridors to a door just around the corner from her own. He made a series of complicated movements with his wand as they approached and the door popped open, allowing them inside. He quickly spelled it closed behind them.

He stood awkwardly beside her as she surveyed the space. The potions side was pristine, and it appeared that he had already re-brewed the stock of stamina potions that had been smashed, but the sofa and table and chairs that they had used so often were pushed haphazardly to one side of the room.

“Are we okay, Severus?” she asked, turning to him.

It clearly was not what he expected her to say and he couldn’t hide the look of surprise on his face.

“Okay? Yes -- of course --” he hesitated. “I mean -- if you still want -- if you’ll --” he stopped and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know if you would want to be around me after some of the things they said. And the way I acted.” His face slowly flushed red as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

He had been embarrassed.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest. His heart was hammering.

“Why would I listen to anything those idiots said?” she asked.

He wrapped both arms around her and held her tightly, his hands stroking her hair where it fell down her back. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They stayed wrapped in each others arms for a few moments before Hermione drew away from him. “Let’s get this room into order, shall we?”

He nodded and by the end of the afternoon, they had a very cosy little sitting area for Hermione to stretch out in while he was brewing. She insisted that it would be an area perfect for revising, but he altered a few of her charms on the sofa to ensure that if their attention drifted from their studies and towards one another that they would remain comfortable.

His mood improved considerably over the next few days, just in time for the weekend.

On Saturday morning, she made her way down to the kitchens to request a flask of hot chocolate and some croissants before making her way out to the Quidditch pitch. She was thankful there had been a mild rain that had melted a majority of the snow. Although it was cold, it wasn’t uncomfortable with a warming charm.

Severus’ five-a-side team was finally playing their first match. The five-a-side system seemed to work well: teams were made up of a keeper, two chasers, and two beaters. The games were ruled by a timer rather than a seeker and they were mixed house teams, all the better to try to create interhouse relations. Also, house Quidditch players were barred from the teams, so there was little chance that Severus would come across James or Sirius. Though not as popular as the official house Quidditch matches, the stands were about half full, and there were a few professors watching as well.

She was impressed by how comfortable a flyer Snape was, though she knew she should have expected it. He did referee a Quidditch game in their first year -- how could he have done that if not competent on a broom? He was playing as a chaser today, though she knew he was more comfortable playing as a keeper, and she could see why. She was continually surprised with the way his long arms always snatched the Quaffle from the air mid-toss when she was sure it would be out of his reach.

When the hour was finished, Severus’ team emerged victorious, and every house was celebrating their team member’s victory. Hermione had certainly enjoyed it more than the house matches -- there was a lot less competition, and it was nice to hear everyone cheering rather than one side of the stadium.

She waited until the stands were clear before she made her way down to the field and waited for him to emerge from the dressing rooms.

“You’re really handy with that broom,” she said, when she saw him, offering him the flask.

He beamed at her before took a sip and a bite of the croissant she offered him. “Do you not fly?” he asked when he had swallowed.

She shook her head.

“Finally, something little miss isn’t an expert in,” he smirked. “Have you ever been up in the air for that long?”

She nodded.

“You just haven’t been with the right person.”

She rolled her eyes that something so stereotypical had come out of his mouth, but he was trying.

“Don’t be so cocky,” she said. She pulled the flask from him and took a drink. “I’ve ridden on a thestral. And a dragon.”

He nearly choked on his croissant from her unexpected answer. “Now you’re just saying ridiculous things to distract me.” They stood in silence until they finished the flask. “Shall we have a go now?” he offered, gesturing to the broom under his arm. It wasn’t anything fancy -- just one of the school brooms.

Hermione felt the warmth from the drink fade from her face.

“Now?” she squeaked.

“Is there a better opportunity?” He held his hands out to the empty field before them.

She shook her head. “Oh, no --”

“Come on. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” he teased, nudging her lightly.

She took a deep breath and set the flask down. “You’re going to have to carry my broken body back to Madam Pomfrey,” she warned.

He grabbed her hand and they made their way onto the field. “You’ll be fine. You’re with me.”

He held out the broom for her to mount.

“Am I not sitting behind you?” she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. “You’ll feel safer if you have more control.”

She mounted the broom cautiously. Her knees were pushed together so tight that she was sure they would be bruised later. He slid onto the broom behind her, his chest against her back. He was tall enough to see comfortably over her shoulder. His arms were around her, and his hands were comfortably on the broom below her own.

“Okay, now, kick off,” he instructed.

Hermione pushed up from the ground and the broom rose a few inches. If Severus stretched, the tips of his shoes would have brushed the grass. He gently angled the broom up and leaned forward. They ascended to where the lowest seats of the stands were.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his breath warm in her ear.

She nodded. She felt if she were to open her mouth that she would lose the food and drink they just consumed.

“Come on, Jean. Relax.”

She took a deep breath and leaned back into him, directing the broom upwards. They gradually ascended until they were just above the stands. The steadiness of their flight gave her courage to make a slow lap around the stadium.

“How are you feeling?” he asked again.

“I think this is the smoothest ride I’ve been on so far,” she nodded. “I’m afraid to go higher, though.” They were reasonably protected from the elements within the stadium, but she saw the wind was blowing the clouds by quite quickly. If they rose higher, they would be right in the middle of it and it would be much harder to control the broom. She was thankful for the warming charms she had thought to apply to her cloak before coming out.

He encouraged her to try out a few moves, dipping the broom downwards and back up, and swerving from side to side. She drew the line at a barrel roll, though.

“Can we head back down now?” she gestured to some students who were beginning to go in and out of the changing rooms. “It looks like there’s going to be a Quidditch practice. Ravenclaws, I think.”

“It’s up to you,” he said, nodding to the broom. “You’ve been in control for a while now.”

At some point in the last half hour, he had removed his hands. They were on her legs where his own had been pressing, so she hadn’t noticed.

“If you want a quick descent, just point the broom down and pick it up before we crash land. Otherwise, just ease it down.”

Although she briefly entertained the idea to spite him, she eased the broom down until her toes skimmed the grass. He unfolded his legs to keep them steady.

“I told you it wouldn’t be so terrible,” he said, dismounting.

“I think I’ll always prefer apparition, but that was nice,” she agreed, though she was thankful to be on the ground once more.

“Better than a thestral?” he asked as she followed him to the broom shed.

She waited until they were on their way back up to the school before answering. “Thestrals bob up and down so much when they flap their wings -- it’s a little sickening.”

“I didn’t think you were being serious!”

“Why would I lie?”

He stared at her. “Am I ever going to find out the story behind this?” he asked.

“You will someday, I’m sure.”

“So, you can see thestrals?”

“I couldn’t at the time. I can now.” She remembered the shock of their appearance the first time she saw them, and their terrifying beauty.

“I’m sorry,” he squeezed her hand.

She nodded.

“Can you?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Were you joking about the dragon?” he asked.

She couldn’t help the giggle that rose from her chest but couldn’t meet his eyes.

Chapter Text

Hermione expected Dumbledore to cancel their meeting in the first week of March. It was being reported in the Daily Prophet that there was a campaign to have him replace the current Minister of Magic, Harold Minchum. Minchum had recently started lobbying to install more dementors at Azkaban and other places of public interest, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley among them, which, despite the tense atmosphere, led to a public outcry against him. She was surprised when he didn’t. Their meetings had become sporadic recently, held on unusual days and times, and their Legilimency lessons had stopped altogether, though Hermione had continued to practice in her own time.

He had arranged for this particular meeting on a Thursday morning just after breakfast, and when Hermione ascended the familiar spiral staircase, she could hear a cacophony of voices trailing down the tower. When she knocked at the door of his office, they ceased immediately.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” called Dumbledore.

She peeked around the door. “And you, Professor.” She could feel the eyes of several of the portraits on her as she took her usual seat.

Dumbledore offered her toast from the tray that was before him, and when she declined, proceeded to slather a triangle liberally with butter and blackcurrant jam.

“Now, tell me how your studies are going,” he requested before taking a bite of his toast. Hermione obliged, filling him in on the extra reading she had done for Potions and Transfiguration (though she wasn’t including the information in her homework, it was still nice to discuss it with somebody). She had just found a way to steer the topic of conversation towards the news being reported in the Daily Prophet when he waved his hand, pushing the subject to the side.

“How is your research progressing?” he asked, dusting some crumbs from the front of his robes.

Hermione shook her head, slightly disappointed that he had just refused to discuss the topic with her. “Still no luck. I have a new idea that actually stemmed from a lesson on amortentia, though --”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing illegal, I assure you,” she was quick to add, “but I’m trying to see if memory recall can be stimulated by a potion in the same way that amortentia has a different scent to each user.”

Dumbledore seemed reassured by her explanation. “Ah. And what will this scent reveal to the imbiber exactly?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t attempted brewing it yet -- I’m still putting together ingredients.”

He nodded. “I’ll be interested to see what comes of it. Now, tell me, have you had any further troubles with Mr. Potter and Mr. Black?”

Hermione felt her stomach drop but did her best to remain composed. She had a feeling that Dumbledore knew something had happened -- after all, how many times had Harry said that Dumbledore mysteriously knew things that he was sure no one had been witness to (and then again, how could he not have known about other things -- Bartemius Crouch as Mad-Eye for one?) but she could not give away the events in the corridor. Severus would be devastated.

But then again, he was not acting as though anything were amiss. She did her best to clear her mind and meet his eyes when she answered.

“No, sir,” she shook her head. “I believe a chat with Lily Evans has put them in their place.”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly at her reply. “Ah, yes, our intimidating Head Girl. I must admit, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are not the most lenient of individuals. I have probably played host to them in this office more than anyone else I can recall. Please do tell me if you have any further trouble.”

Hermione nodded. Dumbledore must have been made aware of Fleamont Potter and his malady and was also attempting to keep an eye on James Potter. At least Lily would have some sort of solace from that. Hermione had the feeling that James and Sirius had not informed her of their encounter in the corridor -- Lily had not acted overly exasperated with Hermione or shot her with any dirty looks as she had when she found out about the hospital wing. Hermione hoped that they kept silent about the events in the corridor -- she liked Lily, and she wanted to remain on her good side until they graduated. Although she felt guilty about the way it had come about, Hermione was pleased that her threat had yielded results. So far, James and Sirius had not bothered Hermione or Severus, and the snide, taunting remarks that had once been a regular occurrence had ceased.

She thankfully did not have to endure the line of questioning much longer as Dumbledore dismissed her with fifteen minutes to reach her Ancient Runes lesson. She was a little more than relieved to leave his office.

The next week saw this peace continue, and Severus freed up once more, satisfied with the amount of potions stocked for finals in the coming months. With some excitement, they set to work on brewing a memory version of amortentia.

Hermione helped prepare the base of the potion, but it was Severus who had the final say in the variation of ingredients: fresh versus preserved or sliced rather than juiced. When final calculations had been done predicting a product that wouldn’t explode or poison them, they had started the base to brew as it needed a week to cure, and set aside the coming Saturday to complete it. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were playing a Quidditch match, and the school would be fairly empty.

Hermione rose that morning with her stomach in knots. They had tried so many potions before -- she was desperate for this one to work. Breakfast seemed to last a lifetime and she was thankful when the Quidditch players rose and paved the way down to the Quidditch pitch for the rest of the school. Severus and Hermione followed the crowd part of the way before breaking off and heading upstairs.

When they reached her workroom, Hermione whispered the password (“Hedwig”) and they slipped inside, closing the door firmly behind them. Severus immediately removed his cloak and hung it next to the door. Hermione tied up her hair with one of the ribbons Severus gifted her with.

He gave her a firm nod of approval and then an impish smile graced his lips. “You know, we’ll have the whole castle practically to ourselves… This could wait another week.” He crossed to her and bent his head toward her neck, nuzzling his nose at her bare skin before kissing her just below her ear. It tickled and she pulled away from him, but his arms were around her before she knew it and he had her pinned to him. When she met his eyes, they were dark with anticipation.

Though they had only become a couple relatively recently, their physical relationship had progressed steadily, urged on by months of tension between them beforehand. How many times had Hermione watched Severus over the past year and wished for him to kiss her? How many times had their hands brushed and she felt something akin to an electric shock shoot up her arm? And those feelings hadn’t ceased with the commencement of their relationship. They had grown more and more steadily, though she could indulge in them anytime she wished. She still experienced the same excitement when their lips met, and the same heat of anticipation didn’t abate even after they spent hours kissing until their lips were swollen. He set her skin on fire with his touch, and his hands had grown more adventurous over the past month. Although he was mature, Severus was still a teenager in many ways, and was still eager, and Hermione matched him in his eagerness, though she did her best to distract him and remove herself when she felt she may lose her inhibitions.

She shook her head, tapping at his lips with her finger. Now was definitely not the time to play with those boundaries. “Work first, play later.”

“I’m holding you to that promise,” he said as he turned toward her workbench, pulling ingredients towards him. She joined him, changing cauldrons over the burner and getting the fire going. The initial assembly of ingredients went relatively quick, but when it came time to add the mistletoe berries and jobberknoll feathers, Hermione couldn’t help but hold her breath.

Severus dropped them gently into the cauldron and began to stir it clockwise. The mixture turned a deep cerulean blue, the color turning more and more even as he moved the stirring rod. Hermione was mesmerised. She could not recall ever brewing a potion that looked so beautiful.

“That needs at least ten minutes,” he said, setting the stirring rod aside. They watched the cauldron, mesmerised as small bubbles began to break the surface and pop with silver shimmers. From everything she could see, it looked promising.

After about five minutes, the simmer shifted into a rolling boil that began to swirl on its own. Severus grabbed her arm and pulled her back from the cauldron by at least a good meter and a half in one swift motion.

The room began to fill with vapor from the cauldron, great lavender clouds of smoke that reminded Hermione of candy floss. She raised her wand, but Snape stopped her. “It’s not poisonous -- a bit unexpected, but not harmful. That will be the crushed jobberknoll feathers interacting with the mistletoe berries -- they must have dissolved just now. I’m just taking precautions.”

She watched the steam crawl up the walls of the room and congregate in the corners, shimmering like some sort of phantasm until it suddenly dissipated. The cauldron continued to spew this for another five minutes until Snape directed his wand at the flame below the cauldron and extinguished it. When the air finally cleared, the room filled with a sickly sticky odor. “Smells like…” Hermione drew a deep breath, trying to place the scent.

“A bonfire,” Snape cut in. “And popcorn.” His nostrils flared as he drew in another breath and closed his eyes.

“No -- no… sticky toffee pudding.” The smell made her feel as though she was on the verge of remembering something. It was just there, tickling her brain. She couldn’t help but beam at him -- the fact that they could smell two different things...

“Severus, I know this sounds a bit risky, but I want to test it. Where’s the dropper?”

Severus grabbed it but paused before extracting any of the potion. “Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “Dobo,” he called.

Dobo appeared obligingly in front of them with a sudden pop. “Master Severus, sir?”

“What does this room smell like to you?” he asked.

“Smell like, sir?” The elf repeated, his gravelly voice hesitant in his question.

“Yes -- what does it remind you of?” Severus clarified.

The elf took a deep breath that made its long nose quiver. “Chocolate, sir.”

“And does it make you think of anything?”

The elf shook his head. “I smells it all the time in the kitchen, sir.”

“I am going to give you a few drops of this potion, Dobo. It will not harm you.”

The elf opened his mouth obediently and Severus siphoned some potion into the dropper before placing it on the elf’s tongue.

Hermione’s hands had moved to her mouth, her fingers worrying at her lips in anticipation as she watched.

“How does it make you feel, Dobo? What does it remind you of? What are you thinking about?”

Dobo swallowed the potion obediently. His pink tongue ran over his thin lips in search of more and his eyes grew slightly glassy. “Dobo is a young elf, sir, and we is making chocolate tarts for the feast. Dobo is so hungry, sir, and the tarts, they looked so good, but Dobo was a bad elf. Dobo took one, sir, and Dobo ate it, and Dobo’s mother taught him to punish himself... But Dobo ate that tart, and it was heaven, sir.”

“Good, Dobo. Thank you,” Severus nodded. “Do you feel ill at all?”

Dobo shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Thank you, Dobo. That is all.” The elf disappeared with a crack.

Hermione rushed to Severus’ side, bouncing on her toes in anticipation as she watched him fill two phials with the potion.

“Shall we?” he asked, but her hand was already reaching for it. He lifted his phial toward hers, clinking them together before lifting it to his lips and downing the potion.

She did the same.

The potion felt like jelly on her tongue despite its thin consistency, and tasted of… she couldn’t quite place it. Something not quite fruity and not quite sweet, but she didn’t have long to dwell on it before a memory rose to the front of her mind, and her whole body filled with a sensation of warmth.

She was with her grandfather, her paternal one, one that she had always been told that she was too young to remember, and he had taken her to a village fete. She could see his sharp blue eyes clearly, his flat cap, and the spot where he had cut himself shaving that morning. He had bought her a sticky bun and jokingly begged the stallperson to drizzle an extra helping of toffee sauce on top. “Poor girl never gets sweet treats -- mum and dad are dentists, you see.”

The stallholder laughed and obliged. When Hermione went home, her face was absolutely covered with the sticky sauce and her parents were completely exasperated.

He had died not long after.

Hermione met Severus’ eyes.

“Whatever we’ve done -- if we can tie that to something specific -- that’s amazing.” she exhaled.

Severus nodded cautiously, but his lips were curled into a slight frown. “It’s still not specifically targeting memories -- it’s that age-old question -- how do you know what you’ve forgotten?”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. This is -- this is something. Should we try it on the mice?” she asked.

He reached for the dropper and she crossed to the cage, pulling out the first one to cross to her hand. After a few curious sniffs, its little mouth met the dropper eagerly and when Hermione was satisfied that it had swallowed the potion, she dropped it at the beginning of the maze.

It didn’t do anything. It did not run forward or backward, but sat where it had been dropped, sniffing at the air expectantly.

“See?” he asked.

“Let’s try another,” she said, picking it up and replacing it with another mouse. It, too, was eager to take the potion. Hermione set it at the beginning of the maze.

After a moment of cautious sniffing, it began to run the length of the maze -- in the original pattern it had been taught. There was no pause, there was no hesitation, and it took every correct turn until it reached the original end.

Hermione reached out and gripped Severus’ arm. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe.

He slid his hand up to clasp it in his own and gave it a tight squeeze. “I’m not going to say ‘don’t get your hopes up’ -- but remember the tests before,” he warned. “Give it some time to make sure it settles in.”

“Yes,” she choked out, rushing to scrub away the tears that had filled her eyes. She took a deep breath and felt his arm go around her shoulder.

“Should we test the third?” he asked. “Just to make sure.”

“Yes.”

Although the third test was as unsuccessful as the first, after a few days, the second mouse still remembered and followed the original path. She was hopeful, though. If they could, as Severus suggested, find something to make it target particular memories, it would be exactly what she was looking for.

Despite exams drawing near, Hermione found it difficult to concentrate in their lessons over the next week. Her mind kept drifting to potions ingredients to add to target or to strengthen the potion, and different possibilities of combinations they could add to make variants. If they added ginkgo biloba, would it target long-term memories? If they added augurey feathers, would it target sad memories?

Severus seemed to be fine with her inattention and even seemed to find it amusing at times until he had to nudge her to pay attention more than once in potions. Even Slughorn noticed she wasn’t completely present in the lesson, but let her off with a slight teasing. “Ah, spring is almost here, Miss Granger. Are you feeling a bit twitterpated?” He nudged Severus slightly and with a wiggle of his eyebrows, left, leaving Severus looking very sour behind him.

“I would have let you make mistakes if I weren’t sitting right next to you,” hissed Severus after Slughorn moved on from their table. “Get your head back in the classroom, Granger.” Hermione winced at his use of “Granger” -- he was extra annoyed.

She never thought that she was one to be so inattentive, but although he was annoyed, Severus understood and kept reminding her that she had other priorities as well. “That was like me when I realized about the potions ingredients. I wanted to comb every recipe and brew it to make sure it really was the best variation of it -- but if you don’t keep your focus, Granger, your NEWTS will show for it.”

The word NEWTS snapped her out of it -- the beginning of their exams were only two short months away, and she still had homework to do on top of revising! She drew herself up a new timetable prioritising her classroom work and leaving her time with the potion to the weekends and only after she had finished any assigned work. She provided a copy to Severus as well for accountability, something he was overly pleased to enforce if he noticed her attention straying. The first time he noticed, he had charmed the ends of her hair to turn green -- and the longer she stayed unfocused, the further up toward her scalp it moved. It was simple but effective. When she turned back to her work, the color would recede.

They were seated together in the library one day, working on their essays for Transfiguration that was due later that week. They had been working together for about half an hour, trading texts back and forth in their cross-referencing before a gravelly voice startled them out of their concentration.

“Prince.”

Severus’ head snapped up at the interruption, looking around them.

Hermione looked up as well. Macnair was nearby, a few other Slytherins hanging behind. She was used to interruptions -- Severus was still running his little potions business on the side, of course -- but this was odd.

“Excuse me,” Snape set his book down, jumping up to join them. There was a quick exchange of words that were too low for Hermione to hear. Severus was in agreement with whatever it was -- she saw him give a terse nod and motion toward the shelves.

The group made their way down into the stacks and despite being several cases away, Hermione could still see slivers of the group through the gaps in the bookcases.

Hermione did her best to not pay attention but it was difficult to ignore the head motions made in her direction, and Severus’ disapproving reply.

He returned after a further five minutes.

“What was that about?” she asked, curling a green-tipped end of hair around her quill.

“Homework.”

She rolled her eyes.

He picked up his book again, a clear indicator that the subject was closed.

He didn’t appear in her workroom that evening after dinner, and she awoke the next morning in the dormitory to the noise of frantic whispering.

“I don’t know -- I haven’t seen it, but the Fat Lady’s been ordered to keep us in the Tower, and James said he’d seen something, but didn’t want to say what --” Lily’s voice was low and quick.

“What’s happened?” Hermione asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Lily pulled her bedcurtains aside, and Hermione had to shield her eyes from the sudden invasion of light. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“Something’s happened -- we’re not allowed out of the Tower. What did the Slytherins do this time?”

Hermione couldn’t keep the scowl off her face as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “How am I to know?”

“Well…” Lily held her hands out in a prompting gesture as though the answer should be obvious.

“Just because I keep company with one Slytherin in particular does not mean that I am privy to the secrets of the whole house. And how would you know it’s something to do with Slytherin anyway? That’s a bit presumptive.”

Sita jumped in. “Oh, please -- they’re the only ones who would even think to disrupt the school enough for something like this --”

“And it’s not like James and Sirius weren’t the cause of the Yule Ball being cancelled indefinitely, hmm?” asked Hermione. She was frustrated, appalled at being attacked like this first thing. She had liked Sita and Lily, but didn’t appreciate their accusatory tones. The only person who hadn’t said anything was Mary, who she could see standing behind the pair, biting her nails. “And what about Michael Gibson? He was a Ravenclaw. Anyone -- anyone from ANY house -- even Gryffindor -- could have done anything.”

Lily’s face had gone slightly pink. She sighed and sat down heavily on her bed.

Mary chose that moment to speak up. “Jean’s right. It’s unfair to jump to conclusions. Like the Sorting Hat said, we should be trying to stick together rather than cling to our differences and separate…”

“I appreciate the apology,” Hermione said pointedly towards Lily, swinging herself out of bed.

“But do you know what’s happened, Jean?” Mary asked timidly.

“No, I don’t.” But she had a strong suspicion that it may have had something to do with Severus’ aloofness and mysterious disappearance the day before.

The girls were in the middle of getting dressed when there were calls for food from the common room.

They went downstairs to find impromptu tables set up and every surface covered with piping hot food: fresh scrambled eggs, steaming sausages, mountains of toast. Lots of people were breakfasting on the floor. Some students took their plates back up to their dormitories. Hermione grabbed an apple and sat at the edge of the room, watching James and Sirius hold court next to the fire, shaking their heads and making a bit show of knowing something but being too aware of the delicate sensibilities of other students to say anything. Hermione was thankful she stayed when the portrait hole swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall climbing through, looking a bit tired.

She was grateful for the ever reliable, unflappable Professor McGonagall, who didn’t betray anything other than extreme annoyance.

“Classes will resume shortly, so no getting your hopes up. Professor Dumbledore would like to see everyone in the Great Hall in the next fifteen minutes. Finish up your breakfasts and get a move on.” She flicked her wand toward the middle of the room where a timer appeared and began to count down.

“What’s happened, Professor?” asked a keen fifth-year prefect who reminded Hermione of Percy Weasley.

“Nothing to worry about. Dumbledore will speak to you all about it shortly.”

Hermione finished her apple and stood, straightening her skirt. She followed the crowd of Gryffindors climbing through the portrait hole and making their way down to the Great Hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Severus, and maybe pull him aside for a quick word to see if he knew anything.

There was a steady stream of Slytherins making their way up from the dungeons, but she didn’t see Severus among them. It was only minutes before Dumbledore entered the Great Hall that she saw him slip in with several of the older Slytherins and Professor Slughorn, discreetly taking places at the table. He didn’t look in her direction, but fixed his attention toward the front of the room where Dumbledore had risen to address the school.

“I am sure you are all wondering what prompted the enforced lie-in this morning. Never fear -- you will be released to your classes within the next half hour,” this drew a groan from a number of students. “We seem to have discovered some rather troublesome graffitti and flyers placed around the school sometime overnight. This graffiti and literature expressed views that will not be tolerated at this institution. Hogwarts is and always will be open to anyone magical, regardless of their heritage.

“Everything has been removed, but I want to encourage every single one of you to approach us if you feel that you are being discriminated against or if you do not feel welcome here. Hogwarts is your home and you should not feel unsafe or unwanted here.

“Bullying of other students will not be tolerated. You are here to learn, not to push personal agendas, and if you are observed doing so, do not be surprised to find yourself being invited to have a chat with myself. You have been warned.”

Despite Dumbledore’s effort to be vague about what had been posted, there were rumors about it by lunchtime. Massive recruitment posters to join the Death Eaters, said one student. Mudbloods are filth, said another. Unfortunately, nearly everything was believable.

Later when she met up with Severus in his workroom, she tried to broach the subject.

“That was odd, this morning,” she remarked as she took her usual seat on the couch. “I wonder what was so bad that we had to stay in our rooms.”

“Hmm,” came his only reply. Though he was tight-lipped on that morning’s events, after a few days he was back to his usual acerbic self.

Though the mood over the school darkened after the incident, it didn’t take long for another distraction to rip through the student body: someone had smuggled in copies of a racy new novel with explicit illustrations that were being traded among the older students. It seemed as though Hermione passed a group of girls huddled around a copy almost daily, though the Professors never seemed to be able to confiscate the books. Though there were still a few mutterings here and there, the hushed whispers she heard now usually had a tone of scandal to them rather than worry, which was comforting in its own way.

Dumbledore had planned to cancel their next meeting, and sent a note of regret to her during breakfast nearly a week later. When she received it, she shook her head and scribbled out a quick reply.

Dear Headmaster,
I really do think we should meet at your earliest convenience.
HG

She attached it back to the owl’s leg and watched it fly up to the head table. Dumbledore was unfazed at the owl landing before him and didn’t even pause his conversation with Professor McGonagall as he gave her note a quick once-over. His next movement was natural, and she would have missed it had she not been watching him so eagerly, but he swept his eyes over the house tables and their eyes met, and he gave her the briefest of nods.

After Arithmancy later that day, a second year student was waiting for her outside the classroom. “Are you Jean Granger?” she asked.

Hermione nodded.

The girl sighed in relief. “Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office.”

Hermione’s heart leapt into her chest as she muttered a quick “Thanks” and headed for her lab to retrieve one of the phials, and make her way to the headmaster’s office.

By the time she reached the statue, she could hardly contain her excitement as she said the password (“Ice Mice”) and by the time she reached the top of the staircase, she was practically bouncing on her toes. The incident with the recruitment campaign and her suspicions about Severus’ involvement had dimmed her enthusiasm for her project, but now that she had the opportunity to show someone new what they had accomplished, it had returned nearly twice as strong.

She didn’t even bother greeting Dumbledore when she burst into his office and held out the phial toward him.

“I'm on the right path,” she stated in greeting, urging him to take it.

“Hello, Miss Granger. Pleased to see you,” he said, lowering his gaze toward the phial. Hermione could hear one of the portraits mumbling something about manners.

“Sorry, Headmaster -- but this -- this is it.”

He took it hesitantly and tapped his wand to it a few times, a steady stream of incantations escaping under his breath. His wand shot out golden sparks at one point. After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied with the results of his test. It did not contain poison.

“Have you tested it?”

“Yes. Though it did not have a one hundred percent test rate on the mice, one of them has regained their memories, but I have taken the potion myself, as has another student, and we have not suffered any ill effects.”

Dumbledore eyed the phial curiously against the light before he uncorked it.

“Smell it first, sir.”

He lifted the phial to his crooked nose, taking a cautious whiff.

“It has a unique smell for every person. Just like the amortentia. Do you remember I said…?”

Dumbledore nodded but did not bother to answer her inquiry. “Mmm… nice fresh sea air.”

He lifted the phial to his lips and downed the contents. After a moment, he began to giggle. “Oh my,” he laughed. “I had completely forgotten about that. What a lovely accomplishment, Miss Granger.”

“It works in some capacity - I would be curious to see how well it works on someone who has been obliviated. Do you think St. Mungo's…”

“Certainly. Dilys, what do you think?” He turned to the wall of portraits. Dilys’ eyes sprung open at his query.

“Healer Potts is quite progressive and probably would not be averse to a trial.” Her painted silver hair bobbed enthusiastically as she nodded.

“Are they trustworthy?”

“Potts will always act in the best interest of the patient and can be quite discreet.”

“Do you have more of this, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore turned back to her and tapped the empty phial.

Hermione nodded. “I still have some in my lab. Shall I go get it?”

“Please.”

Hermione left the office, her heart pounding. Dumbledore thought her potion had merit -- if she could just get St. Mungo’s to help her run some trials…

When she returned with the potion, an additional party was standing next to Dumbledore when she arrived. She was wearing a St. Mungo’s uniform and was middle aged with curly grey hair and rather stout. She reminded Hermione of Molly Weasley. She could only deduce that she was Healer Potts.

“What this then? Show me what you have, girl. I have a meeting in half an hour.”

Hermione passed the phial to her.

Dumbledore spoke as she was evaluated it, passing her wand over it several times and holding it up to the light. She shook it, causing the blue liquid inside to briefly turn silver. “I have tested it myself and can verify that there have been no ill effects. It’s actually quite pleasant.”

Before Healer Potts uncorked the phial and lifted it to her lips, Dumbledore’s tone turned sober. “What happens in this office must remain between us for the time being. Miss Granger is here under special circumstances. To spread anything about this could endanger her life,” he warned rather gravely. Hermione was startled by his comment, but did her best to brush it off as his trying to emphasize the need for Healer Potts to remain silent on the potion and trial.

Healer Potts shook hands with him and nodded before she uncorked the potion. She gave it a quick sniff before drinking it back.

“I’m assuming you used ashwinder eggs and jobberknoll feathers?” Healer Potts asked her after a moment of contemplation.

“Yes, of course.”

“Though there’s something different,” she was running her tongue over her teeth, searching for the taste.

“The mistletoe berries are fresh rather than pickled,” Hermione offered.

“Yes -- there’s no aftertaste of vinegar that usually accompanies them. Clever.”

“Do you think it would be possible to test this on someone with a long-term memory damage?” Hermione asked eagerly.

Healer Potts’ face darkened .”That’s going to be difficult. Here I’ve been sworn to secrecy -- what am I to tell the family? And I can’t bring them here -- you’ll need to come to the hospital.”

“That can be arranged,” chimed in Dumbledore.

“Can you not just say you’re going to try something experimental?” asked Hermione. They had done it for Mr. Weasley.

“And get their hopes up?” She pursed her lips and considered the phial once more. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll send word, Dumbledore. Make sure you keep this on hand, girl.”

After a quick nod and check of her watch, Healer Potts disappeared down the staircase.

“What a productive evening!” exclaimed Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. “Congratulations, Miss Granger. You should be very proud of yourself -- with a bit more work, I’m sure you’ll come to a complete success rate.”

Hermione couldn’t help but enjoy the warm glow that filled her at his praise. It was almost enough to make her worry over his comment earlier disappear.

Chapter Text

When Hermione informed Severus of Healer Potts’ interest, he seemed somewhat pleased -- he said all the right things, but always seemed on the verge of saying something to her and changing his mind at the last moment. It left her feeling slightly unsettled, and when she tried to broach the subject, he simply shrugged it off. Now that they had reached some sort of success, he turned his mind to other things and preferred to fill their conversations with talk of the future and life after Hogwarts, but she found that topic slightly uncomfortable and did her best to avoid it. It was nice to help him work out the best suppliers for bottles and vials and to go over the various benefits and disadvantages of having a shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, but anytime he began to seriously discuss the possibility of her working alongside him, she would resort to giving him vague answers. Severus didn’t take it seriously, though -- he simply thought she was being coy. And she was in a way, but there was a little voice in the back of her head that kept reminding her that now that she had something that worked on a level, how much longer could she justify staying here in the past? How much longer could she interfere in his life? She had given him a few hints of the danger he faced in the future -- surely that would be enough to save his life. He was a smart man. But what if she returned to the future and found that had suffered the same fate? Anytime those thoughts rose, she had to wipe them from her mind before she spiralled into a ball of anxiety and shut herself away in her bed for days.

She was doing her best to live in the moment and to enjoy her time here, despite the pressure and stress of their upcoming NEWTS. She also savored her time with Severus, and did her best to avoid upsetting subjects, instead enjoying his touches and kisses and giving them eagerly in return. She encouraged him and teased him and even enthusiastically supported his venture into Quidditch. The foul mood he had been in since their run-in with Sirius and James in the corridor seemed to have finally fully lifted.

She had just watched him play another Quidditch game, and though his team lost, he seemed to be in bright spirits. He grabbed her hand eagerly when she met him at the entrance to the pitch and they took a meandering walk back towards the castle, following the boundary wall towards the Forbidden Forest and around the back of Hagrid’s Hut approaching the greenhouses. He was letting her chat away about his performance when he suddenly interrupted her with a squeeze of her hand.

“Are you going anywhere for Easter holidays?” His voice broke slightly at the end of his question and a slight blush rose in his cheeks.

Hermione gave him a thoughtful smile, aware that he knew full well that she had no home to go to. “No.”

He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What if I can convince you to sneak away?”

“With you to yours?” She knew he didn’t have an ideal home life, and he already told her that he didn’t usually go home for the holidays -- what was he thinking?

“Well, no, not exactly,” he cleared his throat again, eyeing her hopefully. They had stopped walking now. “I was thinking we could have a few days together… alone. Maybe go to London. Visit some of the wizarding history there. We could use that travel guide I bought you.”

Her heart beat quickly at his implication and heat flooded her chest. Time alone together -- days alone -- nights alone. Though she had been hesitant before, everything in her being wanted to agree to join him. If she could not give him the promise of the future with her, she could at least give him this -- and she could have this with him. The heat had moved up into her throat and cheeks by the time she could gather her thoughts to reply.

“Oh, London! That would be lovely. Yes! I’ll speak to Dumbledore --” he paled at her mention of the headmaster. Dumbledore had all but disappeared since their last meeting, cancelling all further catch-ups until further notice, and she had not had a chance to broach the subject of his warning to Healer Potts. She hoped that an owl would be able to reach him. She rushed to explain her reference to Severus. “I need his permission to leave -- I’ll just say I have some errands -- I’m sure it will be fine. Just let me know when. Is it safe, do you think?”

He nodded. There hadn’t been an attack on Muggle London in a number of weeks and the newspapers built up so much tension that it felt as though something could strike at any moment. She didn’t want to ask exactly how he knew it would be okay, but she was sure that he was in regular contact with Lucius Malfoy and several others who would come to be in Voldemort’s inner circle. He had become more tightly bound with a number of faces she recognised from Azkaban posters. She shook herself free of those thoughts and basked in the glow of his holiday plans for the rest of the term.

Hermione had become nearly drunk with the power she found she had over Severus -- she knew that she would never be a woman who could use her looks or charms to get her through life, but she could quickly see why the ones who had that advantage used it. It was addicting, exhilarating, and she found pleasure in it.

It also helped that Severus was a teenage boy.

If she grew tired of brewing, or if she wanted to distract him from his studies, she knew just the type of breathless sigh to let escape that would cause his quill to still or his shoulders to stiffen, and he would go still, so still and watch her as though he was hypnotized. She enjoyed finding the tender spot just below his ear that caused him to moan. Wetting and biting her lips were no longer a nervous habit, but a tool of seduction that would cause Severus’ eyes to stray to her mouth no matter where they were. It was especially fun to test that particular theory in one of Slughorn’s classes. He nearly tipped a whole vial of pufferfish powder into his cauldron, and though he had been annoyed, he wasted no time in finding an empty classroom for them to have several intense kisses in after.

That isn’t to say that he didn’t find the same power over her. He had begun to explore her thoroughly in anticipation of their trip and Hermione found that she somehow kept forgetting that there as a potion she wanted to be working on and NEWTS to be revising for.

Nips on her fingertips drove her up the wall, and he always seemed to find a way to run his fingers lightly over her lower back that immediately gave her goosebumps everywhere, and the soft spot just above her ear that would relax her instantly and send her into near sleep. But they always, always stopped short of where she knew he most wanted it to lead.

It was beautiful and frustrating, and even more so now that they knew they would be indulging soon.

The owl Hermione sent Dumbledore took ages to return and only reached her just before the end of term, but contained a scribbled response granting her permission to leave. She waved the note at Severus over breakfast the morning she received it, beaming at him. He broke into the biggest smile she had ever seen grace his face, and she noticed he had a new spring in his step when they rose to go to their lessons for the day. Before he left for the holidays, they made arrangements to meet at the Leaky Cauldron, that being the easiest place to access both Wizarding and Muggle London. The few days in between were agony, though, and Hermione found herself wandering the corridors of Hogwarts aimlessly, wishing time would pass by more quickly.

The appointed day finally arrived and when she could justify apparating to Diagon Alley, she nearly ran down to the castle gates and disappeared with a twirl, clutching her stuffed rucksack and beaded bag to her. The crack echoed in her ears but was quickly replaced with the hubbub of voices from the high street. She ducked into the pub and was pleased to see Severus seated at a table clutching his own rucksack, his right leg bouncing against the chair from nerves. They were both a good half hour earlier than what they had agreed and she couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as she approached him.

“Great minds think alike?” she asked.

His whole face lifted at the sight of her and she could visibly see the tension ease from his body as he rose to greet her. She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him and he enclosed his arms around her and returned it eagerly. “I’ll take these,” he said, grabbing her rucksack, and disappeared upstairs.

When he returned, they agreed to that Gringotts would be their best first stop as they needed to exchange some wizard money for muggle money. It didn’t take long -- the goblins were efficient, and they were released onto Charing Cross Road before long.

“Where shall we start?” she asked, pulling out her guidebook. Hermione had never actually visited wizarding London, despite growing up so near. Her parents were always going abroad for holidays, craving blue skies and sunshine after so long indoors looking in people’s mouths.

He pulled it open and flipped it to the section on London. The first site recommended was the Tower of London. “Why not at the beginning?”

She nodded and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of Embankment station. She found that the London of this time was not so different from the London of the future and was able to navigate the underground with ease. She could tell that Severus felt a bit out of place but did her best to lead him in her suggestions so that he would know how to go about things without revealing that he clearly had no idea what he was doing.

They emerged from Tower Hill towards the Roman ruins and took a few moments to inspect them before turning to their right. Hermione purchased their entry tickets and they spent a few moments wandering around the site before they spotted anything particularly magical. “Look,” pointed Severus, his eager eyes spotting a plaque that, just as the monument in Godric’s Hollow changed, formed into a statue of a woman as they approached. “That’s where Anne Boleyn was executed.” Hermione had passed Anne Boleyn’s portrait on Hogwarts staircases hundred of times during her stay in the castle and although she had known that she had been accused of being a witch, the story never had as much impact on her as it did now. The statue of the queen smiled at them serenely, her hand touching her signature necklace in a thoughtful manner. Hermione noticed that only one other person had stopped to observe her.

“I wonder why she didn’t save herself -- so many witches saved themselves from burning,” she wondered.

Severus shrugged. “She was quite high profile. Maybe she knew there was no way to really escape.”

They queued to see the Crown Jewels, but Severus seemed keen to move on after that, desperate to get away from the crowd.

Hermione flipped open the guidebook. “How about Highgate Cemetery? We can just hop on the tube -- it won’t take too long. And I think there’s supposed to be a vampire there?”

Severus shook his head. “We aren’t going near there. There were some inferi a few years back, and they’ve had trouble with them since. We’ll try again in a few years.” His nervous energy seemed to be returning. “Let’s just walk back toward the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a nice day.”

Hermione grabbed his hand and they meandered through the streets, twisting and turning, peering up at St. Paul’s as they passed, wandering up Fleet Street and through Middle Temple Gardens towards the river. Hermione checked her watch. The walk had only taken an hour and it was still the afternoon. “I don’t want to head to the Leaky just yet -- is there anywhere else you’d like to go?”

He shrugged lightly.

“Shall we go in the National Gallery?” she asked. “I read there’s a special wizarding section.”

He nodded in agreement, though he seemed a bit reluctant, and she led him to Trafalgar Square. “I don’t know how to access the wizarding bit, though…” she admitted as they approached the doors. “Does the book say anything?”

He consulted the guide. “No, nothing. We’ll still go in.”

Severus looked uncomfortable from the moment they stepped through the doors. Hermione wasn’t stupid -- she knew there were lots of families who couldn’t afford trips to France, holidays abroad, but walks, culture, trips to local manor houses, especially when they were so plentiful and so many of them free…

“Have you never been to a gallery before?” she asked.

He shook his head, looking embarrassed. “Just Hogwarts.”

“Come look -- this is my favorite,” she grabbed his hand and dragged him through the rooms until she spotted it. She pointed him toward a Holbein of two men standing at a table. “Isn’t it amazing?”

They walked around the painting, trying their best to find the perfect angle to see the skull.

“It’s just so odd that they don’t move,” he explained. “Of course I know they don’t in the muggle world, but...” he trailed off, becoming embarrassed.

“The artist has to depend on their skill to convey their message,” Hermione broke in. “The painting can’t explain it for them. I think that’s why some of the paintings at Hogwarts are so rubbish and some of the muggle ones are so amazing.”

He nodded, turning his attention back to the work. “Not everything muggles touch turns to rubbish,” he said quietly.

They stared at the painting for a few more minutes before moving on.

Snape gawked at each painting as though he were a starving man staring at food. Her comment about the differences between muggle and wizard artists seemed to have struck him.

They wandered through the rooms, admiring some of the portraits and comparing them to the ones hanging in the halls at Hogwarts when they overheard a couple behind them. “On loan to Gringott’s bank? Never even heard of it! What does a bank need a painting for?” a man said in an offended voice. Severus squeezed her hand and they turned nonchalantly, pretending to be studying a statue near the couple. They moved away, the wife promising her husband a cup of tea in the cafe, and there, tucked away behind some pillars, was an empty space with a sign explaining that the current artwork was on loan to Gringotts Bank.

“This must be it.” Severus hesitantly reached out to touch the sign, and, seeing his fingers move through the plaque and into the wall, looked around to make sure no one was watching and pulled Hermione through the wall with him.

They could have just as easily walked down another corridor -- the space they were in fit into the building comfortably. It reminded Hermione of the halls of Hogwarts, but there were portraits of both magical and non-magical subjects. All of them were moving in their frames, and it was almost as though each portrait was holding court. There were a surprising number of witches and wizards wandering through and if one portrait was alone for too long, began yelling at the patrons to look upon their portrait instead. One woman was telling a portrait of Henry VIII off, which caused him to stalk moodily out of his canvas and a member of staff to encourage the woman to move on so he would return.

In other rooms, there were paintings that commemorated the Goblin Wars and the discovery of the Philosopher’s Stone. They had the opportunity to see Arthur under Merlin’s tutelage and John Dee raising the dead. Each painting took a surprising amount of time to appraise -- each one was like watching a short film. They stayed until they were ushered out at closing time.

They walked back to Charing Cross Road, discussing their favorite parts of the day. Severus had booked for them to stay at the Leaky Cauldron, and, after having a meal downstairs, they climbed the stairs to room number seven.

It was cosy -- much like Harry’s room when he stayed just before the start of their third year. She could hear the buses and traffic from the London street on one side, and the bangs, whizzes and pops from the wizarding side of the building.

“I’m sorry it’s nothing grand --” he started.

“It’s perfect.”

There was tension in the room that wasn’t there when they first arrived. Severus picked up his rucksack and slowly began unpacking it. Hermione took his cue and did the same. When she finished, she sat on the bed and watched as he seemed to try to smooth out the same crease from a set of robes over and over.

Hermione flicked her wand at it and the crease disappeared. Severus finally turned his attention to her. He gave her an awkward smile, and she tried to return one that was much more confident.

“Sit next to me, Severus.” She patted the bed next to her, which he occupied shortly thereafter. “You know, we don’t have to do anything.”

He nodded, but leaned toward her.

It began slowly, tentatively. His kisses were hesitant, lingering. She let her fingers play in his hair, teasing his skin with her nails. It wasn’t long before there were lights extinguished, buttons undone, clothing shedded, and when it was over, there was a tangle of sheets and limbs. There was much more giggling and throaty laughs than Hermione expected throughout the whole ordeal.

But it was perfect.

“Thank Merlin we saw stuff today,” said Severus as he lazily ran his fingers over her bare shoulder. She could make out his silhouette from the light streaming in through the window. She was tucked into his chest. “I don’t think I want to leave the room now,” he confided.

Hermione placed a kiss on the underside of his chin. “I think we can do whatever we would like.”

“I would like to stay like this forever, I think. No school, no exams, no Daily Prophet to remind us of the world outside...” His words trailed off as Hermione placed more and more kisses along his jaw, down his throat, onto his chest.

They once again dissolved into gasps and soft moans and fell asleep in one another’s arms.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was back in Malfoy Manor. Someone was screaming -- it was her. She felt something tracing over her arm, and she looked down. The word “Mudblood” slowly appeared, the lines deep and jagged and pouring forth with blood. She could hear Bellatrix’s laugh somewhere behind her. She tried to pull her arm away from whatever was holding it, but she couldn’t move. The word grew deeper and deeper, and began to shine.

It wasn’t her arm that was shining, though -- there was light that was lifting her out of her dream.

“Hold still, Jean.” The voice morphed from Bellatrix’s and took on Severus’ deep tone. When she opened her eyes, it was him holding her wrist down, light emitting from his wand. It must have been sometime around dawn -- there was weak light permeating their curtains, shedding more light in the room than there had been the evening before.

“What are you doing?” She wrestled her arm away from him. She could hear the panic rising in her voice.

“I’m trying to help. Who did that to you?” His brow was furrowed with concern. His voice cracked with the question and he was shaking.

This was not how she expected to spend their first evening together -- or morning. She could hear the birds chirping through the windows. She clutched her arm to her chest, hiding the scar from him. “Nobody. It’s nothing.” How could she have been so stupid? In her haste and anticipation, she hadn’t thought of him finally seeing her unclothed. Of course he would -- how else do you go about doing it? She had so carefully concealed her arms and made sure they stayed covered at every opportunity over the past few years. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep in his arms afterward -- and naked, nonetheless!

She reached out and grabbed the shirt she had discarded the night before.

“No -- don’t.” he stopped her. “It’s clearly not nothing, Jean. I was just trying to heal it,” he pursed his lips in frustration at the situation.

“It can’t be healed. They’ve tried.”

“Well, clearly ‘they’ are incompetent dunderheads,” he alleged, his disgust with whoever “they” were evident in his tone.

Silence filled the room, but she could feel Severus bristling to ask more questions.

“It happened before I came here,” she explained.

“It’s a shame. I would hunt down and kill the bastards.” He reached out to grab her shirt and dropped it to the floor. He reached out to grab her arm once more, gently extending it toward him. He bent over it and kissed the scars gently. “And this here,” he ran his fingers gently along the scar on her chest.

Hermione settled herself against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His body was still tense with emotion.

“I wish I could tell you more, Severus. You will find out eventually. I will tell you. I just can’t right now.”

“Is this related to your bad dreams?” he asked, stroking her arm.

“Yes.”

His arm tightened around her. “I’m glad you have the Dreamless Sleep.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked, lifting her arm so it was in his sight once more, running her hand over it.

“The fact that you have it? Of course -- I just told you. It makes me angry --”

“No -- the fact that I’m not pureblood. I know you’ve never asked, but you must have known. Now you have your proof.”

He took a deep breath. “No. No -- it doesn’t matter. To me it doesn’t. My father is a muggle.” He explained a bit too forcefully.

“Do your friends ever ask you?”

“It doesn’t matter to them. I’ve proven myself worthy, just as you have.” He avoided her eyes as he said this. It obviously did matter -- why else would they call him “Prince” rather than “Snape”?

Hermione bit her tongue at a response. She was tired, she was emotional, and, as much as she wanted to argue with what he just said about being worthy, she knew she couldn’t. He had to keep on the path he was heading down.

“Shall we try to get back to sleep or do you want to go watch the sunrise?” he asked.

“Let’s get up,” she answered. “I can always nap later.”

They woke up and decided to walk through Covent Garden Market, watching the traders hawk their wares and ready their stalls for the day. They then walked down to the river where they breakfasted at a small cafe and watched the boats sail by.

They spent the next few days in relative bliss, only leaving the room to get food or try to expand their cultural experience, but they were both wrapped up in one another’s company and they were young and in love and enjoying every minute of it. They never spent more than a few hours out at a time, and, to Hermione’s embarrassment, Tom the barman wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at them every time they returned.

When it came time for them to separate and make their way back to their own lives, Severus home to Cokeworth and Hermione back to Hogwarts, it was clear that something had changed between them. Severus had a contemplative look in his eyes that kept Hermione from prying too much. Hermione was relieved he knew, though. She had always been so careful to censor any sort of muggle inclinations out of her explanations and conversation with him, and he reacted to the news far better than she had thought after all of Lily’s warnings.

Despite having been in his presence constantly for the past few days, Hermione missed his company when she once more returned to Hogwarts and waited for the new term to begin. It was nice having their escape from the world -- they didn’t have any sort of worry or headlines from the Daily Prophet reminding them of the world and the way things were progressing. She was immediately confronted with it when she returned. Dumbledore had sought her out almost immediately to confirm her safety. There had been an attack in muggle York. Unfortunately, he had vanished again before she had a chance to ask him any questions.

She was pleased when students began reappearing the day before the start of the new term, eager to see Severus. She had hoped that he would seek her out as soon as he arrived, but it was nearly dinner and she hadn’t heard anything from him at all. She eventually decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower to see everyone. Hermione could hear high-pitched squeals as she climbed the stairs to their dormitory, and when she opened the door she quickly discovered the source of the noise. It appeared as though Lily was holding some sort of court -- she was seated on her bed, and the other girls were arranged around her, each emitting different variations of high pitched noises in delight.

“Oh, Jean, wait until you see!” Sita gushed. “Show her, Lily.”

Hermione gave Lily a curious glance. “Show me what?”

Lily sheepishly held out her left hand toward Hermione. There, on her fourth finger was a ring that shone in the watery late afternoon sunshine. “James asked me to marry him,” she admitted shyly.

“Oh, that’s lovely! I’m glad -- really happy for you,” Hermione smiled. “It’s a really lovely ring as well.”

“Isn’t it? Rings aren’t usual wizard things, I know, but James knew it was a muggle thing and wanted to stick with some muggle traditions.”

If the girls were back, then that meant that a majority of the students would be back as well. Severus had to have appeared by now. Hermione decided to make her way down to dinner early, and just as she was coming down into the entrance hall, she saw Severus ascending the stone steps that she knew led to the Slytherin dormitories. His eyes landed on her almost instantly and a smile broke out across his face. Hermione nearly ran down the rest of the steps to meet him.

She wanted to hug him but he grabbed her hands and squeezed them before she could do anything. “Hello,” he smiled.

“Hello,” she replied.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispered, lowering his head to hers and squeezing her hands.

“Severus, I…” She had so many thoughts fill her head of things she wanted to say to him, but the image of the ring on Lily’s hand jumped into her head immediately. She paused. “I need to speak with you later.” There was a hum of voices that was growing consistently louded. “In your lab after dinner?” she asked.

He nodded, his brow beginning to furrow with concern.

She leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before they headed into the Great Hall and parted toward their respective house tables.

Hermione watched him all through dinner and he kept watching her as well. She was surprised that his attention was not drawn to the loud conversation taking place a few feet away from her: various people giving James a slap of congratulations on his back and Lily kisses. After finishing off a few spoonfuls of trifle, she saw him get up and make his way out of the Great Hall, pausing at the entrance, to make sure she had spotted him.

“Go ahead,” Remus motioned with his head towards the door. “Better he hears it from you than someone else.”

She gave Remus’ hand a quick squeeze before jumping up and running up the stairs that would lead to Severus’ private potions lab.

When she entered, he was seated on the couch, his thin form rigid and tense. “Are you going to let me down gently?” he asked,” Or just get it over with?”

“What?” she asked. How could his demeanor change so much in just an hour?

He refused to meet her eyes, his jaw was stiff.

“Just get it over with, then.”

“Severus, what are you talking about?”

“You dumping me, telling me it’s not working, that we should just be friends.” He waved his arm around as though it should be obvious.

Her heart dropped.

“Oh -- Sev -- is that what you thought?” she nearly ran to the couch and threw herself down next to him. He winced and was hesitant to look at her.

“Isn’t it normal to assume the worst if someone says they need to talk?” he asked.

“Dear God, Severus, I hope you have a higher opinion of me than that.” She grabbed his hand. “I wouldn’t have given myself to you if I was going to end it. I don’t play games like that.”

He visibly relaxed, easing into the cushion behind him. “Oh, thank Merlin,” he sighed finally meeting her eyes. “I was afraid that one of the best moments of my life was about to become one of the worst.”

They sat in silence for a few moments but something about his demeanor still didn’t sit right with her. “Are you alright, Severus?” she asked.

He hesitated in his answer. “I have some injuries. Would you be able to assist me in applying some salve?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, of course -- why didn’t you ask me sooner? What happened?” If James Potter and Sirius Black had done something…

“My father found out that I’d been to London,” he explained. “I accidently dropped my ticket to the Tower.”

“Go on…” she urged.

“I was at the top of stairs when the argument started and the bottom of the stairs when it was finished,” he explained. He motioned for her to give him some space and gingerly removed his robes. She understood what he meant. He was covered in bruises and from the wince he gave as she ran her hands over his abdomen, had at least one fractured rib.

“Oh, Severus -- but surely someone -- your mum?”

He shook his head, his face hard.

“My mother healed my face so the neighbors wouldn’t talk,” he explained.

“But what about everything else?” she asked. “Didn’t she even…?”

“My father wouldn’t let her.”

Hermione’s anger surged through her. How dare they -- how dare they! If she ever ran into either of them, Merlin help them…

She lifted her wand to his rib and muttered a spell and then rose to gather some salve from his stores. She rubbed it gently on the various cuts and bruises that covered his torso. A majority were on his back which explained his difficulty in healing them himself. They faded within moments. “Better?”

He nodded, lifting his arms above his head and stretching. “Much. I can do this now.” He put an arm around her and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head.

“Forgive me for earlier. I hope you understand that considering this, it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, what did we need to speak about?”

Hermione pulled away from him slightly and looked into his eyes. After what he just said, she really didn’t want to have this conversation with him, but she knew it would be better to get it out of the way now.“I know I’ve spoken to you about Lily Evans before, and you’ve let me know your history together.”

“Yes…” he agreed, his eyes searching her face.

“I just wanted you to know that Lily and James Potter are engaged to be married.”

“Oh,” she could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed him. “Is that all?”

“Well, yes.”

Severus shrugged but they sat in silence. Hermione wanted to urge him to speak but bit her lip to hold back her words.

Severus kept rolling his wand from hand to hand.

He finally took a deep breath to speak. “You know -- you know I like you, right?” he asked. “I don’t -- Lily’s just --” he struggled to find the words to explain but Hermione understood completely. It would be as though Ron was getting married without telling her. She would be hurt. And she knew now that their relationship would be forever changed when she returned, she having moved on with Snape, and he… well…

“I just didn’t want -- I don’t want you to think that you are second best or that I’m only with you because I couldn’t be with her. It’s not like that --” Severus struggled to explain.

“I know --”

“Jean, I didn’t think that I could possibly ever have feelings for anyone after Lily.”

“Severus, you don’t have to explain.”

“But I don’t want you to think -- Potter said --”

Hermione leaned up and kissed him, cutting him off. “I wouldn’t have spent the holiday with you if I thought you were in love with someone else,” she said when she withdrew.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I was.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I think that’s the most you’ve spoken to me about your parents -- or your home -- in, well… ever.”

“What can I say?” he asked. “My dad’s a muggle and hates magic. My parents argue too much to give any sort of impression of being happy. We don’t do much. I spend most of my time at home confined to my room. I won’t be there much longer. That’s part of the reason I went -- to pack.”

“Oh, Severus -- I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I only plan on going there one more time, and then I’ll be free.”

Her heart hurt for him, and she was suddenly hit with a wave of appreciation for her own parents.

“Don’t worry -- we’ll make up for it,” she said. “What do you think of Blackpool? Looking for fossils in Lyme Regis?”

“Will it involve you in swimwear?” he asked, reaching up to play with the collar of her shirt.

She giggled.

“Oh, I nearly forgot --” he rose and pulled something from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. The object in his hand grew until he needed to set it on the floor. It was a green plush stool, most likely taken from his common room. “I borrowed this.” He made a complicated movement with his wand and it grew large enough for both of them to lounge on.

She raised an eyebrow at him, covering her mouth to hide her amusement.

“It’s more comfortable than the couch. It’s not like I can sneak you into my dormitory,” he continued, sitting on the transfigured stool to prove its comfort. “But -- we don’t have to --”

She climbed onto his lap, pushing him down onto the cushion. “Just make sure the door is warded,” she whispered, smiling when she felt his wand make a movement at the door before hearing it drop on the stone floor.

Chapter Text

May arrived particularly somber: Voldemort and his followers had made an aggressively large move at a music festival that had injured a large number of people and left the wizarding world exposed to hundreds, if not thousands. It was all anyone could talk about at breakfast the morning after it happened, and by the afternoon, Minister of Magic Minchum had gained his approval to have dementors installed around the country. The students were issued with a warning to not wander too close to the castle boundaries as the dementors stationed in Hogsmeade were liable to get curious. Two boys had already been issued with detentions for flying just a bit too high and too close to the edges of the Quidditch pitch, but the damage had already been done: they could confirm that the village was now playing host to at least a handful of dementors. Hermione heard that Remus had taken the lead on the Gryffindor defense lessons and was doing his best to teach the Patronus charm, though it was a bit difficult to do so when he couldn’t consistently produce one himself.

She had toyed with the idea of offering to help, but thought it best to stay out of the way of James and Sirius. They seemed to be under relative control, especially James. She didn’t know if it was her threat, or the external guidance of Dumbledore, Remus and Lily, but other than an incident where one of the seventh year girls’ hair was transfigured into snakes, he had been relatively well behaved over the past few months.

The topic was still fresh in Hermione’s mind when she and Severus were sitting in his lab later, letting some spot clearing potions brew. She found she could no longer ignore his associations -- there had been too many instances now where he had been pulled away by a conversation with one or two other Slytherins and something unpleasant happened afterwards. Random targeting of individuals had begun to rise in the corridors of the school once more, and she was fairly certain that he was behind the toenail growing hex that was becoming popular. She had just about rehearsed the right way to start the conversation with him when she was distracted by him pulling a rather impressive looking embossed text out of his satchel.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

“I’m curious about variations for that potion -- I’ve adjusted potions before, of course, but not necessarily created a new one by altering established recipes,” he responded, flipping the tome open to a previous spot he had marked.

She leaned in next to him to get a good look at the text. Despite the new looking cover, the interior was rather old and moldy looking. “Where did you get that?” It didn’t look like anything she’d seen on the shelves before, and the illustrations were a bit odd. They had a surrealist lean to them that made her feel uncomfortable when her eyes ran over them.

“Slughorn wrote me a note for the restricted section. You’re not the only one with unrestricted access now -- I don’t have to wait for you to do some research of my own.” She had known that he was growing a bit impatient with her on some days, anxiously waiting for her in the library with a list of books he was waiting for her to request. She had appreciated his enthusiasm, but did not think that he would take the step to request a permission slip of his own.

She was immediately annoyed. No, no -- he shouldn’t be doing his own research into her potion. She needed him to keep researching into antivenoms. What had she done? He would forget all about it now. Her warnings would be completely undone -- how would he remember what she needed him to do now?

“What about your research into antivenoms?”

He shrugged. “I’m doing a bit here and there.” he gestured towards the edge of his brewing station where a few potions had been bottled.

Ah, that was it -- he had probably exhausted his resources and had grown bored with it. He needed something a little bit more difficult.

“Should I provide you with a challenge on that?”

He sighed but raised an eyebrow at her. “Go on.”

“I’m going to compound the problem. Imagine the properties of the venom refuse healing -- of course they would --” she added at his eyeroll, “but imagine the poison keeps the wound open, despite all magical healing, despite muggle healing, despite everything, and the individual has to be given blood replenishing potions every hour to help counter the damage the wound has done.”

“You’re getting very specific, Jean.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I know.”

But his interest seemed piqued. He was tapping the text in a thoughtful manner but he gathered himself a moment later. “I still don’t understand why you haven’t worked on this yourself.”

“It’s too fresh.” But the truth was, she couldn’t. She wasn’t a potions expert, and she would never know Nagini intimately enough to figure out how to counter its venom.

He nodded and picked up his dictaquill, running the feather over his lips in thought. “That means the venom must have had some sort of impervius charm in it.” He grabbed some parchment and pulled it toward him, making some notes.

Hermione nodded satisfactorily and swallowed back her rehearsed words. There was no point in bringing such a touchy conversation up now if he was doing what she wanted him to do.

Her next meeting with Dumbledore occurred a week later, and it was shorter than she would have liked. In the past, they had chatted easily about all manner of things, but now he was very to-the-point. He simply informed her that Healer Potts had not found a suitable subject as of yet, though he hoped she was still progressing well with the potion, and she was. She and Severus had finished brewing another variation of the potion that brought forth memories connected with laughter, and when they had taken it -- or rather, when Severus had taken it -- she heard him truly laugh for the first time. It was rich and deep and the sound filled her with warmth and she wanted nothing more in her life to make him laugh like that once more. It made her heart ache that his life had not been full of it.

Dumbledore had bid her goodnight and turned his attention to a small set of phials near him but Hermione delayed her rising. “Sir, may I ask…” Hermione took a deep breath and waited for his attention to be focused on her again before she continued. “When Healer Potts was here, you mentioned that she had to keep my research secret because it would be a danger to my life. Is there something I should be aware of?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely at her. “There is nothing more grave in a vow than to impress upon the seriousness of the situation with a threat of death.”

Hermione nodded at his answer, but couldn’t help feeling that there was something that he was not including. She pursed her lips in an effort to hold her questions back. “Goodnight, Headmaster,” she nodded.

“Goodnight, Miss Granger.”

By the middle of the month, Lily was driving everyone in Gryffindor tower -- especially their dormitory -- insane. There were fabric and color swatches spread over every available surface in their room, invitation templates, seating charts, and Hermione could see that Lily was beginning to stress herself out as well. Blemishes began to appear in the girl’s usually immaculate appearance. She had appeared at breakfast that morning having forgotten to brush her hair and with the knot of her tie ridiculously crooked. Mary had rectified both quickly when she sat down next to her, but not before Sirius got a quick quip in that caused Lily to break out into tears.

Hermione didn’t see her in any of their classes that day, and when she returned to the dormitory that afternoon, found Lily seated in the middle of her bed, muggle wedding magazines open around her alongside brochures for venues and catering facilities. Her hair was once again a mess and reminded Hermione of her own unruly tresses. She silently thanked Severus for supplying her with the ribbons -- they had helped so much in the past few months.

“Lily -- NEWTS are coming up -- shouldn’t you be concentrating on those rather than wedding plans?” Hermione asked, moving a pile of sample invitations off of her trunk so she could set down her satchel. Paper butterflies rose from them and fluttered around the room, dancing in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

“Yes, but -- I think I’m doing okay. It’s just that James would like the wedding to be over the summer because of his parents, and that means that I need to get everything settled now, and he’s just given me a list of everyone on his side of the family that will need an invite --”

“Oh, has he?” Hermione cut her off, but it didn’t do any good. Lily just continued.

“Yes -- and that’s about one hundred people but --”

“So why isn’t James helping with this, then? Isn’t it about the two of you -- not just you?”

Lily sighed, throwing a seating plan aside and gesturing toward the window. “He has Quidditch practice.”

Hermione gave a derisive snort.

“You’re absolutely right -- I know his family want to help, but his mum has been so focused on caring for his dad that I don’t want to add to her stress --”

“But what do you want, Lily? When you envisioned getting married, what did you want?”

“Not one hundred guests just on one side,” Lily scoffed. She thought for a few moments. “There’s a place on the coast where my parents used to take us on holidays, and there are some lovely cliffside walks that overlook the sea. I always thought it would be a pretty setting for a wedding, just at sunset, of course if the weather were nice.”

“I think that’s what you should do then, personally. Do you really need all this other stuff?” Hermione gestured to the pile of magazines and fabric swatches.

“But James --”

“Sod James. He’s not here going through color schemes and invitations. They don’t matter to him. If they did, he would have an opinion about --” Hermione lifted a color scheme to examine it “-- duck egg blue alongside tiger orange.”

“I just don’t want to let his parents down -- they’re so lovely and James showed me photos from their wedding -- it was a massive society event. The Minister of Magic even showed up. I just want to meet their expectations,” explained Lily.

“Well, their expectations can’t be very high right now, can they? There’s a war on. Did you see the paper last week? Some of You-Know-Who’s followers crashed a wedding and killed half the wedding party, just because it was between a muggle and a witch.”

Lily observed the chaos around her. “You’re right, of course. It should be small and private -- it’s what I’ve always wanted anyway.” She grabbed her wand and flicked it. A massive swarm of papers and fabric and ribbons rose and tidied themselves into a neat stack on her bed. Hermione was struck by how bare the room suddenly seemed.

“You can do what you want, but that’s what I think,” Hermione reiterated.

“You’re right though. All this,” she picked up the stack. “It’s not what I’ve wanted at all and it’s just been causing me stress. I haven’t been revising as hard as I could be, and it’ll be a weight off my shoulders if I just put it away.” She rose from her bed and dropped it into her trunk. “Done.”

Hermione was surprised that Lily’s next move was to turn and give her a hug.

“I know there are some things we don’t agree on, but I can’t deny that you’re sensible and you care. Thank you.”

Hermione returned the hug. “If James gives you any trouble, just send him my way.”

Lily laughed and wiped away a small tear. “I think he’s been a bit frightened of you since the bird incident in the hospital wing.”

They laughed. The incident in the corridor had definitely not been relayed to her.

“And Jean?”

“Hm?”

“I hope I can return the same favor for you someday.”

She gave Lily a soft smile and nodded. “You’ll owe me two favors -- I have notes from all the classes you missed today.”

Lily gaped at her for a moment. “It’s not Wednesday…?”

Hermione shook her head slowly as Lily realised her mistake and let out a growl of frustration. “Definitely no more of this. Thank you again.”

Hermione nodded and left to attend to her workroom. She was pleased the next day to see a study schedule tacked next to her bed and another peeking out of Lily’s satchel. James appeared to have had some of the wind knocked out of his sails and was clutching his own.

It was difficult to concentrate on revision, though, with horrible news hitting the tables every morning. Voldemort seemed to have capitalised on the chaos and confusion caused by his attack at the music festival, because there was another attack at a Muggle campsite in Cornwall by werewolves that he had obviously orchestrated. The picture in the Daily Prophet showed the Dark Mark glittering above ripped tents and caravans with their doors ripped off their hinges. Hermione kept seeing Bartemius Crouch’s name more and more in the Daily Prophet and wasn’t surprised when she saw him named the head of Magical Law Enforcement that same day. Sirius had said that his rise to power had been swift.

She had been incredibly upset by the news about the campsite-- it was one that her own parents had taken her to when she was a child, and it weighed heavily on her even as she sat with Severus in his workroom. They did their best to avoid the headlines that splashed the front pages of the Daily Prophet, but she couldn’t keep silent any longer.

“You’re planning on joining Voldemort,” It was a statement rather than a question. This was not how she rehearsed having this conversation, but it was an opener all the same.

There was a sudden tension in the room and Severus went deadly still. He had been fiddling with the toy mouse she had gotten him for Christmas, waiting for a potion to simmer, but he suddenly discarded it on the couch next to him. He avoided her gaze. “If I am?”

“I don’t see what he possibly has to offer you. You’re a half-blood, so you can’t necessarily agree with blood purity. Your friends have included Muggleborns. I’m one. What could possibly be the draw?”

Hermione almost thought he wasn’t going to answer when he drew in a long breath.

“Power,” he sighed. “Protection.”

“For who? Yourself?”

He jumped from his seat next to her and began to pace the room.

“You don’t understand. You wouldn’t -- I’ve lived almost my whole life feeling powerless -- weak. My father,” he allowed his voice to trail off for a moment. “He wasn’t a kind man, Jean, and there was very little I could do to protect my mother. You saw what happened over the holidays and that -- that wasn’t even a taste of what I grew up with!” He drew in another deep breath, turning to her and pointing in an accusatory manner towards the door. “And stupid Black and Potter decided to make my life a living hell from the moment they laid eyes on me. Always seeking me out to humiliate me and bully me and…” his voice caught in his throat. He seemed to come to himself and folded his arms across his chest, fixing her with his gaze once more. “I have had very few bright spots in my life. You have been one of them, and I want to protect that. I will do whatever I can to protect that, even if it means keeping company with some people I don’t like, and I sure as hell am going to stay as far away from Black and Potter as I can.”

Hermione knew he would join, and he would beg, and when everything fell apart, he would understand how thin the promises of mad men were. She had known all along that this would happen -- that was the tragedy of his story.

“But why not Dumbledore?” Hermione asked, leaning toward him from her reclined position. “You know that he’s working against him, and you know he’s working for the protection of everybody. Did you see that he tried to argue for a lesser sentence for Michael Gibson?”

Snape scoffed, nearly spitted at her suggestion, dropping his arms to his sides and clenching his fists. “Dumbledore? What has Dumbledore ever done for me? Do you know that when Potter and Black nearly killed me -- do you know what Dumbledore did? Let them off! I’m the one who suffered for it! I’m the one who was bound not to speak of the circumstances, who was threatened with expulsion if --” he was panting now with the rising volume of his voice. His words were getting more and more erratic. He took a moment to calm himself before he began again. “Albus Dumbledore has never offered me anything. He has only made it easier for others to take their hatred out on me. If he had been an honest man, if he had been a kind, upstanding man, he would have squashed Black and Potter’s bullying of me the moment it started. Damn Albus Dumbledore and the people he holds dear.”

Hermione watched a bead of sweat make a trail from Severus’ temple to his jawline. His breathing had only started to slow, and she could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She waited for it to relax before she answered. “I think Albus Dumbledore is a man who has made many mistakes -- and he has been negligent in his treatment of you, I am not denying that -- but I trust him to provide us with the best future.”

They were quiet for a time. Hermione fought herself not to argue and plead with him -- he had to do it, he had to join Voldemort. Now that they were finally having this conversation she found it difficult to hold back and remember that despite her meddling, it was the path he was going to take.

He took his seat next to her once more. “Please let me do things my way, Jean.” he pleaded quietly with her. “Please.” His words carried more weight than just that request. She heard ‘please don’t leave me’, ‘please continue to love me’ and couldn’t help but reach for his hand to give him a reassuring squeeze.

Hermione took a deep breath before she spoke. “I won’t go with you, Severus, but I won’t go against you. I understand you, but I will urge you -- earnestly -- if there ever comes a time where you no longer want to do it, no longer believe in the cause and feel as though you have nowhere to turn -- look to Dumbledore.”

He was silent. She glanced at him, but he was staring blankly ahead. The only movement she could detect was the rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she added.

His grip on her hand tightened. “But you will stay with me.” It was a question more than a statement.

“Yes.”

His whole body seemed to exhale at her answer.

“You will remember what I said?” she asked.

“Yes.” he nodded. “But I don’t want you to worry -- you will be safe. I’ve been promised -- I promise.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head.

Hermione didn’t respond but sat silently with him until it was time for them to return to their dormitories.

With the weight of her conversation with Severus playing on her mind, and the pressure of their final few classes and studying for their NEWTS, Hermione had almost forgotten that she was waiting on a letter from Healer Potts until an owl landed in front of her at breakfast one morning. She had assumed it would be a letter from Dumbledore cancelling their next meeting, and was pleased to read instead

Dear Miss Granger,

Our presence is requested this evening by Healer Potts. Please meet me in the entrance hall at seven P.M.

AD

She couldn’t help the grin that broke onto her face. When she looked up at the head table, Dumbledore gave her a wink and she returned the gesture with a nod.

“I won’t be around this evening,” she whispered to Snape on their way to Potions.

“What? Why?” She was surprised at his reaction. He actually stopped walking and turned to her. She cast a quick muffliato.

“Dumbledore’s taking me to St. Mungo’s. They’re interested in the potion.”

His eyes darkened. “What about me?”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. In all her time with Dumbledore, she hadn’t once mentioned that Snape had helped her develop the potion. She had a feeling that the headmaster had suspected it, but she had never outright said that she had had assistance from him. She felt terrible -- she never meant to take full credit for their work, but in her attempt to keep her relationship with Severus private, she had inadvertently done so -- and she certainly wasn’t helping him develop a trust in Dumbledore.

“Oh, Merlin, Severus -- I was so excited, I didn’t even think -- I will speak to him. I promise.”

He pursed his lips in annoyance and they took off walking once more.

He acted normal throughout the class, but she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was still unhappy. When they turned in their potions at the end of class, Severus’ looking just slightly more perfect than everybody else’s, she gave his arm a quick squeeze and began making her way upstairs.

The walk to Dumbledore’s office felt as though she were heading to the execution scaffold. She had no idea how Dumbledore would react when she told him, but she needed to for Severus’ sake. As she rode the steps to the top of the landing, she kept trying to rehearse an answer for every possible reaction he could have. She heard voices coming from inside the office -- Phineas Nigellus’ distinctive one among them -- but didn’t hesitate to knock.

“Yes, come in,” he answered. The accompanying voices ceased.

When Hermione opened the door and peered inside, Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“Hello, Miss Granger. Is there something wrong?”

She stood in front of his desk and took a deep breath before she answered, spouting forth an explanation she had rehearsed the whole walk up. “Professor Dumbledore, I must first apologize. I need to confess that I did not entirely come up with this potion on my own. I’ve had the help of another student --”

“Would this be Mister Snape, by any chance?” he interrupted. She could see Phineas Nigellus nodding proudly behind him.

Hermione nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes, and I’ve told him that we’re going to test it at St. Mungo’s and I think as he helped develop it that he should be able to see the outcome of the results as well.”

Dumbledore contemplated her over his steepled fingers. “I had suspected as much. I am afraid that will not be possible to arra --”

Hermione had dreaded that response and couldn’t help her outburst. “But he deserves to see it through to the end just as much as I do!”

“Severus Snape is not --” he began but she interrupted him once more.

“Severus Snape will --” her words were cut short by her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Dumbledore’s wand lit up.

“Miss Granger --”

It was only a moment before her tongue became unstuck and Hermione surged on with her argument. “Severus Snape is one of the most brilliant minds when it comes to potions -- he’s going --” Her tongue quickly stuck to the roof of her mouth once more. Some of the portraits gasped at her arguing with the headmaster. She heard some distinct tutting noises from somewhere to her left. But she needed him to know -- she needed to make Dumbledore understand that he needed to offer this olive branch, he needed to make this reparation if he wanted any part of Severus Snape to trust him enough to turn to him in the future.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. “I have long suspected that he is the reason for your visit. And though I feel that should comfort me, I am afraid that it does not when I see the path that he is trodding.”

Hermione opened her mouth, testing her ability to speak. “He wants to do good. And though I cannot say more, I ask you to please trust me on this. You had enough faith in me to help me come back here, and I ask you to have that faith in yourself and your decision to do so.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “I will allow it. He will be expected to keep his silence on these ventures, though. I do not want or need this visit to get back to the Board of Governors or anybody else. It would be just as harmful for me as yourself.”

“I understand. I trust Severus Snape. He will be silent.”

When she left Dumbledore’s office, she went immediately to Snape’s lab where she knew he would be filling orders and preparing ingredients for Slughorn.

The door yielded to her touch and she saw him not at his brewing table or before any ingredients, but seated on the couch reading through an ancient looking text.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said.

“I’ve gotten permission for you to come along,” she answered, sitting down next to him.

“You shouldn’t be doing things for me.”

“I wanted to. You were right -- you’ve had a massive influence on the creation of the potion and you deserve to see it through. I spoke to Dumbledore and set things right about it and he knows now, so you’re free to come along.”

“I don’t want it out of pity -- his or yours.” Gods, he was in a strop. He didn’t get in one often, but he was a miserable git when he did.

“Merlin, Severus -- you’re so infuriating sometimes! I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ve done it to right a wrong and to set it straight! You deserve full recognition for what you’ve done and I was appalled at my own behavior for not letting it be known. If there is anyone to be upset at, it’s me. I’m the one who neglected to say anything.”

This seemed to satisfy him. He set the tome aside. “Where am I meeting you?”

“In the entrance hall at seven. You’re to be quiet about it as well -- no telling anyone we’re leaving, and nothing about what happens while we’re there.”

“Of course,” he looked at the clock he had affixed to the wall. “We have a few hours. What shall we do until then?”

“Well, I’d like to get my notes together and double check the phials. And then I need to make sure that I finished my Defense homework…” she trailed off at seeing Severus raise his eyebrow. “Or I can just remind myself that I’ve done all that earlier today and spend time with my brilliant boyfriend.”

His face brightened once more, all traces of his indignation melted away.

They parted ways briefly that evening to have a quick dinner and gather their cloaks and testing supplies before they quickly reconvened in the entrance hall to wait for Dumbledore.

Dumbledore came from the direction of the dungeons, surprising them both. They had expected him to come from the Great Hall considering dinner was nearly over.

“Oh, lovely. If you please join me,” they moved toward him and he touched his wand to each of their heads. Hermione felt cold trickle down her scalp, her back, and slowly down over her whole body. When she looked at her hands, she found she could only see the stone flagon flooring.

“A precautionary measure. It wouldn’t do to have someone see you leave the grounds while everyone else is banned from leaving site.”

“Agreed,” came Snape’s voice from somewhere to her left. Dumbledore nodded satisfactorily.

They exited the front doors and Hermione reached out towards where she thought Severus might be. She got a handful of cloak, but after a moment felt his fingers close around hers. They walked in silence to the sound of the gravel crunching beneath their shoes.

“You can apparate, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked as they neared the front gates.

“Of course.”

“And I believe you passed your test last year, Mr. Snape?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Good. Do we all know where we are heading?”

“The foyer of St. Mungo’s.” Hermione confirmed.

“Exactly. I will see you there in a moment. Oh --” he tapped his wand to their heads once more. Hermione felt suddenly embarrassed, very aware of her hand in Severus’. Dumbledore had been able to see them the whole time.

“One, two,” and on three, he turned into a swirl of butter yellow and silver and disappeared with a pop.

Snape nodded at her to go first, and with a twist she found herself in the marble foyer, Snape apparating a few feet from her seconds after. His hand quickly went to smooth his hair.

“Excellent -- well done. And here is Healer Potts to greet us, just on time.” Dumbledore brushed undetectable dust from his robes before he gestured to the stout woman waiting for them.

As they approached, Healer Potts gave Severus a suspicious look. “What’s this?” she asked Dumbledore.

“Another creator of the potion. Miss Granger insisted he come along.”

Severus drew himself up to his full height and met the older woman’s eyes -- there were no slumped shoulders or bowed heads here. Healer Potts looked very much as though she were doing a military inspection of him.

“Very well then. Come on.” She said finally in a clipped tone.

They made their way to the Janus Thickey ward where there was a curtain pulled tightly around a bed at the far end of the ward. Healer Potts motioned them into it.

A man was seated on the bed flipping happily through an annual. “Oh, hello,” he greeted them, his slightly too-long hair bounced around his ears as he nodded at them in greeting. His round face showed genuine delight at their appearance.

“Hello, Graham,” greeted Healer Potts. “Are you having a nice day?”

“Yes, yes,” he replied, holding his annual out to her. “Look what Cindy brought me. Pictures of all my family. I’ll be seeing them next week, you know.”

Hermione could see pages of Beano comics.

“Oh, they look lovely, don’t they?” Dumbledore leaned down to have a closer look at the comic. “This one here is my favorite,” he said pointing to a panel.

Graham clutched the annual to his chest in pleasure as he met Dumbledore’s eyes. “Mine too!”

Healer Potts motioned for them to exit the curtain.

“That was Graham. He is a warden of the ministry. He came to us about a month ago. We’re not sure exactly who he was or how his memory became scrambled, but no one has come forth to claim him as of yet, and legilimency hasn’t helped. I feel that your trial could help illuminate some of that information for us.”

“Yes, that would be most interesting,” agreed Dumbledore.

Hermione pulled the phials from a small bag she had brought. Severus pulled out his notebook and dictaquill. They walked back through the curtain.

“Oh, hello,” Graham greeted them once more. He held the Beano annual out to them. “Would you like to see my photo album?”

“We have a treat for you, Graham -- something nice.” Healer Potts seated herself on the bed next to him. He looked at her curiously. “This nice young lady is going to give you something, but we’re going to ask you a few questions about it. Do you understand?”

Graham nodded enthusiastically and held his hands out toward Hermione.

Snape’s notebook was floating in the air beside him, his dictaquill moving along the page quickly while Snape mouthed wordlessly beside them. When Graham’s attention became distracted by him, he stopped and nodded at him before covering his mouth and resuming his silent dictation.

“Graham, if you could please tell us what you smell from the potion, that would be most helpful.” Hermione uncorked the vial for him and held it out to him. He took it and lifted it to his nose.

“Lemon! Did I get that right?”

“Yes, excellent. Now, if you don’t mind drinking it and telling us how it makes you feel --” Hermione encouraged him to drink it back, and he did so enthusiastically.

“What does it make you think of?” Snape added.

“Lemon meringue pie! Why is that boy calling me Stephen?” he looked at Healer Potts.

Dumbledore and Healer Potts exchanged looks. “I can search records for a Stephen,” he offered.

Healer Potts nodded thankfully. “Shall we try another?” she asked.

Hermione looked to Severus. “We’ve never tried it more than once at a time before.”

“We’ve never had need to. We can’t have someone keep taking this until they regain all their memories -- there’s a disconnect, for one, and two, they will reach a point of overdose,” he explained.

“What do you think, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore prompted her.

Hermione ran some quick calculations in her head. “I think we can try three doses without ill effect. Is that what you got, Severus?”

The dictaquill and notebook were in his hands now, flying over the page. “I have four, but that is absolutely pushing it with the fresh ingredients. Three is safer, although you will want to give him a standard calming draught afterward. The mistletoe berries will have caused his heart rate to rise alongside whatever stress he may be feeling from the memory retrieval.”

Healer Potts nodded at him. “Excellent appraisal, boy.” Severus nodded at her and gestured for Hermione to hand Graham -- no, Stephen -- another vial. “Please tell us what this makes you think of.”

Stephen smelled it obediently. “Roast dinner!” he replied, and drank it down. He squinted at Professor Dumbledore. “Professor! How did you get here so quickly? And how did your beard get so long!”

“So pleased you know me!” Dumbledore smiled at him, stroking his beard now that attention had been called to it. “I’m sorry, I have trouble recalling your name -- you are?”

“I’m Graham! Pleased to meet you!” Stephen nodded enthusiastically and held his hand out to Dumbledore.

Severus gave a small sigh that spoke his exasperation at the situation. They exited the curtain that shielded Stephen.

“I suppose it’s difficult when we don’t know exactly what happened. If it was a spell backfiring, or obliviate damage or something else entirely -- this potion won’t repair that damage, just look for the memories to help give us clues to who he was before his accident.” Hermione reached out to him reassuringly.

“You two have done more than we’ve been able to in the last month,” Healer Potts encouraged. “I would like you to keep me updated on your progress.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” jumped in Dumbledore. “I am very impressed by the both of you. And you, Mister Snape, Professor Slughorn always brags about your abilities, but it has been a pleasure to see you work in person.” He gave Snape a very intense look. Hermione said a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening that Snape took note of Dumbledore’s praise.

Snape was eying the Headmaster curiously.

“Well, if that’s all --” Healer Potts began to direct them back down towards the foyer, but Hermione stopped.

“Healer Potts, something I would like to ask -- I was shown the potions recipes with my last visit and saw that they contain Rivers of Lethe. My colleague,” she gestured to Severus who stood a little straighter at the mention “found a mention of a trial of this in a potions journal published about ten years ago, but nothing further. Has St. Mungo’s expanded on this research themselves, or are you practicing from the theoretical research?”

Healer Potts looked a bit taken aback by their question. Dumbledore had an eyebrow raised but had popped a sweet into his mouth and appeared very interested in the memos winging their way through the corridors.

Severus opened his notebook and cleared his throat. “It was recorded as being tested to help patients forget traumatic events and spell damage alongside healing them. In those cases, it would work as the potion would be working on the physical, and that particular ingredient would work on the mental. However, it was noted that though it tested successfully in older wizards in homes to help them forget they were in care -- I’m not sure applying it broadly as has been done here by the looks of it is the best course of action. I would recommend diluted swooping evil venom with powdered knarl quills administered approximately half an hour after treatment if that is the goal you are trying to achieve.”

Healer Potts’ mouth was pursed into a thin line, but Severus met her eyes boldly. “And this is related to the work you two are doing?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but Severus’ clipped voice broke in from beside her.

“I do independent work of my own under the guidance of my potions professor.”

Healer Potts looked to Dumbledore. “Severus is one of our more gifted students,” he agreed.

“I’ll look into it,” replied Healer Potts. “I didn’t expect an interrogation from this.” She directed at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had a surprisingly innocent look on his face.

They left, Dumbledore casting the spell to make this disappear once more. Hermione didn’t dare hold Snape’s hand as they walked back up to the castle, and when they reached the entrance hall at Hogwarts, he made them reappear once more. Dumbledore could tell they both were itching to continue their research and threatened them both with having their heads of house check their beds.

“I spoke with Professor Slughorn earlier this evening, Mister Snape. He will be expecting you to report in to him your safe arrival. And you, Miss Granger -- I believe that Professor McGonagall would be most displeased to find one of her students out of bed after curfew. You’ve both done very well -- but concentrate on your NEWTS for now, please.”

They both nodded and with a look of farewell towards one another, took off in their opposite directions.

Hermione spent that evening with her mind turning over everything she had done for the past two years -- two years to finally bring about some sort of solution that would lead to a permanent recovery of memories. It wasn’t perfect yet, but she could tell that there was something special about this potion in particular. While she would normally be annoyed that it had taken her so long, she had to admit that she was enjoying the journey. If she had never come back here, she never would have connected with Severus -- and no, that wasn’t in her original plans, and no, she never thought when she travelled back here that she would develop feelings for him, but how could she not when he seemed to fulfill everything she wanted from a relationship?

And, though Dumbledore hadn’t remarked on it, she still felt slightly uneasy about his knowing about her and Severus’ relationship. If the confirmation that they had worked together on the potion didn’t explicitly say they were romantically involved, their easiness with each other and the brief touches they shared that evening definitely did. She knew that some of the professors were aware of the attachment between them, but she had never thought that the news would get back to the Headmaster.

She and Severus once again dove into revising for their NEWTS. With only a week to go before they started, the sitting area of Severus’ lab had now been transformed into an area for them to practice the various spells they expected to come up. Hermione’s workroom almost felt vacated every time she went in to look after the mice, and she felt that they were feeling their absence as well -- they ran to the edge of the cage every time she and Severus appeared. Hermione felt guilty at this and tried to remember to bring little bits of apple more often.

Severus was beginning to look a bit sickly as well -- the yellowish undertone reappeared in his skin and he developed dark circles under his eyes. His hair was more lank and greasy than usual. Hermione had a word with Dobo to take him sandwiches when she was not with him and he regained some of his color, though the circles under his eyes did not vanish. If Hermione thought that she studied intensely, she found her match in Severus Snape.

Her next meeting with Dumbledore, she was relieved that he stuck to the subject of her research. After they rehashed the evening and her thoughts on it, he leaned back in his chair and smiled at her over steepled fingers.

“You’ll be pleased to hear that Healer Potts has requested an investigation into potions administration at the hospital after your questions, and the condition of some of the patients appear to be improving.”

Hermione smiled. “And have we heard anything about Graham -- or Stephen?”

“Oh, yes!” Dumbledore sat up in his chair excitedly and motioned toward the book that carried the register of magical children’s names. “We found out his real name and got in contact with his family. He was supposed to go erumpent hunting for six months which explains the lack of familial contact -- they weren’t expecting to hear from him anyway.”

“Do we know what happened?”

Dumbledore did his best to hide an amused smile. “I believe it had something to do with nonpayment of goods received when he made it to Africa. He was given a portkey back to Britain and ended up in St. Mungo’s that way.”

“Oh dear.” Hermione took a sip of her tea.

Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk. When he spoke once more, his voice had regained its seriousness. “Miss Granger? I am sorry for doubting Mr. Snape.”

Hermione nodded. “I believe Mr. Snape is the one you should apologize to, Headmaster, if you forgive me for being so forward.”

“I agree. I must admit that I have always had my doubts about him and it has caused me to fail to acknowledge what talent he has in the classroom. Horace has told me for years… but I fear that I am too late in this recognition for it to have any impact.”

“I believe letting him join us was a good step.”

He nodded. “Let’s call it a night, Miss Granger.”

When she made the short walk from his office to Gryffindor Tower, she crossed her fingers and desperately hoped that Dumbledore would indeed follow through on his words.

Chapter Text

Hermione did not have much time to work on any more adjustments for the memory potion. The beginning of NEWTS finally arrived for the seventh years, and it was undeniably felt in Gryffindor Tower. The seventh years seemed to have disappeared from all social activities, taking up residence in the library or in dark corners of the common room and refusing to engage in anything unless it involved revising. Hermione came down one morning to find Remus and Peter asleep over some of their textbooks and was kind enough to gently prod them awake. Peter looked embarrassed as he wiped drool from his chin and Remus looked very confused for a few moments.

“You have an hour until breakfast,” she said. “Just be thankful it was me down here first.” There had been a spate of pranks recently involving indelible ink that left purple-grey marks on the victim’s skin for days after the ink had been vanished. A poor fifth year still had the remains of a rude word on their cheek.

Remus sighed in relief.

And so it began -- the culmination of Hermione Granger’s Hogwarts career. Her days began with breakfast and then she would head to the library to revise, sometimes joined by Severus until they had to reconvene in the Great Hall where they would either be taking written or practical exams.

The first day’s exams consisted of Defense Against the Dark Arts. All the seventh years were queued alphabetically, so Hermione spent her morning with Lily, and Remus two behind her. Peter had James to keep him company, but was irritating him by continually going over spells and wand movements, causing James to threaten to hex the smaller boy. Severus was much further behind.

As she was about to go in, he caught her eye and gave her a firm nod. She winked at him in return which caused a corner of his mouth to curl up.

She found the practical tests to be slightly challenging (after all, when you’re not facing a life threatening situation, it’s a bit difficult to get yourself into the mindset to cast the spell), though she was pleased when she was asked to demonstrate how she would defend herself against an inferi. Her mind jumped to several things -- they hated light and warmth. Lumos was too basic, as was incendio.

Hermione took a deep breath and thought of the first time Severus kissed her and with a wave of her arm conjured up the strongest patronus she had ever seen erupt from her wand.

Her otter danced around the examiners, rolling and swimming about as they marked their sheets until it dissipated. “That’s what I would use if it was on its own,” Hermione explained, drawing their attention to her once more. “And if that didn’t work, or there were many --” she stepped into the magical ring in the centre of the room the examiners had provided to contain the student’s spells and waved her wand high in the air. The edge of the ring burst into flames that grew higher and higher until she could no longer see the examiners. After a moment, she extinguished them.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” they all nodded and smiled at her as she took her leave.

Severus found her in the library later. “How did you do?” he asked.

“Well, I think. You?”

“Same.”

Their days passed much in the same way and the last day of NEWTS for them finally arrived -- a written Herbology exam.

She was seated somewhere far ahead of Severus, and again, couldn’t resist turning in her seat to give him a smile before their attention was called to the front of the room.

When they were given the signal to begin, Hermione drove straight into her answers, filling the page without a second thought, writing down everything that came to mind on the subjects. Her hand began to cramp about halfway through, suffering after several days of such intense writing, but she kept reminding herself that she was almost there -- she had almost completed her NEWTS -- an opportunity she had been denied in her final year. She gave herself a small shake, pushing the events of her year on the run to the back of her mind. If she followed those memories, there was little chance she would finish the exam.

The hours passed quickly, and it felt as though she had only really started to get into the subjects when the exam was called. The scrolls were collected by the examiners and the Great Hall broke out into a cacophony of noise as the students rose from their seats and filed out towards the sunshine. Hermione found Severus waiting for her at the door, nose buried in his exam booklet. She was waiting to do the same.

He held his hand out silently toward her as she reached him, eyes still raking over the parchment and she led them off in the direction of the entrance hall and the outdoors. It felt as though the weather were celebrating their finish as well -- the day was glorious, crowned with a light breeze.

“How soon do you expect we’ll get the results?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Not until the end of summer.” he replied, his head still buried in the exam paper. “How extensive was your answer on the harvesting of Mandrakes?”

“I was able to fit in soil rotation and the effect on temperaments, and then the moon cycles on the number of roots produced.”

He nodded. “What about the benefits and drawbacks of muffler materials? You know that yeti hair is the best.”

Hermione’s heart stopped. She didn’t even think to research that or include it in her essay! Her mouth opened, working silently to word her horror.

And then it hit her -- nothing had ever been said about that -- and there was no proof -- as long as sound was blocked. She turned to find his eyes creased up in silent laugher as he tucked away the exam paper in his rucksack.

“Your face!” he wheezed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so distressed!”

She elbowed him. “You’re going to feel distressed if you do that again.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry -- I’m sure you’ve done brilliantly.”

He turned his head toward the sky, observing the good weather and the large number of students scattered on the grounds around them. Even the giant squid had risen to the top of the lake to enjoy the sunshine and its tentacles were lapping playfully at some of the students who were soaking their feet in the water.

“Would you like to go flying?” he asked. He had coaxed her onto the broom several times now, and Hermione found that she quite enjoyed flying when she was with Severus. The feel of his arms around her was comforting when she was in the air, and she quite liked sitting behind him as well, though she was pretty sure that some of the moves that he pulled were simply to ensure her arms were as tightly around his torso as possible.

“I’ll go with you,” she agreed.

She let him be in control this time around as they were not the only ones with this idea, and Hermione was still a nervous flyer when there were too many other people around. Though he flew a bit faster than she would have preferred, it was nice to feel the breeze in her hair and the sun on her back -- her exam worries left far below.

Hermione’s cheeks were pink from the sun when they landed, and Severus’ forehead and nose bore the signs of sunburn as well.

“Come on,” he said. “As lovely as your cheeks look, I have some sunburn salve ready.”

They began to make their way back to the castle when they spotted Dumbledore walking up from Hogsmeade and through the castle gates to Hagrid’s hut. Severus slowed his walk.

“Have you noticed that he keeps watching us?” he asked, his voice was almost a whisper.

Hermione shook her head. “No. Does he?”

“Well, you usually have your nose in a book at meals, so you wouldn’t, but I’ve caught him once. And sometimes when we’re walking through the corridors in the evening, it feels as though he’s just walked through or he’s right behind us.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed it.” Hermione’s heartbeat quickened. While Dumbledore may not have said anything to her, she trusted Severus and his observations and had no doubt that the headmaster had taken an interest since her confession about Severus.

“Slughorn had to tell the Headmaster about my supplying ingredients for the school. He did it as an example of my integrity so I could be allowed to go to St. Mungo’s.”

“Oh, no -- are you in trouble?”

He shook his head. “Dumbledore was surprisingly calm about it, apparently. I’m to show Professor Sprout where it is so that she can take it over when I’m gone.” Hermione nodded.

“Not long now,” she said, kicking the gravel from her shoes as they made their way into the entrance hall.

Severus let out a sigh that was filled with so much relief that she was surprised that he hadn’t taken some sort of potion to induce euphoria. “No more Hogwarts. No more Potter or Black. I got permission from Professor Slughorn to leave the school next week. I’m scheduled to go look at premises in Diagon Alley,” he explained, nudging her with his elbow. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Me?” Hermione was a bit shocked.

“Seeing as you’re going to be working there.” He smirked at her.

They had reached his workroom now and Hermione felt like she was home. She couldn’t believe they would be leaving this space so soon. Severus crossed to the shelves he had assembled to carry his stock and pulled a jar from it. He motioned for her to sit and began applying it to her face, his fingers gentle and the salve cool against her skin. Within moments, she could no longer feel the heat radiating from the burn.

“You haven’t talked about your post-Hogwarts plans, Jean.” He handed the salve to her and she began applying it to him. She applied it thickly to his forehead, and within moments his skin had absorbed the greenish gel and the red was gone.

“No, I haven’t.”

“What are you going to do? Continue living here at the castle?”

“No,” she answered, trailing off. “I think I may get a small flat in Hogsmeade. I’ve seen a few ads for places in the Daily Prophet and I think I’ll make a few inquiries next week. I could take a muggle flat, but it’s really much easier brewing potions if you don’t have to hide it, right? And we are so close to perfecting this, Severus, I can really feel it.” She applied the last bit of salve to the tips of his ears and smiled as the pink tinge disappeared. “There, done.”

“But, aren’t you going to apply for jobs? Surely you need to work to survive,” he said pointedly, reshelving the jar.

“I have some money saved. I’ll be fine for a while,” she explained. In truth, she did not have much and did not know what she would do. She hadn’t planned on staying this long -- maybe she would have to turn to Severus and work for him for a while like he planned. Did he have his own shop before he became a professor? She cursed herself for not looking more into his past before coming here.

They settled onto the cushion and it wasn’t long before Severus’ soft touches became persistent. He warded the door and fell into one another’s arms and all worries about the future were wiped from her mind -- if only for a little while.

It was a novelty being a seventh year now -- they no longer had classes and simply had to wait for the end of term to arrive and the leaving feast before they were free. There were a few students who did leave now that they no longer had classes to attend and job offers waiting for them. The Heads of Houses were meant to meet with their students to give them an idea of how they progressed over the year and her meeting with McGonagall had gone smoothly.

“You’ve done very well, Miss Granger, and I can only expect your NEWTs results will reflect that. As for your independent project, the Headmaster has been very pleased with that as well. It has been an absolute pleasure teaching you and I regret that I have not had you from a first year.”

Hermione smiled, pleased at the older woman’s comments. She hoped when she showed up at Hogwarts in a few years time that McGonagall would get some satisfaction from it.

They ended the meeting with McGonagall pushing a shortbread biscuit at her and Hermione nibbled on it happily, making her way to Severus’ lab. When she entered, he was seated on his sofa reading an incredibly moldy looking book that appeared to be falling to pieces.

“What are you reading?” she asked, seating herself next to him and peering at the pages. Thankfully the book with surreal illustrations was gone.

“A text on obscure poisons -- you said something that made me think of it, so I asked my mum to send it a while ago. I just haven’t had a chance to read it with NEWTs. Look,” he leaned the book toward her so she could see it clearly and pulled a black velvet ribbon aside to show her the text.

“It’s a list of poisons from creatures that aren’t thought to exist anymore, or they’re extremely rare. Look at the maledictus -- if it gets the venom in, hardly anything will seal it, and it takes ages to heal --”

Could Nagini have been a maledictus? She pulled the text toward her and Severus winced at her firm handling of the book. She muttered a quick apology before scouring the page. If she was -- how would they even know? Was there a register? Who would she have been before the transformation? Would there even be a record for something like that?

“You’ve gone quiet. Does that sound familiar?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but it certainly fits.” She scrutinized the gory illustrations, showing various people trying to stem the bleeding but blood continuing to pour forth despite their efforts. The illustrator certainly was enthusiastic.

“The difficult thing about this is that it would be near impossible to test it. They’re rare for a reason. I doubt even Borgin and Burkes would have access to something like this,” he tapped the illustration.

“I understand. It’s something to keep in mind, though.”

He nodded and pulled the book back toward him, reading through the text once more.

Hermione’s eyes wandered with her thoughts until they settled on a third cauldron that had appeared in his lab with something brewing away softly in it.

“A bit of last minute takings?” she asked.

“No. I’m doing some work with the amortentia alteration on my own.”

She stood up to examine it, but it was as familiar as ever -- just the base of the potion. He hadn’t made any adjustments to it yet.

“What are you doing to it?” What other possible alteration would he want to make? They had already agreed on the best substitutions.

“Just some experimenting.” He reaffirmed. She chewed the inside of her lip in thought. She resumed her seat next to him and settled into him, watching him turn the pages. There were so many things that she had never even heard of -- and lots of things that she was fairly certain had never existed.

He turned a page and it opened onto a mass illustration of a man speaking before a crowd. The man appeared to be able to see inside the minds of everyone attending. He was convincing them to poison themselves. The thought made her shudder and reminded her of something --

“I’ve been doing a bit of work with occlumency,” she said. She had tried to learn it before, but with this war, especially with Severus taking the path that he was, there was no reason not to now, especially as there would be so little to do over the next few weeks.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want to know that I have something to protect against the Imperius Curse. I know that’s supposed to help. And to avoid things like that happening,” she gestured to the text.

He ran his finger over his lips in thought. “Do you have any reason to think someone may want to cast that on you?”

“Well, no, not really, but you never know. And it’s a useful skill to have. It helps with magical outbursts.”

He nodded. “I’ve dabbled in it a bit myself, but it’s difficult to do on one’s own.”

“Should we try together?” she pushed. If Severus Snape was one of the best occlumens of their time, then he would surely be one of the best teachers --

“I think I’d rather just enjoy my time with you, to be honest.”

She was a bit surprised by his answer, assuming that he would be all for learning it, especially with the knowledge that he would be so skillful in it later.

And so the next few days continued, and they filled them with whatever they felt like it. There were days when Severus felt like taking a walk, and there were days when he chose to secret himself away inside his lab. She didn’t see him at all that next Saturday -- she thought he would appear at the final Quidditch match, but he did not, and when she checked his lab later, the door was barred.

Severus didn’t make an appearance until breakfast on Monday, and he looked… well, rough. Worse than all the times he had stayed up brewing, worse than overworking himself. He looked as close to death as he could get while still standing upright. His skin had a greyish tinge and his hair was more lank than she had ever seen it, and there seemed to be a permanent grimace on his face.

It took everything in Hermione to stop herself from running to him as soon as she saw him, but she knew that would be the absolute worst thing to do. She stared at him all through breakfast, though he didn’t turn to look at her once. He ate hardly anything and when he rose to leave, she jumped up to join him in the corridor.

“Merlin, Severus -- are you okay?” She asked as she fell into step next to him.

“Fine,” he hissed, avoiding her eyes.

“Should we go to your workroom?” She grabbed his arm but he pulled it from her grasp, taking a step away. Her heart sank. He hadn’t been that outright rude to her since she had first come here.

“No -- no.” he responded. “I’ve changed the wards. We’ll meet in yours. But not now -- I’ve things to do. I’ll come to you later,” and with a turn that reminded her of his older self, he retreated down the steps towards the dungeons.

He never did seek her out that evening. Or the next day. Or the day after that. He returned to normal after a few days, though his aloofness still worried her.

And, to be honest, the time without him gave her a chance to think. When she first made plans to travel back to the past, she had never ever seen herself go down this path. She had never ever imagined that she would allow herself to be with somebody who was living life so dangerously, and she wondered what she signed up for. She would never ever have tolerated anybody who entertained the ideologies that Severus did -- or that his friends did, but… was she putting up with it because she knew that man that he was going to become? She knew that he would go on to become a man who hated the very mention of the word mudblood, but he was not that man quite yet.

If she had heard an account of his reasons for becoming a Death Eater before coming here, she would have brushed them off, but having heard from him in his own words… seeing the pain and anger on his face when he was bullied by James Potter and Sirius Black, witnessing his humiliation at the hands of others, not to mention the troubles he faced at home with his parents… she could completely understand why he grasped the hand that was offered to him. She could not say that she would make the same decisions, but she would not judge him for making his.

She was surprised when he turned up to her workroom on Tuesday morning with a box of chocoballs from Honeyduke’s. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an arse -- I was working on something that had an unexpected reaction,” he finally explained to her. “I didn’t want you to inadvertently stumble into something. I’ve cleaned the room as best I could -- which is well when it happened as I needed to begin to pack the room up, anyway.”

Hermione nodded and hugged him, though worry still niggled at her. He had told her of previous accidents he had had from his experimentation -- one potion had blown up in his face and given him massive boils that weeped green pus that he had to go to the hospital wing for. That was in his second year. He said another had vaporised when he was standing too close to the cauldron and turned his hair bright orange, though he had been able to fix that on his own. What could he have been working on that would have made him look so terrible?

He tapped the top of her head lightly, something he had taken to doing when he could tell she was worrying. “I’m fine,” he emphasised.

He still hoped that she would accompany him to view premises for his planned shop -- Slughorn had put him in touch with some of his previous students who was an agent and could get him the best deal, apparently. Dumbledore had warily given Hermione his permission to leave the castle as well, but she could sense that he was not happy about it.

They breakfasted early on the Saturday after and walked down to the castle gates to apparate into Diagon Alley. The agent they met Hermione didn’t recognize, but he must have been in his mid-twenties and Hermione could guess that he had been a Hufflepuff from his demeanor. He was enthusiastic and when Severus listed what he was looking for, promised him they had something that he would find suitable.

The first premises they looked at were far above what Severus figured his budget would be, but they decided to have a look anyway. It was ideally situated in the middle of Diagon Alley, right between the ice cream parlor and the pet shop. It was spacious and well lit and would get mountains of foot traffic, especially over Christmas and the school shopping season. It had two spacious bedrooms above, and a lovely kitchen decorated in white and yellow tile. It was somewhere Hermione could easily imagine them living if the shop became successful -- but it was more of a “someday” place than a “right now” place.

“You’ll want to be quick on this one if you want it -- we’ve already had interest from international buyers,” warned the estate agent, but Severus shook his head, declining.

They then made their way down the high street to the lesser frequented side of Diagon Alley closest to Knockturn Alley. Hermione hadn’t seen a dementor yet, but she could tell that they were near -- there was a chill in the air despite the early summer heat, and she felt slightly down.

The shop they were presented with had been vacant for some time from the looks of it. There was a thick layer of dust embedded in the cames of the windows and the only prints in the dust on the floor were in the shape of tiny paws -- there were mice.

“This would be better,” Severus said, surveying the room. “There’s not as much direct light -- better for fresher potions ingredients.” Though Hermione was not as enthusiastic about the site, Severus obviously was. He gestured where he would put the shop counter and have shelves installed.

“Yes, you don’t have the direct light, and you do have the traffic from Knockturn Alley unfortunately --”

“I don’t think that’s unfortunate,” interrupted Severus, fixing the agent with a sharp look. Hermione gave the agent a sympathetic smile.

The agent cleared his throat. “Shall we have a look upstairs?”

The pair of them nodded and they were led into the living quarters. This was much cosier than the last property and only had one bedroom, but it was spacious, and the kitchen was decorated in a moss green that looked as though it had been installed about twenty years earlier.

Some of the cupboards rattled as they were about to leave the kitchen.

“Is the boggart thrown in for free?” asked Severus, giving the agent a pointed look.

The agent went red. “That will be taken care of before you move in, of course.”

“No need --” replied Snape, flicking his wand toward the cupboard. “I’ll take care of that right now.”

The boggart focused on the estate agent as he was still standing in the kitchen, and unfortunately the man was not prepared at all. At the sight of a large hairy spider climbing out of the cupboard, the man squeaked in fear and dropped his clipboard and wand. Snape rolled his eyes and flicked his wand at the boggart. “Riddikulus,” he said lazily, and the spider was immediately clothed in a party hat with streamers tied around its legs, bright circles painted on what would be its cheeks and ridiculously long lashes attached to its eight eyes.

The boggart focused on Severus and Hermione held her breath with anticipation of what form it would take. Would it be a werewolf? Severus had been seriously upset at that encounter -- or would it become Sirius and James? He had always been so tense around them -- what was young Severus Snape most afraid of? With a pop, the boggart suddenly became a man slightly taller than Snape who bore his same hair and nose.

He could only be Tobias Snape -- Hermione clenched her wand as the boggart spotted Snape and drew itself up to its full height and let out a drunken shout. “What do you think you’re doing, boy? What did I tell you about waving that stick around? Of course that bitch would be involved -- she’ll pay for this later just as much as you will now --”

Snape’s face had grown pale at the sight of his father, but he pointed his wand at the sight and confidently said “Riddikulus.” Tobias had suddenly shrunk down into a toddler, barefoot and in a nappy that was fit to burst. Snape let out an amused laugh. “Turnabout’s fair play.” Tears streamed down the toddler’s face and Hermione’s heart stopped as it turned its attention on her.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the sight of Professor McGonagall telling her that she had failed everything, preparing to frustrate the boggart by causing all the marks on the papers it presented her with disappear, but she was not prepared for the sight of the child’s head to elongate and grow scaly and green, and it’s torso to stretch out until it formed into a massive snake. It rose and began to hiss at her, baring its large fangs.

“Ridd --” she whispered, gasping at the unexpected sight. “Riddikulus.” But it didn’t work -- Hermione couldn’t think of anything to turn the boggart into something amusing. She kept thinking of the snake writhing within its magical protective cage.

Snape stepped forward. “Riddikulus,” he said, and the snake turned into a balloon animal that was rapidly twisting and turning until it tied itself into a bow, and with another pop, it was gone.

The estate agent was making notes on his clipboard, a bead of sweat trickled down from his sideburns. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

The rest of the morning was rather unexciting and the last place he showed them was entirely unsuitable -- there was just enough space for maybe a counter, but no room to really display anything available for sale. “What did this used to be?” Hermione asked, only just starting to recover from the boggart encounter. She could still feel a slight trembling in her limbs, and she was having a difficult time looking at Severus. Thankfully, he seemed too engrossed in the search to notice.

The estate agent shrugged. “No idea. Maybe a owl order service? Or maybe its never been a commercial site at all. Let’s look in the living area.” As they made their way upstairs it became clear from the corridor with lots of doors that it used to be a bawdyhouse. The estate agent blushed and Severus shook his head immediately. “I think not,” he said.

After leaving the estate agent, they had a quick lunch at the Leaky Cauldron before they apparated back up to Hogsmeade. Hermione was thankful they ate inside despite the nice weather -- at least two dementors had passed while they dined inside the pub and despite the wall between them, Hermione could still sense their presence. Severus brought up the boggart in passing, but she quickly steered their conversation in another direction.

“You know, there are other places you can go -- other wizarding villages. They’re not going to be as busy, of course, but you could still run a pretty decent mail order service --” She thought of Fred and George running their own business from their room in Ottery St. Catchpole.

“No -- I want what I set out to do, and this is what I’ve been saving for. I’ll find somewhere.”

The properties they looked at in Hogsmeade were not much different -- there was one near the Hog’s Head that Severus liked the look of downstairs, but it needed extensive repairs to the living area -- there were pigeons nesting in the rafters.

“Well -- I think that’s it, but I will let you know if any properties become available within the next few weeks -- we are currently in the talks with someone who is moving off the high street, and can certainly keep you informed of that,” the estate agent replied. She was middle aged and much more professional than the one they had met with first, and at their earlier mention of Slughorn, the woman blushed slightly.

“Please do,” confirmed Severus.

“Do you have any residential properties available?” asked Hermione. She felt stupid for not asking earlier. Here they were looking for places to Severus -- and she needed somewhere to stay as well.

The agent thought for a moment, twisting her hair around one of her fingers. “We do have one at the end of the high street -- it’s above Zonko’s. Would you like to have a look?”

Hermione nodded. The agent fished in her handbag before pulling out a ring of keys that seemed endless. She flipped through them until she found one marked with a large Z.

They walked to the end of the high street where Zonko’s was, carefully avoiding the sparks that flew out from the shop window, and climbed the two flights of stairs leading above the shop. “The rent on this is very reasonable, if I do say. The proprietors are only using the first floor, and have been trying to let the second floor, but no one seems very keen on the amount of noise coming from downstairs,” she explained. Hermione could understand. There was almost constant whizzing and pops coming from the shop below -- no doubt from wet-start fireworks.

When they entered, the flat appeared a bit cozy but Hermione liked the look of it -- she could see Hogwarts clearly from the window in the kitchen, and there was a second bedroom that… well, it was more of a large closet, really, but it would be a nice potions workspace. There was plenty of room for the mice and the maze as well. She looked at Severus who was surveying the ceilings -- there were no signs of pigeons here. “What do you think?” she asked.

“No boggarts. No space for ghouls,” he remarked. “I think it’s nice.”

“How much was it again?” she asked.

The estate agent listed a price that was a few more galleons than she had in mind to pay. “But I’m sure the owners will knock a bit off -- it has been empty for a while.”

Hermione did some mental calculations. She could afford two -- maybe three months rent. And who knows after that…

“Shall we go back to your office?” Hermione asked.

The estate agent seemed almost surprised. “You’re sure? Even with the racket from downstairs?”

“Nothing a few charms won’t fix.” She grabbed Severus’ hand and squeezed it. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “I’m glad one of us has had some luck today.”

Hermione spent the afternoon looking over tenancy agreements with Severus throwing in a few negotiations with her that were gladly accepted. Later as they walked back up to the castle, Severus seemed genuinely excited for her. “I think we could probably sneak out the settee if you want it,” he said. “I mean -- no one at Hogwarts was using it…”

Hermione giggled at his suggestion. “You’re quite attached to it.”

“Some of the best moments of my life took place on that couch,” he explained with a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I want to bring it with me?”

Hermione slipped her arm through his and leaned her head against him. “I’m glad I have you.”

“Jean -- that snake --” She was wondering if he would bring it up again -- it had just been as unexpected for her as it must have been for him.

“I can’t talk about it, Severus --” she replied quickly. She really didn’t -- she didn’t want to risk Dumbledore’s wand lighting up or trying to find a way to answer his questions without directly answering them. And she had told him what happened already -- it was one of the first conversations they ever had.

He nodded and they finished their trip back to the castle in silence.

July brought the end of exams for the rest of the school and it was suddenly nearly time for the leaving feast. There were only a few days left for students to recover any lost items and say their goodbyes and to try to earn points to win the house cup. Ravenclaw was in the lead, and Hermione suspected that this was strongly due to the amount of shenanigans the Marauders had gotten up to over the year and the amount of Slytherins who retaliated.

Dumbledore had written to her one morning at breakfast requesting a meeting with her and though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, she was oddly dreading it. Ever since Severus had pointed out they were being watched, she kept finding ways of avoiding him. When she reached the headmaster’s office that evening, he did not greet her with nearly as much enthusiasm as he normally did and Hermione took her seat in silence.

He leaned onto his desk and fixed her with a serious gaze before addressing her.“Miss Granger -- I do hope you understand my alarm at the fact that you are still here. I hope that you understand the world you return to may not be the one you recognize as I believe you have made an irreparable impression on some of your classmates.”

Hermione nodded, feeling tears welling in her eyes. She breathed in deeply to try to stop them, but the image of Dumbledore before her blurred.

“What is it that is keeping you here?” he asked.

It took her a moment to search for her answer and when she found it, she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Fear.”

“Well, if I recall what you told me correctly, you shouldn’t have much to fear in your time period.”

Hermione took a deep breath before she explained further. “Fear of failure. I’m terrified. I haven’t quite perfected the memory repairing potion. I’m not afraid to find out exactly what I’ve changed, and I’m afraid of returning to a life where I do not know what to do with myself.”

“You have completed your NEWTS. I can assure you your marks will be added to your future record, and I will personally write you a letter of recommendation.”

“But it’s not just that, Professor --”

“How close are you to accomplishing your task, Miss Granger? The one I sent you here for?”

“I think… I think it’s done. It’s just, I have some perfecting to do, and --” Yes -- if Severus ever saw Nagini again, he would surely put it together with her boggart and what she said --

“Then I believe that your time here is close to being finished and you should consider departing as soon as you can before much else has changed. I cannot promise you as much safety outside these walls as I can within them, and I need to consider my organization and the safety of all within it -- even those from the future,” Dumbledore finished firmly, his eyes no longer holding as much warmth for her as she was used to.

Hermione buried her head in her hands, unable to stop the flow of tears. Being told off by Dumbledore -- it felt terrible.

He let her cry freely for a few moments before speaking to her once more. “Are you not a Gryffindor?”

She nodded.

“Then what is stopping you, Miss Granger?”

“I’m afraid of not having succeeded. I’m afraid that this time -- all this time -- would have been for nothing,” she choked out. “I’m afraid to go back to a world where he may not exist.”

“If you truly believe that you have not made an impact on those here, you are wrong. It would not have been for nothing. Your presence has brought an infinite amount of enjoyment to the lives of those around you. Your professors have found you to be a delight to have in their classes, you help those around you succeed, and I believe you have helped put a pair -- if not a quartet -- of Gryffindors in their place over the past year. And that does not begin to touch on the impact you have made on young Mister Snape.” She felt him next to her, his hand on her shoulder. “I have intelligence that an aggressive recruit campaign will be beginning soon, and there is no point your coming here only to have something happen. I have hinted at it before, but I have received some enquiries as to your presence here and have done my best to redirect them, but I fear that once you leave these walls, I will no longer have influence to do so.”

She calmed herself, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, then accepting the handkerchief that Dumbledore held in front of her.

“I do not encourage you to leave because I tire of your company -- I ask for your safety and that of those around you.”

She nodded. “I will give myself some time to say goodbye, and then I will go. It may not be as quick as you would like, but I will be gone before the next term starts. I’ve taken lease of a place in Hogsmeade -- above Zonko’s, just temporarily. You can reach me there if anything happens in the meantime.”

He gave her a firm nod. “Please send word if you can. But as I will be gone on business soon, I believe this may be goodbye for us -- or until next time.”

“Until next time,” she agreed.

She left the headmaster’s office, deep in thought of how to wrap up her business and how much more research and testing she could get done before September. She was embarrassed by her breakdown in front of Dumbledore, but she really couldn’t help it. She had felt it coming -- there was a tension that grew every time they met, and after everything Severus had said, it had finally come to a head. She could no longer justify her presence, especially as she had now done her NEWTS and the base of the memory potion had been completed.

She was frustrated as well. Disappointed in herself. She had never meant to stay this long. She wanted to go back, but she wanted some assurance that she would succeed. She wanted to know for sure that she would be able to fix her parents, Snape would be able to go live his life in peace, and she would be able to move on with her own.

As it was high summer, there was still weak light filtering through the windows on the seventh floor. It was a short distance to Gryffindor Tower. However, even with the weak light, she still jumped at an arm reaching out to grab her and pull her into an alcove.

Her heart began racing and kept up its rapid beat after Severus’ eyes met hers. The smirk he wore quickly faded when he saw her.

“You’ve been crying,” he said, concerned. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, afraid that if she said anything she would burst into tears again.

He pulled her to him and rested his head against hers so his mouth was just above her ear. “Anything I can do?”

She shook her head again, clinging to him, wondering how many more times he would hold her like this before she would be gone.

“Can we go to the lab?” she whispered.

He nodded, leading them down a side passage that released them onto the third floor. He pushed a tapestry aside, led her down another passage, and placed his wand against the door. It clicked open to reveal his line of cauldrons on one side, and their improvised living space on the other, though all the homely little touches they had made over the past few months were gone. The cauldrons had been recently cleaned, and there were crates where potions ingredients used to line the wall.

They sat on the sofa together and she leaned into him. His arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder.

“I have to admit, my plans for you this evening involved snogging you senseless, but this is nice, too,” he said.

She laughed, burying her face into his neck and planting a few soft kisses there.

“I think I might be fine with that,” she replied.

“But will you tell me what upset you? Do I need to hex someone?”

She shook her head at his offer. “I will tell you. Just not right now.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He lowered his lips to her ear where he knew she was ticklish and caused her to break out into indignant giggles. It was well past curfew when Hermione retreated to Gryffindor Tower.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore’s words weighed heavily on Hermione, and she spent the next few days devoting more thought to time travel than she had since she developed the potion and spoke with his portrait… years ago, now. She had never questioned the concept when Professor McGonagall handed her her time turner in her third year -- she did her research and knew she needed to avoid herself. She had followed the rules successfully for nearly a year before Dumbledore encouraged her and Harry to interfere in Sirius’ favor -- and that had shifted her perspective on everything. She had been so worried over Harry’s actions while they were in the past and so puzzled over Dumbledore’s mission for them that she never really stopped to think about the circular motion of it all, and after that fiasco, she was only too happy to hand the device back to Professor McGonagall.

Unfortunately, it made her head hurt, but her actions over the past few weeks -- months, really -- caught up with her, and she couldn’t help but think of the changes she wrought in the lives of those around her. She recalled her words to Dumbledore. She thought of her words for Severus. The empty portrait disappeared the moment she decided to come into the past, apparently. What if she was the reason that Snape thought to turn to Dumbledore? She had encouraged him, hadn’t she? What if she was the person who motivated Snape to become an excellent occlumens? As much as she loved to revel in her accomplishments, she didn’t want to give herself that much credit. Surely there were other things, other sources in Snape’s life that pushed him towards these choices.

And even if she had already succeeded the moment she decided to return to the past -- she wanted to be selfish. Her time with Severus -- even if he might come to hate her, even if it would be brief -- she wanted to be a spot of happiness for him, as he had told her she was. She was something more than a survivor, more than a walking library to someone and it made her feel more valued than she had felt in years.

The day of the leaving feast arrived and unless something stupendous happened, there were no more points to be earned or lost. Most of the notices trying to recover lost items had been taken down, Lily having done her part as Head Girl and recovering many of the items with clever charmwork. Hermione had cleaned most of her workroom and condensed it into two crates. She hoped the mice would enjoy the flat in Hogsmeade -- they would certainly have a better view.

When Severus found her around midday, her hair was up and her shirtsleeves had been rolled to her elbows. His eyes went immediately to her scar and his fingers rubbed against it lightly when he pulled her to him in greeting. “I still haven’t found a place,” he said. “Is it okay if I stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course,” she replied, having anticipated his question. He hadn’t told her that he had gone to look at any other properties, and though she was sure he was going to offer on the place where they had experienced the boggart, he hadn’t mentioned anything. When she had questioned him about it, he simply stated that he was waiting for more places to become available. She knew he wasn’t going to return to Cokeworth, and the only other option she could think of would be him staying with some of his housemates.

They spent the rest of their day reminiscing about their time together over the past two years before departing to prepare for the leaving feast. When they had finally reconvened in the Great Hall, Hermione at the Gryffindor table and Severus at the Slytherin table, her heart nearly burst with pride when Dumbledore began a small awards ceremony and Severus was presented with an award for his outstanding work in potions. She could tell Severus was surprised -- he had to be encouraged to get up from the Slytherin table and he reluctantly walked to the front of the hall to receive it, his face having gone bright pink. Slughorn gave him an enthusiastic shake of the hand and a small bag of coins after Dumbledore handed him a plaque.

Lily watched him with a wistful look on her face and then turned to Hermione. “I’m glad he has you. You’ve been a decent influence, it looks like.”

Hermione smiled at her. “I hope so.”

Remus was recognized as well for something to do with Peeves -- there had been fewer instances of malevolent poltergeist activity since Remus arrived at Hogwarts than there had been in any years previously. Hermione didn’t quite understand, but the Bloody Baron and Filch certainly seemed to appreciate it.

Hermione met with Severus outside the Great Hall after they were dismissed from dinner. He could not stop staring at the plaque that he had received. “I had hoped --” he said, swallowing hard. “I had always -- I never expected this,” he said. Hermione leaned up to kiss him on his cheek. He rubbed his sleeve against the silver Hogwarts crest to clear away a fingerprint smudge.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’ve earned it -- this and so much more. I’m just glad they’ve seen it.”

He nodded, somewhat in a daze.

“Oi! Prince! You coming?” Avery shouted, pointing to the staircase leading down to the dungeons, jerking Severus out of his stupor.

Snape looked torn.

“Go,” she said. “You’ll see me plenty after tonight.”

He nodded and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head before he headed down in the direction of the Slytherin common room.

Although Hermione had avoided most celebrations in Gryffindor tower over the past two years (having celebrated enough during her time at Hogwarts), she could not resist spending this last night downstairs. She hovered at the edge of the room, once again watching James and Sirius hold court, recounting all their antics with Remus and Peter over the years. She noticed that any mention of Snape was absent, and only a wary glance or two was thrown in her direction.

It was nearly midnight by the time the topic changed to their future plans, and Remus stood, yawning. His eyes landed on Hermione and he picked up a bottle of butterbeer, offering it to her as he approached. She took it and held it up to him in thanks before taking a sip. “I’m sorry I didn’t join,” she said. “But I’ve been enjoying watching you lot.”

Remus nodded. “It’s the last time they’ll get to show off like this. It’s good for you to let them have their fun.”

She smirked and took a sip of her butterbeer. “What are your plans, Remus?”

“Sirius said he would let me live with him for a bit if I wanted, but -- I don’t know. My condition makes things a bit difficult…,” he trailed off, and then cleared his throat, changing the subject abruptly. “And then we’ll have the wedding to look forward to, of course, but I hope to find a job at the ministry that is understanding about recurring illnesses.” They watched as Sirius lifted James onto his shoulders and attempted to pin a large banner that read “Marauders 4 Ever” over the fireplace while Lily tried to simultaneously tell them off and giggle at their antics.

When the pair calmed down, Hermione leaned her head on Remus’ shoulder and slipped her arm around his waist in a hug. “I’m going to miss you, Remus.”

“You sound like you’re not going to see me again,” he shook his head and gave her a squeeze. “We’ll meet up, of course -- that is, if Severus will let you fraternize with Gryffindors outside of school.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” she hit his shoulder lightly. “But yes… we will meet up, of course,” she replied, with a feeling that it would be years before he would see her again.

They stood in a side-by-side embrace for a few moments before Remus yawned loudly. “I still have some packing to do. I’ll see you in the morning, Jean.”

“Yes, goodnight.”

The next day Hermione awoke early, savoring the last morning she would ever spend in a Hogwarts dormitory. She watched Lily sleep, drinking in the sight of her -- it would be the last moments she would ever spend with Lily Evans. In a few short weeks she would become Lily Potter, and after that, mother to her best friend and then…

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes and she found she needed to leave the room. She dressed quickly, making as little noise as possible and dashed down the spiral staircase. As she made her way down into the common room, she felt something catch in her chest and had to stifle a sob. James and Remus and Sirius -- it would probably be the last time she would see them alive as well. There were a few people already awake and picking up around the common room -- discarded ties and robes and shoes that had been left behind from the night before. The banner had been removed from above the fireplace and was now draped over a sleeping Sirius and James. Hermione wished she had a camera to capture the moment with the two boys so that Harry could see this.

She lingered in the common room for a while, watching more and more people come down and wake the boys who grumpily retreated to their own dormitories. She waited until Lily came down and walked down to breakfast with her.

They ate quickly and when they passed through the entrance hall, the front doors were wide open and Hermione could see the carriages and thestrals waiting. She spent her last walk up to Gryffindor tower trying to memorise the feeling of this moment -- this walk, the people around her who would go out into the world, into a war that many would not survive, and into a future that she knew would bring them pain. She tried to enjoy the sound of their laughter and everyone’s promises to write one another and well wishes for the future. She grabbed her trunk and the cage with the mice and made her way down to the entrance hall to wait for Severus. He found her easily.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

“No -- wait. I just want to say goodbye.” She needed just one last look -- just one more.

She saw Remus make his way down the steps and stepped forward to meet him.

“I’ll write to you --” she said, hugging him tightly once more, savoring the feel of him in her arms. She did the same to Lily as well. “Good luck with the wedding,” she said. “Keep James in line.” She watched them exited the entrance hall, and then returned to Severus who was leaning against the wall and watching the other students make their way out the front doors.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, slipping her arm through his.

They walked down to the castle gates and into the village together, Severus floating their trunks and the crates holding the items from their workrooms behind them. Hermione was doing her best to hide the flow of tears that trickled steadily down her cheeks.

She stopped before they reached the top of the high street so she could gather herself and Severus handed her a handkerchief he fished from the pocket of his robes. She thought that he would have rolled his eyes at her, but he didn’t -- he was patient while she dabbed at her eyes, choosing to inspect the landscape around them to give her a bit of privacy.

The estate agent was waiting for them at the door with her keys and, after giving the flat a once-over with them, left them to unpack. Hermione was pleased to see that it was partially furnished as she requested, and though the single bed was expected before Severus had asked to join her, it was a bit inconvenient now.