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Chapter Text

But of course, he never really could have died. After all, even the potent venom of a basilisk is but warm milk when applied to the veins of a vampyre.

The Dark Lord hadn’t known, when he bid the great scaly thing to strike, that his command was as fruitless as it was misguided. By all that was magical, it hurt. Even as his mind calmly recognized the futility of the snake’s venom, he had to concede that his own elongated incisors were baby teeth compared to the great fangs of his attacker. Fuck.

After that, it was a simple thing really, to relinquish his memories to the boy. He had known this time would come eventually. The boy’s presence actually saved him the effort of surreptitiously seeking a private audience with him, a task which had just doubled in risk now that the Dark Lord thought him to be dead, or at the very least, dying.

Along with his memories, Severus released his responsibilities. What more could he truly do? He had accepted the inevitable truth of things long ago, when Dumbledore had finally spelled it out for him. The boy was going to die now, and take the modern wizarding world’s greatest terror down with him. There was nothing left for Severus Snape but to take to the sky and disappear on his cursed, bony wings.

--

He hadn’t planned to return. He hadn’t truthfully planned for anything, supposing that if his adopted immortality managed to get him through the war relatively unscathed, he would undoubtedly have decades to decide what to do with himself. What he really hadn’t accounted for was the simple truth that the sweet, warm, pure nourishment he had become so accustomed to was not nearly so easily attained in the world at large. The sticky lifeblood that fed his immortality was diluted, polluted, toxified in adults and its effects carried into his own well-being. After a few months, he came to the conclusion that if he didn’t drink from a youth, he was not altogether sure he wanted this immortality. For all his perceived and real cleverness, he could not orchestrate a scenario that brought children close enough to serve his purposes. Parents these days kept a tight rein on their young, and raised them with a suspicion that steered them far clear of tall, dark strangers with pale skin and long hair.

And so it was that when September rolled around, Severus Snape found himself back at the castle, ensconced in his old dungeons with their familiar scents and ambiance. Naturally, Minerva was shocked to learn that he had indeed survived. The shock quickly gave way to a fiery but short-lived chastisement, during which she berated him for his absence during the rebuild of Hogwarts. His reappointment as Potions Master was sealed with the clasping hands of old friends, much to Horace’s relief. Severus gave no mention to his previously coveted position as Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, as this role no longer held the same appeal. The dour man’s interest in the subject had been purely a matter of ensuring that the children were given a modicum of protection, should the Dark Lord ever return to power. With the threat finally abated, he was more than satisfied to step back into a place more suited to his ability to bewitch souls and ensnare senses, or whatever rot he fed to his first years.

Chapter Text

Four years later….

If Professor McGonagall had asked her as much as a year ago, Hermione would have turned her down.  As it was, she was finally ready to admit that her studies and travel abroad, while far from stagnated, were no longer able to mask the steadily growing pull she had begun to feel several months into her journey.  It was time to come home. Home needed her. Home had rather unexpectedly lost its Ancient Runes professor, mere weeks into the new school year.

What should have been a simple matter of stowing her belongings in the infamous beaded bag and Apparating to Hogsmeade got derailed right around the time that she went to fetch her beloved and incredibly irate Crookshanks.  It had only taken Hermione one attempt, three years ago, to transport Crookshanks within the enchanted bag, for her to discern the challenge her half-kneazle was determined to present. Things had not improved since. By year two, he had taken to shredding his wicker carrier whenever he sensed a move approaching.  Naturally this did not dissuade the witch, whose skill with a wand had the whole thing repaired with just a couple of swift movements. In turn, she had the clever idea to charm a collar that induced a harmless suggestibility. In exchange for a few scratches, she managed to clasp it about his neck, only to discover an hour later that he had lost it.  No amount of summoning charms could retrieve the object, and after a few days she gave up looking for it.  

This time, he was simply nowhere to be found.  She began to regret the threat she’d made the previous evening -- to simply leave him behind, if he refused to behave.  Hermione had been given a week’s notice to begin her term at Hogwarts, the entirety of which she spent at home with her parents, whose memories she had restored once the Ministry was satisfied that there were no lingering threats from any dark wizard hopefuls.  Thankfully, with Kingsley Shacklebolt now as Minister, she was able to give the decisions of the institution some credibility.  With a sigh, she checked the time.  She had given up on any hopes of making it in time for dinner hours ago.  If she did not get to the school soon, she would not have time to prepare for her first lessons in the morning.  The best she could hope for was to return the next evening to continue the search.

Hermione said goodbye to her parents one last time before stepping into the back garden.  The Drs. Granger, while very proud of their daughter, were still discomfited by the effects the seemingly simple twist of her heel produced.  Hermione had honed her Apparating skill such that her disappearances were accompanied by a soft pop, rather than the loud, ungainly crack of unskilled wizards and witches.  Reflecting on how much time she had spent on her wild cat chase, she was glad that this trip to Hogsmeade did not require any of the stopovers some of her longer journeys had.  

“Here we go.”  

--

Hermione hurried up the path from the picturesque town of Hogsmeade to the school gates.  The sky was beginning to darken quickly with nightfall, the autumn air crisp around her. She had sent her Patronus ahead to the Headmistress when it was clear she would not arrive in time to be announced, and the Headmistress had kindly replied in kind that she should just “let herself in”.  Whatever that meant.

Excitement fluttered in her chest as she drew level with the familiar gates.  She didn’t want to admit it, but this was home, and she had missed it. Deeply.  Breathing in, she closed her eyes as she raised her hand to the gate. At her touch, they swung inward, granting her entrance.  A smile twitched her lips as she stepped through and continued her trek up to the castle. When she reached the Entrance Hall, she noted how empty it was.  With dinner finished hours before, all the students must have retreated to their dormitories and were either studying or perhaps preparing for bed.  She was somewhat surprised that nobody had seen fit to greet her, not even the crotchety old Mr. Filch. As she had quietly thought to herself on many occasions before, she was grateful that her belongings could be carried in such an unobtrusive vessel as her somewhat well-loved purse.  To be caught standing alone in the Entrance Hall with an unwieldy trunk, and be recognized as someone quite forgotten about, would set a most undesirable tone indeed.

“Well then, I’ll just show myself up.”  Her voice was quiet, and yet made her jump just the tiniest bit in the roaring silence of the hall.  She crossed to the stairs, recalling to mind where she was to find her new quarters. Ninth floor, fifth hallway, eighteenth door on the left next to the tapestry of… oh good heavens, this castle!  Honestly, how is one ever supposed to keep track of things when the staircases shift -- speak of the -- oh no, am I back on the third floor again?  Oh, bugger.

As Hermione attempted to retrace her steps, she noted that she was no longer alone.  Some of the portraits on the wall had begun to take notice of her, and were taking great pleasure in giving her directions.  As Hermione had not voiced her destination, she shushed them. When doing so only provoked indignant huffs and louder declarations, she rolled her eyes and ducked into a corridor tucked behind a statue.  Without any real idea of where she was headed, she let her feet carry her down the passage. Through the somewhat dingy windows she could make out the distant glimmer of light that must be Hagrid’s hut. Another small smile came unbidden as she resolved to visit him at her earliest opportunity.  She didn’t realize she had paused in reminiscence until a brush against her ankles made her start.

“Crooks!  What on earth are you doing here?”  He yowled in response as she bent to scoop him up.  “You foul little thing, you had mummy so worried!” Hermione pressed a kiss to the top of his squirming head.  “Hey--ow! Well fine then!” He had dug his claws in, their “agreed upon” gesture to indicate when he wanted down.  The second his paws touched the stone floor, he took off running. 

“Crookshanks!” Hermione hissed after him as she took chase. She could just make out the occasional orange flick of his tail in the dimly lit hallway as she half-ran after him. She lost count of corners and stairs, but figured several moments must have passed by the time she topped a particularly long flight, gasping as she clutched a stitch in her side. Her cat was nowhere to be seen. She did not recognize the landing before her and was about to slump down on the uppermost step when she heard a curious noise. Instinct told her it wasn't Crookshanks, and that it would not be prudent to call out a cautious “hello?” or some such similar greeting. Instead she tiptoed forward as quietly as her burning legs would allow her to. As she neared an alcove she paused, for this was certainly where the source of the noise was located. Bracing herself, she peered around the corner. Letting out a gasp, her hand flew to her breast.. 

“Oh! Gods, I'm so sorry, I was just looking for...”  Her voice trailed off. I mean, what does one say at a time like this?  You’d think years of being on patrol duty would prepare a girl for catching a couple doing the nookie, but really, he’s tall enough to be a professor… oh gods, he is a professor!  She knew it as surely as she knew the chewing out he was sure to deliver her.

The figure whirled around, a thin beam of moonlight glancing off his dark hair and illuminating half of his pale face. Pale face marred with some dark, shining… Her gaze immediately flicked to the other figure, the one who had been mostly obscured by the professor’s billowing cloak.  Not… not late-night lovers then…?  Rather than another teacher or perhaps even an unfamiliar but curvaceous figure from Hogsmeade’s finest, the small form before Hermione made her step back several paces, all words lost.  A student. A young boy, at that. His face betrayed no sign of awareness, and though his eyes remained open they were glassy. 

“What the devil are you doing here, girl?”  His harsh words broke through her stupor and she looked back at him. 

“What on Earth are you doing? To a student, no less!” Her voice was rising, increasingly panicky and shrill. When Snape -- for she could not at the moment bring herself to use the title befitting a man deserving of respect -- moved toward her, all reason left her. She turned, and fled. Halfway down the same flight of stairs she heard what sounded like a yowl and perhaps a grunt of pain, but she dared not stop. As if summoned, Crookshanks shot past her, this time staying well within her range of vision. She followed him until he stopped, cool as you please, next to the tapestry of Muriel the Mad. Recognizing it for what it was, Hermione gasped the password and nearly fell into her new quarters. 

It was only when her heart had stopped racing and her breathing had returned to normal that she regained her senses. A cold jolt of guilt shot through her with the realization that she’d left a student to an uncertain fate at the hands of the dark professor.

Chapter Text

Damn.  Damn and bugger.  He didn’t know where to begin.  How in the name of Merlin had anyone been able to sneak up on him?  It was true that despite the supremely heightened senses his unusual state of being brought him, they were all for nothing when he was in the throes of feeding.  However, it was for this very reason that he often spent weeks scouting a new location before actually putting it to use, and never used the same place twice in one year.  Add to that the fact that he only needed to feed every fortnight or so… The odds were just too well stacked in his favor. That someone had actually happened upon him was, well, unheard of.  He had been doing this for nearly a decade now, after all. That it had been her was just… confusing.  What the devil was she doing there?  He’d asked as much of her last night, though at the time he’d not cared what her answer might be.  His aim had purely been to distract her long enough to do to her what he needed. He had miscalculated, however.

As he reflected on the incident in the quiet of his own rooms, he supposed that perhaps it had been something of a blessing that the blasted creature -- what did she call it?  A cat? -- had gotten in his way. From what he grudgingly recalled, her use of a wand during the final battle demonstrated a skill that even he could not diminish. If memory served, there had even been a time or two that she defended herself without the use of her wand, let alone an audible incantation.  He would not so unwisely dismiss the likelihood that she had spent the past few years improving on that talent. No, indeed, it was very probable that she would have succeeded in thwarting his attempts to erase her memory. It was one thing to remove an already-hazy memory (the effects of a mild sedative draught) from an unnoteworthy student, and administer two drops of Essence of Dittany before sending said student back to bed.  It was another thing altogether to challenge a wrong-footed witch when he himself was still half-dazed by the effects of a fresh meal.

This brought him to his real dilemma.  She knew too much. There wasn’t a soul alive, anymore, who knew this particular secret, something he had grown quite accustomed to.  He supposed he could always try to catch her off-guard, but that immediately brought to mind the image of himself rather foolishly poking a sleeping dragon.  No, that was not an option either. The more he contemplated his predicament, the calmer he began to feel. His interactions with her as a student had been as infrequent as they had with anyone else.  However, he distinctly recalled an incident in her third year. Or was it her fourth? It was no use counting by his own school years, as he had long stopped keeping track. No, it must have been her third year, it was before the tosh with the Durmstrang boy.  In her third year, she had admitted to her suspicions about Lupin’s lycanthropy. Though Severus himself had been purposefully taunting Lupin with the threat of letting his secret slip to the boy, he was nevertheless satisfied that at least the pedantic Miss Granger had figured it out.  At the time he had been torn between aggravation and grudging esteem when he learned that she had not shared her revelation with others until the incident in the Shrieking Shack. Now, he found himself counting on that same forbearance.

She would hold her tongue.  Of that he could be almost certain.

--

She would what now?  The question of what Miss Granger was doing back at Hogwarts was answered when she hurried into the Great Hall several minutes into the morning meal.  Minerva stood, opening her arms to the newcomer as if she were but a few steps away, rather than on the opposite side of the enormous room. Miss Granger quickly made her way to the raised platform where the Head Table stood, unconsciously attempting to flatten her hair as she avoided curious eyes.

“Ahem.  I would like to introduce you all to Professor Hermione Granger, who has kindly agreed to replace Professor Babbling as instructor of The Study of Ancient Runes.  Professor Babbling will be spending the remainder of the school year at St. Mungo’s, where they can monitor her condition.” With these choice words, Minerva put a hand on Miss-- no, Professor Granger’s arm and leaned in to speak to her directly.

No.  No, don’t you dare you old ha-- damn.   If he still had a pulse, it would have doubled as his enhanced hearing clearly picked up what his old friend was saying.

“It was kind of you to join us, Professor.”  Her words were unmistakably sardonic, though despite the gentle chastisement implied, Severus could tell her eyes were warm and she was suppressing a smile.  “I believe there is an empty seat next to Severus.”

The younger of the two women paused for the briefest of seconds before striding towards Severus and rounding the table to take a seat next to him. 

“Good morning, sir .”  Her tone was terse.  Severus ignored her. In his peripheral vision, he noted the tightening of her face as her eyes narrowed and the corners of her mouth pulled down even further.  Rather than repeat her greeting, or respond with a reprimand for his lack of social niceties, she applied herself to the business of spreading jam on a slice of toast.  Severus wondered, not for the first time, why he bothered with making an appearance at meals. Thankfully, his colleagues did not seem to notice that all he ever did was push food around on his plate, or take drinks from a goblet that was merely charmed to look as if it contained something.  As for the students, his temperament was little-changed and well-known, and thus he garnered few glances from that quarter.  

He continued to study her out of the corner of his eye.  Despite her bristly, straight-backed posture and clearly forced composure (some things never changed, her inability to hide emotion being one such thing), it was clear that this was not a countenance familiar to her.  At least, not anymore. He imagined it to be something perfected years ago by near-constant exposure to the two dunderheads she had spent most of her time at Hogwarts with. Now, she donned it like a well-worn but long forgotten and somewhat ill-fitting cloak, or perhaps rather like a pair of outdated dance shoes found in an attic trunk by a child and used for dress-up, rediscovered years later after the child has grown up to enjoy other things altogether.  The entirely fabricated image of a young, bushy-haired Miss Granger tottering around in shimmering heels brought an involuntary snort to Severus’ large nose.

“I do believe you owe me an explanation for last night, sir, ” she bit out from next to him.  Damn. If only he’d kept his composure.  Thankfully, she was still hissing harshly but quietly and Pomona, seated on his left, did not appear to have heard.  Blessed things at a time like this, mandrake shrieks. Even fluffy pink earmuffs could not combat a career of their piercing howls.

“Do you indeed?”  He let the words fall out slowly, as if each one were making a point.

“In deed. ”  She had yet to look at him again.

“If I recall -- and trust me when I say, I do -- it was I who requested an explanation first.”  His voice was low and even, and its sonorous rumble bordered on a purr. “By contrast, you chose to… run away.”  He let the last two words hang, as if they in themselves contained all further explanation.

“And what if I did?  You were -- you were…”  Clearly, she was as of yet unable to put voice to what she had unwittingly stumbled upon.  This was a good sign -- he had time before he would have to deal with the onslaught of questions that was as inevitable as the setting of the sun.

“I must congratulate Miss Granger, you do your House proud.”

“I-- my what?  And it’s ‘Professor’ now, I’ve equal right to respect as you.”

“Why, the courage of course.  You must be very brave to sit by my side…”  Severus refrained from voicing the number of replies her ‘equal right’ pronouncement elicited.  House elves would stage an uprising against wizards before she earned his respect , at least as far as she would ever be aware.

“Well you wouldn’t dare try something here.  Not in front of all these witnesses!” She glanced over at him as she said this, her tone implying that it was plainly obvious.  

Severus turned his head enough to let his eyes sweep to meet hers.  Widening them sharply for emphasis, he replied, “Wouldn’t I?”

There crossed her face a distinct flicker of realization that he very well might try something there, with all those witnesses.  She quickly turned back to her toast. It was several moments before she seemed to realize she had not yet gotten the answer she was seeking.

“So what were you doing?  Why? Who was that?  Was that bl--” 

Her stream of questions was cut off abruptly as Severus stood, hissing sharply in her ear.

“Shut up , Miss Granger.”  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked from the hall.

Chapter Text

At first, Hermione simply took the rudeness of his sudden departure in stride.  She had after all been careless -- on the point of questioning him about the blood, in her excitement her voice had risen above its previously moderated tone.  If Professor Sprout -- no, Pomona, I may use their names now! -- had happened to overhear her, it was bound to cause some inconvenience, if not for her then at least for Professor Snape.  ( He did not share a familiar professional relationship with her, and even in the privacy of her own practical mind she dared not use his given name.)  However, when she reflected upon it further, she reminded herself that she had behaved very poorly with regard to the unwitting student whom she had essentially abandoned the previous night.  For his sake at least, she must seek answers and possibly… take action.

Lessons and planning kept her well-occupied throughout much of the day.  Although as an elective she only had five years to teach, and the classes were mixed-House at that, some of them met three times a week.  She had been pleased to note that in any given day, she had no more than two lessons to teach. This was primarily in order to accommodate her own study schedule, the purpose of which was to prepare her for her next professional accomplishment -- becoming a Runes Mistress.  She had spent the few years after Hogwarts developing a deeper, broader understanding of the basis of magic. While she had greatly enjoyed studying abroad and learning the magics of other lands, her greatest passion remained with the ancient history of northern Europe. Her study of runes was to be just the beginning.

Her first class of the day was not until second period, and so it was that she found herself with a free hour after the morning meal.  She spent this time familiarizing herself with her new classroom. It was a charming little room, the walls of which jutted out from the castle rather like those of a dormer window.  With the better part of three walls exposed to the outdoors, the room was well-lit by several tall windows. It was located on the ground floor, not far from the greenhouses. The nearest of which, Greenhouse Six, was neighbored by a small orchard.  It was perhaps this very orchard to which one could attribute the magic of the room, for the light which shone through the many glass panes was filtered by thousands of leaves in varying shades of green. Hermione inhaled deeply as she took in the dappled light spilling across the desks.  The effect was calming, woodsy and carried with it a hint of nostalgia -- for what, Hermione did not know. In such climes as these, with the upcoming lesson an unmovable point in time, she found it surprisingly easy to push thoughts of the previous evening to the back of her mind.

--

Though Hermione had committed herself to obtaining the answers she sought, this proved to be a greater challenge than she had anticipated.  His attendance at mealtimes was intermittent, and when he did grace the long table with his presence, it was only to be safely ensconced between two occupied chairs before she herself had arrived.  His ability to vacate the room while she was otherwise engaged in dialog with another professor was uncanny. She would simply look up during a lull in conversation and see that he was gone, despite her best efforts to keep one eye on him.  It seemed too that he had some new method of escaping his classroom at the end of each lesson, for though she pressed into the room as the students were leaving one day, she found no sign of him. After several minutes of lingering, she found herself forcibly removed from the room, whether by a general ward or by an intentional spell, she was unsure.  

At the end of the third day of this, Hermione rolled up her sleeves, selected a handsome green ink, and set quill to parchment.  Her missive was brief, the owl that carried it a sweet tawny thing crowned with copper feathers. The reply came two days later with the Saturday morning post, accompanied by the item she had requested.  If her receipt of the flat parcel was observed by the dark eyes of her quarry, well, perhaps that was all the better. Armed as she now was, any further attempts at evasion would be in vain. Nevertheless, she refrained from unwrapping the parcel at the table, favoring instead the privacy of her quarters.

The rooms in question were deeply satisfying to Hermione, and went a long way to solidifying the rightness she felt at being back in Hogwarts.  Consisting of a cozily appointed sitting room, bedchamber, and private bath, the main living space boasted no less than three windows with a view of the lake which at sundown was, in a word, stunning.  The furnishings had surprised Hermione somewhat by being in the comfortable-yet-sleek Muggle style known as Mid Century modern.  The warm tones of the wood were set off nicely by the cool stone walls and rich tapestries, and the little orange loveseat played pleasant counterpoint to the cheerful fire in the hearth.  Most importantly, the bookshelf was roomy and sturdy, its clean lines well-suited to the orderly fashion in which she kept her books. The lower shelves carried heavy tomes of scholarly magic, while the middle and upper shelves were reserved for the volumes she had picked up during her travels.  These ranged from publications on foreign magic to novels that had snagged her attention in some way or other.

Upon entering her rooms, she breezed past all of these things in favor of the teak table set up under the far window.  Here, she pulled back the paper coverings of her prize.  

“Gotcha,” she breathed.  Unable to restrain a smile, she smoothed the stiff parchment beneath her fingers.  “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

With the familiar utterance, the parchment came to life under her fingertips.  Dark ink bled into the paper, chasing away from her touch to form the lines of the castle.  As the hallways and classrooms formed before her eyes, they filled with the tiny dots that represented Hogwarts’ occupants. Part of growing up for Hermione had included a ‘letting down of her hair’, so to speak.  While she once would have rankled at the rule-breakers responsible for the creation and guilty for the use of the map, she now felt nothing but admiration, and a niggling idea at the back of her mind that wouldn’t it be useful indeed if one could somehow reference this knowledge without carrying a cumbersome bit of paper about?

It took some time for Hermione to locate Severus Snape’s dot, and when she did, her interest was piqued.  The tower was simply labeled ‘Small Locked Tower’, but Hermione knew what it was nevertheless. In Hogwarts, A History it was described as housing the Book and Quill of Acceptance, along with many other ancient magical artifacts selected by none other than the Founders themselves.  Hermione supposed that if any of the Horcruxes had survived, this tower would be a reasonable storehouse for them, as the textbook had clearly expressed that only Headmasters and Headmistresses could gain entry to the room.  Such a position held little interest for Hermione, though she would dearly love to examine the contents of such a room.

As she watched, the tiny dot on the parchment moved slowly about the tower, pausing for lengths at a time.  She imagined him to be indulging in a private late-morning getaway, studying the objects as if at a museum. Indeed, the notion was not an unpleasant one.  Hermione’s mind drifted somewhat, imagining the ways she could be spending this unseasonably warm day, if it weren’t for the matter of saving unsuspecting students from the pernicious Professor Snape.   As if on cue, the dot swiftly exited the tower and moved along the hallway at a brisk pace.  Hermione’s eyes followed as the dot descended to the dungeons, and then to the office of the man in question.  There it settled behind what could only be his desk, likely to begin grading papers.

Preparing to leave and confront the bastard, she felt the light tingle indicating that someone was just outside her door, likely preparing to knock.  As expected, a short double-rap came mere seconds later. Swinging the door inward, she started only for the barest second upon taking in her visitor.  Manners kicked in, and she quickly smiled with a warm greeting.

“Hello, Madam Pince!  Please, do come in.”

The librarian’s expression was tight and wary, but nevertheless she minced into the room.  Her eyes swept over the bookshelf, which seemed to meet with her approval for she relaxed a trifle.  “Irma,” she said, “and I do not have long, I must return to the library.”

“Irma, then -- it is a pleasure to see you.  You must of course call me Hermione. What can I do for you?”  Internally, she was baffled. There was to her knowledge no incident, good or bad, during her school years that would induce the starchy librarian to pay her a visit now.  While of course she had never so much as inserted a bookmark in any of the Hogwarts library tomes, lest it cause the slightest bit of damage to the spine, she had likewise failed to garner any whiff of approval, let alone favoritism from the woman.

“I have called upon you to offer you a-”, and here she faltered, eyes flicking around the room as if seeking escape, “a gift.  Welcome back,” she said, thrusting a thin volume towards Hermione.

“Oh!”  Hermione reached for the book, quite taken aback.  There was only the slightest resistance as it left Irma’s grasp, which Hermione privately found not the least bit surprising.

“Mind you it’s only a loan, I expect it to be returned to the library within the week!”  There was less sharpness to her eyes than Hermione had grown accustomed to, however. Hermione smiled to herself as she took in the title of the book, Galdrastafur .  It was a term familiar to her through her runic studies, and she appreciated the thoughtfulness on the part of the librarian.  This was a somewhat more in-depth subject that she would only be teaching to her more advanced students.

“Well, thank you nonetheless!  I confess, this is quite an honor.  I promise, your book shall be quite safe with me!”

“Yes, well,” Irma sniffed.  Hermione half expected her to sweep back out the door, her business concluded, but instead the older woman hesitated.  In that moment, Hermione came to a decision.

“Won’t you join me for tea some evening, once the library is closed?”

Irma studied Hermione, relaxing somewhat further.  Her pursed lips quirked ever so slightly.

“That would be… nice.  Thank you. Now, I really must be getting back,” she said.

“Of course,” Hermione gave a nod, and stepped back to allow Irma to pass by her.  “And thank you again for the book!”

Once the librarian was gone, Hermione just stood by the closed door for a full minute, mind reeling.  Madam Pince?  Loaning me a book, of all things!  This week gets stranger and stranger!

To her dismay, the visit had taken up what little time she’d had to stop by the dungeons that morning.  She had agreed to visit Hagrid for lunch, and it was going on noon already. With a sigh, she set the book down on the closer of the two Lane end tables.

Chapter Text

Severus knew he could not avoid her forever.  One part of him even proposed that she might make for a tenable ally -- she had after all given that damned werewolf the benefit of the doubt, and even came to his own defense at the conclusion of the war.  It would however involve explaining things to her, and with Hermione Granger, explanations (and discourse in general) would come with questions.  So. Many. Questions. He sighed audibly.

He was indeed marking papers in his office, having concluded his self-alloted half-hour repast in one of his favorite haunts.  These days, only Minerva could bother him there, and as Headmistress she often had much better things to do. He supposed that when he was done, perhaps he could seek out the witch he had so studiously avoided the past week.  If he was honest with himself, he had found some parts of it to be rather amusing -- bouncing the chit out of his classroom on her arse, for one thing. Oh, how he would have longed to do such a thing when she was his student!  Insufferable know-it-all , his mind provided as he scrawled a terse remark in the margins of the essay at hand.  The moniker of course applied not to the poorly researched drivel before him, but to the woman in question.  Woman?  Yes, I suppose so .   They do have a way of growing up, don’t they?   Snorting to himself, he redoubled his efforts with the essays in an attempt to push thoughts of Professor Granger from his mind.  Suffice it to say, she attempted to plague his reality overmuch, he could do well enough without her preying on his mind as well.

--

A matter of hours later, he had done all he could to put off what he now acknowledged to be the inevitable.  The papers were graded, and there were no potions in immediate (or even moderate) need of his attention. It was mid-afternoon, and with any luck, he would have the matter sorted by suppertime.

His duration as Headmaster of the school had left him with some perks, naturally.  He found them to be quite useful when seeking his cursed sustenance. As with most clever bits of magic, the ability to sense other beings in the castle and on its grounds was masterfully tuned to be helpful without being cacophonous.  It hung in the ether, just there , ready to be called upon when he needed it -- but did not press itself upon him unbidden.  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he left his eyes buried in the palm of one hand as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to subject himself to… and prodded the net with his magic, sending out a single inquiry.

Where is Professor Granger?

The answer came pinging back moments later.  She was working her way around the edge of the Black Lake, under the canopy at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.  Just as well , Severus supposed.  Suitable to avoid eavesdroppers.   With a roll of his shoulders, he initiated the change.  In a motion that he had perfected over the course of years, his arms reformed themselves and swept out into leathery wings.  He beat the wings, his wings, in the air as his torso and legs pulled up towards his neck.  Hair receded back into his scalp as his ears, nose, eyes and mouth reconfigured themselves into the grotesque face of a vampyre bat.  His fingers and toes became more claw than flesh and bone, and with that there was nothing left to suggest that the wizard Severus Snape had been in the room mere seconds before.  Up, up he flew, through crevices and channels in the stonework. He knew the route well, too well. It was chill and damp, and then with increasing warmth came the chatter of students in the halls, enjoying their Saturday afternoon.  He flew only in the corridors with the highest of ceilings, out of their notice, until he reached the crisp air of the outdoors.

Though the sun was warm on his wings, the autumn air was cool at his altitude.  It did not take long for him to reach the forest, and upon entering he sought refuge on a large bough.  From there, he could hear his quarry’s progress along the shoreline, mere meters away. She remained oblivious to his presence.  His internal debate was brief -- present himself as the bat, or the wizard? -- and ended with him resuming the mien she would find most familiar.

He approached noiselessly.  Nevertheless, she whipped around, wand drawn.  He had to admit, if only to himself, that her complete composure was impressive.  To be expected of a war hero, he supposed, albeit a young one.

“Put that thing away, you foolish witch,” he objected in a bored sort of voice.  “If I had any intentions to cause you harm, you may rest assured that you would have felt them long before now.”

“I don’t know,” she retorted crisply.  “I believe I am still recovering from a bruised tailbone, thanks to you!”  

Whatever he had been expecting her response to be, this was not it.  In fact, he nearly laughed ( laughed! ) aloud.  She did however lower her wand, which he took to be a promising sign for the conversation ahead.

“Miss Granger,” he started.

“Professor,” she interjected.

“Professor,” he amended.  He wanted her on his side after all, didn’t he?  “I have come to the conclusion that if I am to have any peace, I shall have to submit myself to your… inquiry.  Please, ” and here despite his best efforts, his tone went from clipped to acerbic, “ try to refrain detaining either of us any longer than is strictly necessary.  I have no interest in becoming your latest subject to study.”

For a second, not a muscle in her body so much as twitched.  She was in full absorption-and-processing mode. The first movement was her eyes, as they narrowed.  Her head cocked to one side as she seemed to study him. Still, she said nothing, which in truth surprised him more than anything thus far.  He had only processed this much when she ‘hem’-ed to herself and swiftly stowed her wand in her sleeve in a decidedly business-like manner.

“Deal,” she said, and stuck her hand out.  Severus looked down his nose at it disdainfully, before grudgingly raising his own to meet it.

The contact began between their palms and finished with a sweep of fingertips against wrists.  With it came a deep thrum , and as Severus’ eyes flashed to Professor Granger’s, he knew she had felt it too.  Her eyes dilated, the warm honey color disappearing as endless black took over. He could feel her pulse beat faster against his forefinger, before she jerked her hand away.  Clearing her throat, she turned to continue her walk along the lakeside. Severus fell into step beside her. Warm honey?  Where in Merlin’s name did that come from?  You’re losing your touch, old man. For the space of nearly two minutes, the only sound was that of their feet crunching the drying leaves beneath them.  While normally Severus would have found such a delay to be tedious and an infringement upon his time, he was discomposed by the unexpected reaction the otherwise-mundane contact had affected.  He too was unwilling to put into words the experience they had both surely shared. Nevertheless, he found that with it came a notable reduction in his ire toward his newest colleague. Curious , he observed to himself.

“Is he alright?”

“Who?  Mr. Branderbury?  Of course. Believe of me what you will, but I do not willingly seek to cause harm to my students.  Furthermore, he will have no recollection of the incident, nor any physical markings to give him pause.”

“What were you doing, anyway?”  Her eyes flicked up to study his profile.  With the initiation of their intended subject, Severus had regained much of his composure.  His strides were confident; his chin raised and his hands clasped behind his back. 

“How familiar are you with Kabbalah?”

“Jewish mysticism?  I must admit, not very,” and her mouth twisted into a frown.  To Severus, it almost looked like a pout. Of course, something she does not know.  She would find that to be disappointing.   

“Indeed, I rather suspect you are not alone in that.  It is perhaps a lack of understanding that led to my current state,” Severus mused.  Impressively, his companion remained silent. “After the return of the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore sent me on a mission to retrieve an object.  This object… he believed it would be of use against the Dark Lord.” Here, Severus paused again.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“The lore surrounding the object was that it would convey immortality upon whosoever possessed it.”  This was punctuated by a derisive snort from Severus. “I believe he intended to give it to Potter, or perhaps to use it himself.  If the former, I can only suppose that he believed it would save Potter from dying upon the destruction of his Horcrux.”

“Forgive me Professor, but it sounds as though even now you do not know his intentions.  Surely he explained everything at some point?”

At this, Severus came to a halt.  Without turning, he glanced down at the witch beside him.  Including her unruly hair, she only came up to his shoulders.  “May I not come to regret this,” he sighed. “You may use my given name -- I find it difficult to do as you bid in considering you my peer so long as you continue to address me in the same manner as my students.”  He said nothing of the fact that it was an (oddly) uncomfortable reminder that she was once his student, not so long ago. Why should that bother me?

“Well then, in that case I expect equality… Severus.  You must call me Hermione,” she said for the second time that day, though of course Severus did not know this.  “I imagine it’s a sight better than whatever that hateful mind of yours has come up with,” she added under her breath.

For his part, Severus did not deign to reply, neither to her muttered comment nor to her invitation.  Instead, he picked up the thread of his tale in answer to her earlier question.

“I never discovered his intentions because it became quite clear that whatever that madman had in mind was not going to work as he had predicted.  The moment I claimed the object, my fate was forever changed.” His next words were bitter. “How fortunate that Dumbledore could inadvertently test his theory on another, for as soon as he recognized the truth of it, he no longer wished to proceed down that avenue.”

Hermione stood quietly by his side, looking up at him.  She may have managed to bite her tongue, but he could still sense her practically vibrating with the need for answers.  He found that he did not mind giving them, at least not as much as he had before. As he laid it out before her, divulging his greatest secret for the first time since telling Dumbledore himself, he realized that part of him wanted her to know.  Another part of him wondered if it mattered whether it was her, or someone else.  He could always just Obliviate all of this from her memory.  Why did he not just Obliviate her and be done with it?

Because eternity is a long time.  A lifetime of loneliness.

But does it have to be?

It is all I have known.

But does it have to be?

It… it does not.

Chapter Text

Some days, things went exactly according to plan.  Meals were taken with little attention paid to their composition.  The daily schedule proceeded uneventfully, and one could feel as though one was walking a familiar path through one’s day.

Other days… other days were different.  Other days swept you up in them, breezing you from one thing to the next.  They left no time for pondering, because if you didn't pay close attention to what was happening now , then you would find yourself utterly lost.  Ironically, those were also the days when smells and tastes and even touches became more profound, and lingered against the senses longer.  Sometimes this was due to the simple kind of magic that nature performs, playing sunlight across verdant fields in such a way that the very motes of the air become arresting.  Other times, this happened because there really was a deep magic at play, enacting forces previously left dormant. 

This was the second kind of day, though Hermione had not yet recognized it as such.  Her days were typically quite structured, her attention drawn to things resolved into facts long ago.  Histories and theories, books and professional journals.  Things that someone before her had already reasoned out, processed, boiled down into a consumable state.  The war and her year on the run had been enough excitement and uncertainty for her, thankyouverymuch.

It was the pulse of energy that seared through her body when her flesh came into contact with her erstwhile professor's that tipped her off.  She should have suspected as much, what with Madam Pince ( Irma, she reminded herself) paying her a visit.  Not to mention, after her visit with Hagrid, she had fully intended to march back up to the castle and seek out the man who now stood beside her.  She had taken no more than three steps toward her destination when she felt an inexplicable desire to walk down by the Black Lake first.  Perhaps it was the fine afternoon, all sun and bright blue sky, with heavily pigmented autumn leaves rustling in the idyllic breezes.  The whole scene seemed to be… waiting. 

As the wave of power passed through her, she found herself stirred up, not unlike the dregs that settled at the bottom of an untouched teacup when forgotten.  Out of nowhere, an innocuous little teaspoon had been dunked in and given a brisk stir around the cup, and now things she'd given no thought to before were swirling around inside of her, too fast for her to grasp and make sense of just yet.  With this agitation came an incongruous sense of calm, at least in one corner.  She knew instinctively that this conversation was going to be very, very important, and that her hotheaded conclusions from earlier in the week would have no home here.

This knowledge anchored her, allowing for some presence of mind while Merlin knows what roiled in the background.

She found that walking helped, too.  Weighing most on her mind was the guilt she felt at having left a student alone, and it was this that she sought to assuage first.  As Severus elaborated, she was drawn into his tale.  His voice rumbled deeply, something which Hermione surprised herself by noticing.  They had stopped moving some time ago, and Hermione caught herself leaning ever-so-slightly nearer to him.

"You see, Mi- Hermione," he continued, seemingly oblivious,  "the price of this immortality is that I must… sustain myself on the lifeblood of others.  I find no enjoyment in the arrangement, and would surely have sought to destroy myself long ago if I had not discovered quite soon after… the change… that I could find nourishment without taking the life as well."

At this, Hermione turned away and resumed her slow pace.  "But… why the students?  Why children, and not adults?  Why not pursue criminals instead?"  She snapped her mouth shut to cut off the stream of repetitive questions, lest they vex him into silence.

"I too held similar notions.  It would seem that the nature of this curse is insidious indeed.  It feeds on purity, which as you have surely realized by now is a rarity in adults, and has been utterly extinguished in abusers, murderers, swindlers…" he trailed off, letting the words hang in the air.  Hermione saw the truth of his remorse in the distaste with which he spoke.  

She studied him from under her lashes as they proceeded along the bank together.  His skin had always been pale, but now she saw that it's pallor was not just pale but inhumanly so.  His lips, pulled into a thin frown, were not the pink shade of a natural living man, but rather a duskier version of the rest of his skin, matched only by the dark circles around his eyes.  The eyes themselves were obscured from her surreptitious study by the shadow his heavy brow cast.  His hair, which was now several inches longer than it had been during her days as a student, was pulled back into a low ponytail.  It suits him, she thought suddenly. She was at once struck by the reality of strolling alone with such a figure as he.  Not a muscle moved that did not have to, not an ounce of unnecessary energy was exerted. Nonetheless, a quiet, primal strength rolled off him in waves, which set her insides to spinning again.  She redirected her eyes to the path, hoping he couldn't sense the way her breath caught. 

Somehow I can just imagine how one might find themselves down a dark corridor with him, she thought.  Suddenly she found herself struggling desperately to tamp down the flaming heat she felt rush to her face, knowing it to be an embarrassing display she had never managed to control before.  Oh gods, don't let him look, don't-look don't-look don't-look!  

He looked.  He must have mistaken the redness in her face for anger, however for he stopped short.  

"Do not judge me, Miss Granger," he said coldly.  "You have not the first notion of what it is to suffer this… existence."

At this, her eyes snapped up to meet his.  They were hard, penetrating, and behind that, she could just make out… desperation?

"You- you haven't spoken of this to anyone else."  It was not a question, for the truth of it was plain to see, no matter what exterior he tried to present.  Perhaps it was her own emotional expressiveness that enabled her to see past the facades of others, and recognize in them the same core feelings, motivations and insecurities that she knew so well.

"Obviously," he bit out, enunciating each syllable.  She gave him a shrewd look.

"Don't take that tone with me, mister," she chided in her most no-nonsense tone.  He may have cut quite an imposing figure in her youth, but right here, right now, he was just a man.  Okay, a great and powerful bloodsucking man, but hey who's counting?

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he rocked back on his heels ever so slightly at that.  She gave a smirk of her own, confidence returning as the warmth in her face cooled to its usual temperature. 

"I mean it, Severus ," she took care to stress his name.  "You should know by now what a sucker I am for this kind of thing.  Honestly, I would half expect you to ridicule me for being so easily swayed to your side, so to speak!"  If the expression that flitted across his face was anything to go by, she suspected she was at least half right.

"So may I trust you to leave me to my happy solitude?"

"No," she smiled, eyes alight with purpose.  "I'm going to break your curse."

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not.”  Severus recoiled at the pleased look on Hermione’s face.  Is she daft?

“Well why not?  I think it’s a brilliant idea.  Unless you want to spend eternity lurking in the shadows, forever alone and guilt-ridden -- don’t you give me that look, Severus Snape!” she jabbed a finger towards him, “You can’t fool me into thinking you don’t care what you’re doing to those students.  No matter how well you tidy them up before sending them off to bed, you’re too good for that.”

Severus scoffed audibly, rolling his eyes.  “Merlin, one conversation and the woman thinks she knows me,” he moaned, turning away from her and taking a few paces closer to the forest.  He could hear her steps pursuing him, and spun around to face her again. She came up short, and reared back somewhat to avoid a collision.  Yes, he thought, a hint of his animalistic nature stirring to wakefulness inside him.  Be afraid, witch.  You know not what I could do to you…  

He took a step forward, advancing on her.  She had to crane her neck to see his face as she retreated in a vain attempt to maintain the distance between them.  Severus did not relent, pursuing her several paces until he had her cornered under a large beech near the edge of the water.  The roots of the great tree twisted out from its base, rising in uneven lengths before plunging into the surrounding soil.  As she backed away, the heel of her boot caught against one such root, and Hermione teetered unsteadily.  One nudge, and she would be in the lake.  Severus’ hand shot out, grasping her wrist.  In one swift movement, he had pulled her back from the edge of the water, instead using his grip to push her up against the trunk of the beech.  He held her there for several beats, his body mere centimeters from hers.  The position was a familiar one, from his many nights spent in dark alleys and alcoves.  Something was different now, though.  He’d sought his internal demon’s assistance to frighten the bothersome woman, yet now that he had her where he wanted her, he found himself unable to force the demon into submission.  Hypnotized, he took in every detail, from her widened eyes to her parted, panting lips.  His hand practically burned where it touched her skin, and yet he was unable to release her.  His gaze dropped to the column of her throat, where her pulse raced under warm flesh.  Distantly, he noted how well her faint tan was set off by the indigo blue of her sweater, and how delicate the bones of her collar seemed, exposed as they were by the scooped neck.  So convenient, the beastly voice crooned inside him.  So delicious, so lovely, so--

Severus’ head dipped, eyelids shuttering as his lips neared the soft sweetness of her throat.

“ Severus ,” she half-moaned, half-whispered.

No, he thought, struggling to regain control.  With a great effort, he pushed himself back from the tree, releasing her wrist.  Belatedly, he realized that in the interest of self-preservation, he ought not have relinquished the very sleeve in which her wand was stowed.  Nevertheless, he stumbled back several paces, breathing heavily.  He felt the demon hiss in dissatisfaction as it curled back into dormancy within him.  Fuck, his mind was reeling as the full impact of what he’d nearly done, and more importantly his inability to control the beast, settled on him.  Fuck.  I have to… I have to… 

Unable to formulate a coherent thought, and unwilling to face her just yet, he took the only route available to him… flight.

--

For her part, Hermione sat right down where she was.  She wouldn’t have gotten far on her shaking legs, anyway.  She felt… she felt so many things.  Angry?  Surprisingly, no.  Confused?  Perhaps a little.  More than anything, she felt… bereft .  As though she’d missed out on something which had promised to be juicy.  It hadn’t even crossed her mind to draw her wand on him, though her body’s involuntary response to suddenly finding itself prey to such a creature likely had some sway on that front.  The paralyzation she’d felt creeping over her was dissipating rapidly, now that he was gone.  It left behind a pounding heart, and such heat .  Hermione felt positively flushed.  She wasn’t sure that she was altogether happy about the outcome of her encounter with the enigmatic Potions Master.

Before she could get any further puzzling that out, her thoughts were interrupted by a crunch of feet on leaves.

“Oh, hullo Hermione!”  Neville greeted her.  He had joined the Hogwarts staff that year as an assistant professor in Herbology, with the idea that he could take over Pomona’s position when she retired in the next year or so.  “Am I just going mad, or was Professor Snape over here?  Say, is everything okay?  You’re not looking your best, if you don’t mind my saying.”  Neville’s concern was genuine, utterly counteracting any possible offense Hermione might have been tempted to take at his words.  Knowing him as she did, of course she took none.  Rather, she levered herself up with one hand, dusting the seat of her trousers.

“Severus?  Oh he was here, though I’m afraid I can’t say where he’s gotten off to,” she said with as breezy an air as she could muster, under the circumstances.

“Rotten luck,” Neville lamented.  “I had hoped to run something by him.  Ah well,” he brightened, offering Hermione his arm.  “It’s nearly time for supper, let’s head back, shall we?”

Hermione grinned and slipped her arm through his.

“Yes, I’m famished!”

It was good having a familiar, friendly face at Hogwarts as her equal.  Neville asked how she was liking her classes, and that conversation carried them through the return to the castle and well into dinner.  Distracted though she was by the pleasant company, she did not fail to notice the empty chair at the far end of the long table.

Chapter Text

Severus kept to himself the rest of that evening, and the following day.  He did not want to think about what he had nearly done, but even less did he wish to address how he felt about not having done it.  Visions of Hermione’s creamy throat, amber eyes and wet lips flashed through his mind, unbidden.  It was one thing for his body to crave the rejuvenation his twice-monthly feedings secured him.  That pull was strong, strong enough that if he tried to resist, he would inevitably fall upon the nearest victim and gorge himself, half-starved as he was by then.  He had tried doing so twice before, and was met only with futility and guilt.  Those uncontrolled feedings were more savage, and took more from the unlucky souls than Severus was prepared to allow.

The onslaught that beset him now was another matter entirely.  The ghost of her chest rising and falling with each breath grazed his own at random intervals, as if she was there in the room with him, close enough to… but then Severus would shake his head to clear it of the phantom, and remind himself that he had not in fact been so close to her as to have felt her breathing.  Other times, it would be his long fingers absently caressing her unruly, abominable, wondrous hair, twining curls about his forefinger -- only to have him stiffly wipe his palms down the front of his frock coat, as if it could erase his imaginings.  

Worst of all was the way she had said his name.  Severus, breathy and so damnably sexy, was on constant replay in his head.  With each utterance, it became less a memory and more a siren call, to the point that it was all he could do to remain in his quarters.

It had been years since Severus had employed the use of his Occlumency shields to any taxing degree.  The fall of the Dark Lord dissolved his one constant fear -- that his true loyalties would be discovered.  As far as Severus was concerned, he was now the Scariest Wizard in the Wardrobe, so to speak.  The relief that came with finally, finally letting the heavy shields drop was profound.  The muscles of his mind had trembled with the liberation.  It was not long before Severus noticed significant improvements to his overall well-being, though the matter of his need to feed upon others remained.

The decision to rebuild those barriers was not a light one.  Severus cursed the witch for her role in his misery, though even he did not know why it was so poignant, so severe.  No potion would relieve his agony, no tonic would dull his senses.  He would not be able to teach, sleep, think without a protective barricade.  Sinking deep within himself, Severus painstakingly constructed the cerebral tomb necessary to maintain a semblance of normalcy.  It took hours, and he had to dismantle and start all over once, when the image of her pressed up against the tree filtered across his mind.

When he was done, he had a dull ache at his temples, which showed no signs of letting up any time soon.

--

On Sunday, Irma accepted Hermione’s invitation to join her for an evening pot of tea.  If she was surprised that it came so soon after delivering the book, she made no mention of it.  She arrived a little after six, having just locked up the library for the day.  Hermione welcomed her warmly, hoping it wouldn’t be long before the older woman relaxed in her presence.

The two witches settled by the fire, Hermione on her loveseat and Irma in one of the two tufted armchairs.  The teapot was kept warm in a cozy Hermione had knitted herself.  Irma sat stiffly on the mustard colored seat, taking delicate sips of her oolong tea (“Milk please, no honey -- thank you.”) and eyeing the plate of biscuits Hermione had very politely requested from the kitchens.

“Thank you again for bringing Galdrastafur to me yesterday, it has been quite an enjoyable read thus far.”

“Yes, well I expect it is nothing you are unfamiliar with,” Irma replied, brushing the thanks aside.

“That may be true, but it is a good thing on occasion to revisit subjects one is familiar with, even if one believes that familiarity to be intimate!  For instance, I’d nearly forgotten that there is an entire theory based in Seidr roots.  It’s quite fascinating stuff, really!”  

Irma gave a small smile at this.  Hermione took it as encouragement, and plowed ahead.

“In fact, it rather got me thinking, and there’s something I want to ask you about,” she said, adjusting so that she could tuck her feet under her and lean in closer to her companion.  As she did so, she levitated the plate of biscuits closer to Irma.  “Here, have one, they’re so good!”

Selecting a small wafer, Irma’s mouth quirked in another little smile before taking a discrete nibble.

“Do you-- I mean, do we-- that is to say, does Hogwarts have any books on Kabbalah?”

“Hmm,” Irma considered for a moment.  “I’ll admit, that is not a request I have had before, and I have a memory for these things, you should know.  I do believe the library holds a small collection of texts.  Is there something in particular you are looking for?”

Not only was this the most Hermione had ever heard the woman speak (outside of berating the students), but it was also the most accommodating she had ever seen her to be.  Hermione said nothing of course, unwilling to risk this tenuous opportunity.

“Well, I suppose it would only be right that I start at the beginning -- something introductory would be good.  My real interest is in cursed objects, though, so if you happen to find anything along those lines…” Hermione trailed off.

“Cursed Kabbalistic objects, I believe I should be able to come up with something.  Mind you, I shall need a few days!  The entire spirituality-based section has been off-limits even to me,” and here the usually uptight librarian’s cheeks turned pink, “as something seems to have gone rather amiss with one of my protective hexes.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, before picking up a shortbread biscuit for herself.

“Now this I need to hear more about!” she said, settling in deeper to the cushions.  Irma grinned sheepishly, and recounted the story.  By the time she left two hours later, the two bibliophiles had developed the beginnings of a strong rapport.

Chapter Text

Upon entering the Great Hall on Monday morning, Hermione eyed the staff table and was pleased to see that Severus had joined them.  He absolutely refused to meet her eye, no matter how hard she tried to catch his.  In fact he did little more than frown into his plate, his brow deeply creased.  Hermione decided it would be in both their best interests if she left him to breakfast in peace -- though she did note that he never actually raised his fork to his lips.

Hermione’s second week of classes started off on a distinctly different note, for it was Halloween week.  The entire school was abuzz with excitement, especially as traces of the holiday were beginning to appear in the hallways, classrooms, and dormitories.  The Bloody Baron made more of an appearance than usual, clanking chains and moaning ghoulishly at opportune moments.  Fillius could be seen charming obsidian glass bats to flutter about in the main stairwell, using only radar and questionable guidance from the portraits to keep from crashing into the stone walls.  Unsurprisingly, this happened quite often, accompanied by a keening shriek each time.  It would have been somewhat disturbing, had the bats not also been charmed to immediately reform themselves perfectly and continue their flight.  Peeves of course was in full swing, emptying cauldrons of live spiders over the heads of first and second years (the only students young enough to not yet know how to protect themselves from his antics -- or better yet, avoid him altogether).

The revelry was not solely the domain of the teachers, ghosts and poltergeist, however.  The students of Hermione’s second (and final) class of the day filtered into the classroom boisterously, passing around a box that Hermione quickly recognized as one of George Weasley’s wares.

“Mr. Parks,” Hermione started, a note of warning in her tone.

“It’s okay Professor, I promise this one’s harmless!”  The fifth-year Ravenclaw currently holding the brightly decorated box waved his hand free in dismissal.  “See?” he added, popping a small green gummy in his mouth and beginning to chew.  At first, nothing happened.  Then, as the entirety of the class watched, his mouth stretched wide as his eyes began to bulge.  His nose flattened and his skin took on a wet, greenish tinge.  Letting out an unmistakable rrrrrribbet! , he jumped onto his desk, his three-toed feet landing with an audible splat.

“Mr. Parks!” Hermione exclaimed, torn between amusement and her responsibility to maintain some degree of order.  She turned to the Hufflepuff girl standing closest to Mr. Parks.  “How long does it last?”

“Oh, it usually wears off in a few minutes,” the girl replied confidently.  “Not really useful as an all-night costume, but it’s still funny!”

“Well, alright then!  The rest of you, take your seats, and please refrain from eating any more of those until after my class.  I only get you lot twice a week, you know!”  Hermione smiled to herself as the students did as she bid, chattering amiably amongst themselves.  Oh, she did enjoy this.  As she worked her way around the classroom, correcting inscriptions and answering questions, she made a mental note to herself to brush up on the latest offerings from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.  With those products, one really couldn’t be too careful.

--

Severus’ day was not so complacent as Hermione’s had been.  He had only just managed to prevent a Gryffindor second-year from blowing up her cauldron and thereby splattering some of Wizarding Britain’s finest with a dangerous mix of salamander blood and wartcap powder ( how she had overlooked the first ingredient entirely was beyond him).  As it was, her fingertips were badly scorched, so he packed her off to the Hospital Wing.  He blamed his throbbing head for not having noticed the error sooner.  Inattention to detail seemed to be an ongoing theme in his classes, and it was enough to make the dour professor wish that he had the power to eliminate all festivities, forever.  The small part of him that usually reminded him that these were children, afterall, and childhood was supposed to be fun because Merlin knew adulthood was not, was notably absent.  Perhaps he’d left it behind his mental barricades.  He did not care.

His one consolation was that tonight he was on patrol duty, and if the walk did not ease his pain, at least rousting students would provide some diversion.  He was not disappointed on that front.  

One pair of Hufflepuffs who claimed to be returning late from a study session, having lost track of the time.  “Ten points from Hufflepuff”, he said tiredly.

Two boys (Slytherin and Ravenclaw) cozied up in the Trophy Room.  “Come on you two, it’s only Monday .  Mr. Gamp, I expect that revised essay on my desk by noon tomorrow.”

A gaggle of Gryffindors, three boys and one girl, meeting behind an extensive 11th century tapestry depicting, among a great many other things, the Battle of Hastings.  When questioned, the students declared themselves to be practicing charms, but it was quite clear to Severus that they were in the middle of activating a Portable Swamp, something he remembered from the Weasley twins’ time at Hogwarts.  "Fifty points from Gryffindor, each , and before any of you complain, let me forewarn you that each word you utter between now and re-entering Gryffindor Tower shall deduct an additional five points.  Now go ," he scowled.  He didn't feel the usual satisfaction in seeing them scurry off, for the ache in his head had worsened as he spoke.

"That was a bit much, don't you think?"

Severus stiffened at the lightly amused voice he so did not want to be hearing.  At least he knew it must be real, since his efforts the previous night had been nothing if not successful.

“Professor Granger,” he sighed wearily.  “I have no interest in seeing you this evening.”

“Well that’s good,” she replied tartly.  “Because from where I’m standing, you haven’t seen me yet.  Are you going to remember your manners and turn to face me like a decent person, or insist on being churlish?”

Severus turned slowly, massaging his temples with one hand.

“What do you want, Professor?  I am in no mood for games.”  Despite the mother of all headaches raging inside him, he couldn’t help but notice that she was a vision, with the light of the waning moon illuminating one side while torchlight cast a warm glow on the other.  Strands of her hair were picked out in silver and gold, and the shadows that played across her features only served to enhance them.  He found that in admiring her, some of his discomfort abated.  She took a few steps, stopping about a meter from where he stood.

“Honestly?  I was worried about you, Severus.”  Her expression was serious as she studied his face.  The look in her eyes was searching, and her mouth pulled into a little frown.  “You made yourself scarce this weekend, and have looked miserable all day.  I meant what I said by the lake -- I’d like to help you.”

Deep inside, Severus unbound somewhat at her words.  Oh, he wanted to doubt them.  He tried to.  But she was here, despite -- well, despite whatever that was that happened under the tree.  At the reminder, he felt his psychic barrier shudder.

“Also,” and here she smiled, “I’d like it if we could pick up where we left off on Saturday.”

“You- what?”  Severus thought he must have misheard her.  The wall in his mind was quaking steadily now, threatening to fail altogether.  As snatches of visions from the day in question flickered to life in his head, he began to feel an unmistakable tug.  The blood coursing through her veins was singing to him, calling him to touch her, to taste her…

“Yes, if I recall correctly, I was rather successfully convincing you to let me help you break your curse,” she replied, seemingly unaware of his distress.

My curse? He thought stupidly.  Oh Merlin, how I want to just touch her agai-- GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF, MAN!   Severus slammed his shields down in place so forcefully that he let out an audible grunt.  Instantly, Hermione stepped even closer, her hand outstretched.

“Are you alright, Sir?  Sorry, Severus ?”  Her hand stopped mere centimeters from his face, fingers poised to brush his cheek.  The look in her eyes was almost unbearable, such concern did he see there.  Would it really be so awful to let the witch help you?

“What do you want to know?” he growled, turning away with great effort and striding to the nearest window.  He stared out across the grounds, resolving each darkened shape into focus before moving on to the next.  She came to stand with him, but instead of looking at trees or turrets, she fixed her eyes on him.

“The object, what is it called?  Where did you go to find it?”

Severus remained silent for a long moment, gathering the details to him.  In truth, Albus had sent him on so many missions, desperately seeking something, anything that would aid them in defeating the Dark Lord.  By the time Severus had traveled to the Middle East in search of this particular item, he had long since given up any pretense of retaining details.

“The Headmaster referred to it as the Lazahkar Amulet, and claimed that I would find it in the possession of Lilith’s mate,” he replied at length.

“Lilith?  As in, first wife to Adam?”  Hermione seemed genuinely surprised.  “She can’t possibly be real.”

“Indeed, I do not know.  I only encountered her mate.”  Without turning his body, Severus shifted his gaze from the darkened grounds to Hermione’s face, watching her try to puzzle it all out.

“Can I see it?  The amulet, I mean.”

“What possible purpose could that serve?”  He was growing weary of the toll that being near her exacted of him.

“Curiosity,” she replied promptly.  He should have known.  Sighing, he began to undo the highest buttons of his coat.  His fingers worked swiftly, as well they ought with years of practice.  He faltered only slightly at the sharp intake of breath as he exposed the gruesome scar from Nagini’s bite.

“Not surprised, are you?  I believe you witnessed the attack, did you not?”  He asked dryly.

“No,” she replied, and if he did not know any better he would think she was discussing something abysmally mundane, such as the weather.  “It is quite spectacular, but I am long past the days of being shocked by battle wounds.”  Her voice was tinged with some bitterness, but Severus did not ask.  It was not his place to.

“Here.”  He held out his hand, palm up.  On it rested the amulet, strung on a silver snake chain whose extension charm enabled him to show her without removing it.  The Dark Arts Master in him nodded with approval when Hermione did not stir even the slightest to touch it.  Instead, she seemed to be eyeing it dispassionately.

“It’s…” she began, but did not seem to know how to finish. 

“Disappointing, I know.”  He crooked a wry smile, which Hermione must have heard in his voice for her eyes flashed up to meet his.  Yes, there was some surprise there now, quickly replaced by a grin.

“I mean, I suppose I don’t know what I expected, but this ,” she gestured to the decidedly unimpressive piece of jewelry before her.  It was a stately enough piece -- silver set with a rim of tiny pearls, in the shape of an oval and about the length of his thumb.  The centerpiece, which both parties had found to be underwhelming, was simply dark.  A void, though if one scrutinized it hard enough, one might detect something… shifting.

“It was not quite so dull when I first acquired it,” Severus revealed, though he knew not why.  “There was an image of an eye, though it vanished when the amulet came into my possession.”

“Hmm,” Hermione mused.  “Well, that does give me something to be going on, I suppose.”

“Indeed.”  Severus supposed that now he ought to be chasing her away again, to leave him to his miserable, uncomfortable existence.  No sooner had the thought formed in his mind than he realized that the ache had abated somewhat, somewhere in the midst of their conversation.  Despite his best efforts, he was enjoying himself, and felt rather disinclined to put an end to things just yet.  This put him in a difficult position, however, because being the Severus Snape he knew not how to indulge in such a treat.

“Severus,” Hermione’s soft voice broke through his thoughts.  “I did have one other thing I wanted to… discuss with you.”

“And what is that… Hermione? ”  Was that a shiver?  Did I do that?

“I was thinking, well I’m not-- I haven’t-- The thing is, I’m not as… corrupt, I suppose, as other adults,” she positively stumbled through the words, her face coloring slightly.

“Hermione,” Severus rumbled.  “Do try to be coherent,” he said, not unkindly.  

“Right.”  She took a fortifying breath.  “I think you should use me, instead of the students.  At least, you could give it a try.”  This all came out in a rush, though Severus heard every word.

She… what?  For several long beats, he simply stood staring at her, his mouth too dry to form words and his brain too stunned to supply them.  She held his gaze, although he could sense the apprehension in her body.  Does she fear me, or what my response might be?   There was really only one way to tell.

He stepped closer, the hem of his long cloak swinging forward to brush her toes.  She was wearing the same practical, low-heeled boots as she had down by the lake.  Tucked into them were fitted slacks.  He could not help but admire how they complimented her figure.  Never before had he found Muggle attire to be so… appealing.  The only items that gave away her status as a witch were the wand tucked up her sleeve and the lightweight midnight blue robe settled casually about her shoulders.  These were but mere objects, however, and only a fool would require them to recognize her for what she was.  Hermione positively breathed power and passion and magic.  It was in her luminous skin, the wildness of her curls, the breadth of her personality.

She did not move away, did not shift a millimeter save to inhale swiftly.  He bent slightly at the shoulders, bringing his face closer to hers.

“Do you mean to say, Miss Granger, that you wish for me to drink from you?  You wish to keep me in good health, by offering yourself to me?”

“Oh, good heavens,” she exhaled, “when you put it all melty and chocolate-y like that, yes Severus, I do.”  She closed the gap between them, rising up on tiptoes to meet him.  “And…” Severus could just barely feel her cheek brush ever-so-slightly against his as she brought her lips to his ear, “it’s Hermione.”

Severus inhaled, the sweet scent of her filling his nostrils.  He could smell her blood, but he also reveled in the scent that was uniquely her .  Books and ink, peaches and something he could not be bothered to name in that moment.  For before him, she had so deliciously displayed that which his own body positively sung for.  He knew that if he touched her, or she him, he would be lost.  He did not care.  His fangs had descended, aching with desire.  He needed, needed… 

“Severus,” she breathed against his ear.  He shuddered at the sensation.  “ Do it. ”

It was an invitation he could not refuse.  Her flesh was warm against his incisors, and as they made contact he felt the same thrum of magical energy that they had shared before, only much more powerful now.  The walls he had so carefully constructed in his mind shattered, a laughably weak defense in the face of such force.  She was delicious , heavenly, sinful.  He dared to taste her flesh as her blood flowed into him, filling him with such ecstacy.  This was no mere predatory feed, for in this moment he was not predator but helpless prey to the delight of her sweetness.  He felt not the ground beneath his feet, nor the chill air of the stone hallways.  All of existence was her , the little moans of pleasure that made his stomach flip, the exquisite sensation of his nose burying itself in her hair as his mouth pressed to her throat.

He growled and pulled her to him, lifting her bodily to grant him easier access to her lifeblood.  Hermione’s legs came up to wrap around his waist, as she pressed herself even closer.  The reciprocation of desire was a heady thing, and Severus unbound further.  The beast inside yearned for freedom, a freedom Severus could not deny.  His last thought before slipping into demonic oblivion was a desperate hope that he could stop himself before he took more than she had to offer.

Chapter Text

She was floating.  She was weightless, and yet she clung to him, twined around him.  She was just so… content.  There was a delightful pressure at her neck, where Severus’ face was buried.  The feeling of him under her hands and clutched between her legs was almost more than she knew what to do with.  It would be divine to just stay like this forever.

No, it wouldn’t , a voice in her mind nudged her annoyingly.

Hush now, go away, I’m in heaven and can’t be reached, she giggled at the voice.

You’ll thank me later, the voice replied.  Remember, Hermione -- the Ægishjálmur.

At this, Hermione’s fingers began to twitch of their own accord.  First up, then in a half-moon shape, underscored thrice.  Again, and then again.  The mind of their mistress was far, far away but still the fingers worked.  Eight times in all the sigil was traced, then sealed with a circular motion to connect the staves.

The vampyre and the witch were too intoxicated with one another to see the silvery inscription begin to pulse upon Hermione’s brow.  Brighter and brighter it shone, until with one final flare of light it forcibly separated the two, sending each skidding several meters down the corridor.

As her senses returned, Hermione realized she was lying flat on her back with nothing but cold, hard stones for support.  She sat up gingerly.

“Well, that sure packed a punch,” she said, awe evident in her voice.  “Severus, are you alright?”

“What the devil was that?” he winced as he too sat up, massaging the back of his head.  It seemed that the physical separation had effectively restored most of his senses, as well.

“I’m afraid that was me,” she laughed, picking herself up off the floor and heading back to where he was now standing, brushing dust from his robes.  “To be honest, I wasn’t sure it was going to work.  I’ve never tried The Helm before, but I figured that if tonight… went where I hoped it might, that it might be necessary.”

“The Helm?” he questioned.

“It’s a Runes thing,” she explained.  “Dating from Nordic times, when the warriors used it as protection in battle.”

Severus said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“Are-- are you upset?  It was only a precaution,” she added, her lip between her teeth.

“I am not upset,” he replied quietly.  “It was… clever.”

Hermione beamed.  “I think it only occurred to me because Irma lent me a book on it this weekend,” she babbled.  “I mean of course I already knew about singing-staves, but to actually apply one in a practical situation…”

Severus’ hand came up to cup her cheek, effectively silencing her.  She felt like melting into his touch, while butterflies flitted simultaneously in her belly.  The pull was still there, but it no longer threatened to drown her with a simple touch.  She closed her eyes, leaning into his palm ever so slightly… and was thoroughly embarrassed when a little contented mewl came out of her.  She reeled back, hand flying up to cover her mouth.

Severus’ eyes glinted in the torchlight, amusement crinkling the corners.  Hermione had to turn away, her mind suddenly filling with horror at what an idiot she’d made of herself -- hanging off of him, begging him to drink her blood , she’d been all over him, for crying out loud!  And here she’d sworn to herself she’d be cool, calm, collected, the epitome of a mature woman.  Good job, Hermione.  You really buggered that one up.

“You are brilliant, Hermione.”  Severus rested his hand upon her shoulder, steady and reassuring.  “I-- I may have been an utter ass to you, but I cannot deny it.  Nay, I do not wish to deny it.  You are and have always been remarkable.”

She turned slowly to face him, searching his face.  For once, he hid nothing.  His eyes, usually hard and penetrating, were warm and open.  She could find no trace of sarcasm or mockery, only the handsomeness she had begun to catch glimpses of.  Her heart beat heavily in her chest.  

Unexpectedly, he bowed deeply, extending his hand to hers.

“My apologies, Miss Granger,” he said, his face entirely serious.  “It would seem that we have gotten off on the wrong foot, and in all our years of acquaintance, never managed to correct that.  I should like to rectify the situation.  You have sought me out in a display of great friendship.  If you would permit me, I shall escort you back to your chambers.”

It was so ridiculously formal, and by the end of it his eyes were dancing again, but she did not dare laugh.  Instead, she took his arm.

“Indeed, Mister Snape -- I should like that very much.”

--

When he reflected upon it later that evening in his own chambers, Severus was satisfied that at least he had not cocked things up any further after that point.  It was the least he could do, considering what she had offered him.  Not only was he finally relieved of the pounding in his head, but the repast she had provided left him feeling so… altered.  Never had a feeding resulted in such felicity within him.  He felt sated for once, a sensation so unlike the mild dissatisfaction he had become accustomed to.

There was but one matter weighing on him -- that of the unexpected connection to the witch in question.  It had taken him a great deal of effort to refrain from pulling her behind a statue and kissing her senseless.  Whatever else partaking in her blood had done, it had opened him up to her.  His mind saw hers, and it was enchanted by what it witnessed.  His body sensed hers, and it was seduced by what it discovered.  She was lovely and intelligent and he felt in his bones that he would never be able to see her any differently, now.  And where does that leave me?  Will she have me?

Severus had settled absentmindedly into the worn leather armchair closest to the fire upon arriving back in his quarters.  It was a regular nightly ritual for him, and it seemed that tonight was no exception for when he glanced down, he saw that he’d already poured his scotch and taken a few sips.  Setting it down, he stood and faced the room.  He had a sudden urge to view it through her eyes -- would she approve?  Had he allowed his bitterness to consume his life so completely that there was no room for genuine personality?  Though he had not entered her rooms, he envied the warmth and welcome he had glimpsed as she slipped through after bidding him goodnight.

The room around him now was dark, of course -- being in the dungeons, there were no windows to allow natural light to penetrate the space.  Severus knew this was a poor excuse, for any wizard worth his wand knew charms to remedy that.  It was lit insead by a series of admittedly gloomy torches, and of course, the pitiful fire.  The house elves kept his rooms clean enough, though Merlin knew why when he made no effort to express gratitude for their efforts.

There you are, two points against you already.

Indeed not, merely two domains in which I might make some… adjustments.

Studying the shelves recessed around three sides of the room, Severus flicked his wand to make a few alterations.  Instead of lurking in shadowy corners, the books and specimen jars were now illuminated with a tasteful glow, the source of which could not be seen without ducking one's head to look at the underside of the shelves.  He then turned his imagination -- what a novel sensation! -- to envisioning what an evening with Hermione might be like, should he ever invite her to his chambers.  Perhaps they might dine together, then sit by the fire and converse.

A few more gestures with his wand, and the neglected table and chair transfigured into a handsome dining set of rich walnut.  He conjured a second chair to complete the arrangement.  As an afterthought, Severus summoned a pair of candlesticks, adding them to the tableau.  A fit of whimsey he could not stifle had him following that up with a small potted cactus ( how appropriate ), before finally turning away to the seating area.

He could not bring himself to modify the armchair, but in due course there was a stylish charcoal sofa not unlike one he favored in the Slytherin common room, and at least the rug was no longer threadbare and colorless.  Grimacing, he even transfigured his least favorite pair of socks (violent purple, decorated with glittering gold cauldrons -- a gift from Dumbledore, of course) into two modest cushions.  He attempted to charm the color out of them, but damn the old man, he must have known Severus might try something, for all he could manage was a dark plum.  Ostentatious peacock, you’re near as bad as Lucius .  He supposed Hermione would probably like it, at least.

It was with this thought that he paused, overcome with uncertainty.  Convinced he was being an utter fool, he turned on his heel, snatched up his glass and stalked to his bedchamber.  He undressed methodically, desiring nothing more than the sweet oblivion of sleep.  So robotic were his movements that he did not glance down even once.  If he had, perhaps he would have noticed.  If he had but looked, perhaps Severus would have seen the change wrought in the cursed pendant.

If he had but looked, perhaps he would have seen the honey-colored eye that now gleamed in its depths.

Chapter Text

Hermione devoted most of her free time over the next two days to pouring over anything remotely relevant she could find in the library.  Irma assisted her when she could, though between chasing after students and attempting to disarm the hex in the Spiritual Magics section, she was kept busy herself.  Hermione had offered to help once, to which Irma let out a sharp bark of laughter before informing her in no uncertain terms that Hermione was to stay well-clear of the area until she was finished.  From this, and the somewhat alarming glint in the librarian’s eye, Hermione gathered that whatever Irma had used to ‘protect’ the books in that section was devious indeed.  Nevertheless, the extra time in the library served to allow her to keep tabs on her new friend, in case things proved to be even more than the older witch could handle.

She was pleased to see that aside from a little awkwardness at breakfast on Tuesday morning, Severus seemed to have retained the good humor he’d developed the previous evening.  There had been an empty chair next to him when she arrived in the Great Hall, which she took without hesitation.  Though she’d been the first to say ‘good morning’, he soon broke the ensuing silence by sliding an article towards her.

“I thought that perhaps this might be of interest to you,” he’d said gruffly.  The article turned out to be a fascinating piece about a recently discovered alternative to the use of live mandrakes in petrification reversal.  She was unsure if she should feel touched that he remembered the incident from her second year, or uncomfortable at the realization that her recovery had indeed been thanks to a being which once possessed strangely human-like qualities.  Either way, she’d devoured the article by the start of her first class of the day.

He was present again that evening, though by the time he arrived the seats on either side of her were occupied.  She twisted her lips in an apologetic smile, to which he responded with a solemn nod that Hermione was reasonably sure was meant to convey understanding.  She herself overslept the following morning, having prevailed upon Irma to let her stay up late studying in the library.  She had only enough time for tea and toast in her own rooms before rushing off to her first class of the day.

That afternoon, as Hermione was bent over a thick book on magical talismans in her favorite corner of the library, Irma finally succeeded in breaking through the renegade wards.  Hermione felt it, as the air throughout the room seemed to contract in tension, before snapping back into place.  In her eagerness to plunder this new trove of knowledge, she missed dinner entirely and was again studying late into the night.  Irma left her a little before ten o’clock, but not before reminding Hermione to enable the library wards when she was finished.  The generosity and trust Irma had demonstrated the past few days went a long way to impressing upon Hermione the level of regard in which she was held by the librarian.  Though she’d kill for a nice pot of tea to keep her company, Hermione had no intentions of making her new friend regret that trust.  

Time slipped away as she worked through the modest collection of texts stacked alphabetically at her elbow.  Upon closing the last book, she stretched and checked her watch.  Nearly twenty minutes to midnight.  She was a little disappointed with her research thus far -- while she’d certainly learned some interesting things about Kabbalah, all the stories about Lilith focused on lurid details of her penchant for seducing men and stealing babes.  There had been some mention of what might have been the Lazakhar amulet, but nothing concrete and certainly nothing that sounded like Severus’ pendant.  Arms laden with the discarded resources, she made her way through the stacks to reshelve them.  It was tempting to simply levitate them up onto the second-highest shelf and be done with it, but Hermione knew Irma would disapprove.  For all she knew, the woman had set a charm against such a thing -- or worse, a hex to punish anyone who tried.  Laughing to herself, Hermione carefully ascended the ladder, balancing the books under one arm.

From her new vantage point, Hermione had a clearer view of the top shelf.  She must have stopped one rung down when selecting her materials earlier, for she could have sworn that there was nothing on the upper shelf.  Now that she was higher however, she could see that a row of matching tomes had been pushed far back on the shelf.  Quickly, she went about unloading her burden of unhelpful volumes, ensuring that each returned to its proper position on the lower of the two shelves.  

“ Lumos ,” she muttered, raising her wand to get a better look at the spines of the matched set.  There were six in all, each wrapped in parchment and marbled paper.  The green leather labels were all marked in gold with the same title:  The Zohar .  She could tell they must be quite old, not something typically left where students might get a hold of them.  After a brief internal debate on the best way to handle them, she cast a thorough cleansing charm on her hands before gingerly sliding the first volume off the shelf.  Who knew what reactions Irma’s books might have, if treated with magic directly?  After backing carefully down the ladder and returning to her corner of the library, she summoned one of the elaborately carved wooden book stands and set her prize in it.

“There we go,” she sighed, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.  She flexed her fingers before lifting the front cover and perusing the first few pages.  It appeared to be a French translation of a much older Kabbalistic text.  Given that there were six volumes, Hermione had high hopes that one of them might contain something useful.  Just then, her watch chirped, announcing the midnight hour.  Halloween, she thought, smiling to herself.  The students will love that!  Speaking of… She reminded herself that she had some papers to review before her next class, and that she really ought to call it a night.  

Suddenly, the enormous window to her left exploded in a shower of glass.

Hermione’s reflexes kicked in with little delay, despite the late hour and deep sense of security one had in the Hogwarts castle.  Wandlessly, she threw up a protective sphere around herself as she backed away from the now empty window frame.  Outside, the night was pitch black and the cold air seeped into the room.  As Hermione watched, a figure came into view, hovering just outside the window despite them being several stories up.

Wand now in hand, Hermione cast several more non-verbal defensive spells about herself.  The figure before her was that of a woman, ethereal and otherworldly.  Unbound auburn hair and a flowing gown of pearly white rippled around her pale face and willowy form as she drifted into the library.  Her sharp eyes were fixed on Hermione, her rose petal lips twisted into a satisfied smile.  Hermione quickly began tracing the repeating rune that would activate the Ægishjálmur , but before she could complete the second glyph, she found that she could no longer move.

“Do not resist me, mortal daughter.  Dust was a novelty when I entered this world -- your ‘ancient’ magics are nothing to my power.”

“Lilith,” Hermione concluded.  At least she could still speak, perhaps she could try a wandless spell...

“In the flesh.”  The woman now stood directly before Hermione, feet touching the stone floor.  The room was silent, safe for the chill air whistling past outside, as the two studied one another.  Lilith raised her hands to Hermione’s temples, resting her fingertips there in an incongruously gentle manner.

“It is a shame, I see you hold much promise,” Lilith said at length.  Her movements were fluid and seemed to fill the space around her, as she circled Hermione.  “Come with me, that I might make him pay for what he has done.”

With a small flick of Lilith’s slender wrist, Hermione’s world went dark.

--

Severus felt it the moment the wards were breached.  Within seconds, his grate roared to life, Minerva’s voice spilling through.

“Severus, the library!”

“I felt it too -- I am on my way.”

Ice flowed through his veins as he shifted into his winged form.  His worst fears were made real when the answer to his silent query returned, confirming that yes , Hermione was indeed in the library.  He flew through the dungeons and corridors, taking the expedient routes for once instead of the stealthy ones.  Even so, it was several minutes before he arrived, shifting back into his usual form and stumbling to a halt outside the double doors of the library.  As he placed a palm to the wood, Minerva rounded the corner opposite the one he’d approached from.

“It is unlocked,” Severus observed briefly before pushing the doors in.

They were met by complete silence, and a draft of cold air.

“ Homenum Revelio!”   Severus’ stomach dropped to his knees when nothing answered his spell.  He probed the Hogwarts network again -- nothing.  No trace of her.

“What do you suppose it could have been?” Minerva asked, as they cautiously made their way to the far end of the library.  “Surely nobody would go to such lengths for a mere book , no matter how rare.”

“I do not believe their intent was merely to raid the library,” Severus replied, his voice twisted in anguish.  “Her-- Professor Granger is gone.”

Minerva rounded on him.  “What do you mean, gone ?  Surely she would not leave the castle on a school night.  She may be young, but--”

“Of course I do not mean she is out cavorting with any of her second-rate friends,” Severus interrupted angrily.  “I mean that she was here when the wards were breached, and now she is not.  She is gone .”  He strode to the corner he knew she favored, the one he’d almost visited her in earlier that night.

Oh, if only I had, he lamented.  Everything was covered in tiny pieces of glass, each one no doubt belonging to the markedly absent window panes.  Beneath the detritus he could see the usual trappings of a late-night study session.  She was here for me , I should have been here.   He cursed himself for being such a foolish miser.

“Severus, do you have any idea what she might have been researching?”  Minerva stood by the table, and with a flick of her wand cleared the glass from the book which still lay open in its cradle.  Severus tore himself from his silent flagellation to stand by her, looking down at the ancient volume.  At a glance, it appeared to be French -- not a language he was fluent enough to read in at great length.  

“Minerva!  Severus!”  He almost winced at the sharp voice that hissed at them from across the aisle.

“Oh good, you’re here Irma.  We must get to the bottom of this!”  Minerva took Irma’s arm, steering her clear of the broken glass and taking pains to calm the irate woman, explaining that no, it had not been herself and Severus who had caused the damage.  Severus tuned them out as he scanned the pages Hermione had left the book open to.  He noticed that one page near the middle of the book did not seem to sit quite right, and upon further inspection Severus found that it was not actually attached to the binding.  Shifting so that his robes blocked his actions from view, he slid the page out and brought it closer to the lamplight.

Now what would a Hebrew writing be doing in a French textbook?   The front and back of the stained parchment were marked similarly -- Hebrew words and phrases, enclosed in a woven border.

“ Transferendum Anglicus ,” he breathed the translation charm as softly as he could, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Minerva had Irma well-occupied.  The spell worked first by transliterating, then translating.  As the unfamiliar shapes of the Hebrew alphabet reformed into something more recognizable to him, Severus froze.  It can’t be.

Lazakhar.

Chapter Text

The first thing to return to her was her sense of smell.  Wild grasses and the briney scent of the sea.

She found that she was able to move again.  There was none of the stillness of air that spoke of confined, indoor spaces, and though it was too dark to make anything out, Hermione knew she must be outside.  She was laying on soft, mossy earth.  Her searching fingers brushed a slender length of wood -- her wand.  Well it’s not like she has any reason to fear leaving it with me .

“Ah, you have awoken.  Good, we have much to discuss before he arrives,” a lilting voice issued from somewhere to Hermione’s left.  The melodious manner in which Lilith spoke, as if to a particular friend, was somewhat surreal given the circumstances.  Hermione found that she was not fearful so much as… curious.  Although Lilith had clearly taken Hermione against her will, thus far this experience was unlike any of the previous abductions she had been subjected to.

“He… do you mean Severus?” Hermione ventured, sitting up cautiously.

Her words were followed by the gusting sound of a fire roaring to life, several paces away.  Squinting, Hermione could make out Lilith’s silhouette against the flames.  The heat warmed her face, and for now at least was a welcome respite from the chill of the night.  As her eyes adjusted, she could see that to her right stood several hulking stone boulders.  Directly before her was an inky expanse of darkness, broken only by the dim glow of a slivered moon shrouded by clouds.  Below that vast emptiness, she realized she could hear waves crashing.

“I care not the name of that wretch.  It is a simple matter, daughter,” Lilith said, closing the distance between them.  She crouched in front of Hermione, such an informal action for such a renowned creature.  Again, she seemed to be searching Hermione’s face.  Hermione meant to hold her gaze, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed something that drew her attention away.  A silver, pearl encrusted pendant on a simple chain.  The centerpiece was flat, black, empty.

“You wear the same amulet.  That is what this is about, isn’t it?”  Hermione was not about to insult her captor by pretending she did not know.  Lilith’s eyes flicked down to the pendant, then back up to Hermione.  Lilith’s expression was unreadable.

“Yes, the amulet ,” she confirmed bitterly.  “The amulet, and one with whom I have shared millenia .  Your Severus cannot begin to imagine the anguish he has unleashed, all to extend his own pitiful existence by a few more decades.”

“I am sorry,” Hermione tried to fill her words with the sincerity she did genuinely feel.  “We were facing a mass-murderer, a megalomaniac with a powerful dark cult of followers.  My kind were facing oppression at best, extinction at worst.  It was for these reasons that the amulet was taken.”

“I know of your Lord Voldemort,” Lilith scoffed.  “Do not suppose that he did not try to recruit me for his absurd cause.”

“Then you must know, if we were placing our highest hopes in one teenage boy, we were desperate!”  Hermione could feel that she was losing traction.  “Of course that does not excuse what happened with your-- your lover...” she faltered, unsure at the expression of incredulity on Lilith’s face.

“My lover ?  Good heavens, daughter.  How limited your comprehension is, afterall.”  Lilith laughed to herself, a throaty sound that left Hermione feeling wrong-footed.  “Just because we were soul-bound does not mean that he was my lover ,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Is- is that what ‘Lazakhar’ refers to?” Hermione asked hesitantly.  “A soul bond?”

This drew Lilith’s attention rather abruptly, confusion and something much darker writ upon her face.

“ Lazakhar ?” she repeated, a hard edge to her voice.  “No, little one, the contemptible invention of which you speak has a past even darker and more insidious than this matter.”  Lilith sighed, shifting to sit beside Hermione.  She gazed into the fire, the energy seeming to have gone out of her.

“Perhaps-- perhaps you should start at the beginning, and tell me everything,” Hermione suggested.  Lilith glanced back at her, as if to ascertain the sincerity of Hermione’s invitation.  Whatever she saw in Hermione’s face must have convinced her, for she nodded.

“Yes daughter, perhaps I should.”

--

Severus extracted himself from the company of the two witches as quickly as he could, sweeping from the library grimly.  He only made it as far as the closest classroom, darkened for the night.  His eyes devoured the writing by wandlight, each word a cement weight upon his bony chest.  How had Dumbledore gotten it so wrong?  Why had Severus never bothered to research his own predicament?  In less than a week, Hermione had discovered the fault in the foundation on which Severus had lived the past seven years.

In truth, the parchment in his trembling fingers only held half of the key.  Whatever it was that Severus had acquired all those years ago, it was not a Lazakhar amulet.  The bitter, half-remembered word summarizing his damned existence applied not to some demonic curse, but to a spell of protection .

Lazakhar .  Roughly translated by the spell as ‘for a boy’.  There was even a female counterpart, Lanekvah .  The parchment laid everything out -- the amulets had been conceived eons ago as protective charms, inscribed with invocations whose sole purpose was to defend against one being:  Lilith.  Even if Severus had not obtained the wrong item, this plan of Dumbledore’s would never have worked.  At best, they could have used it as a template for a similar enchantment to protect the boy.  Severus had his doubts that it would have been as effective as Lily’s sacrifice.

The page went on to relate a conversation between Lilith and the biblical prophet, Elijah, in which Lilith revealed her weakness to be the use of her secret names.  The skeptic in Severus almost raised his eyebrows when he saw the very names listed at the bottom of the parchment.  Beggars cannot be choosers, as they say you old fool -- it is a better weapon than you had five minutes ago.  Now where is she?!

As if it had been waiting for the anguish that gripped his lifeless heart, the amulet about his neck warmed against his breast.  He hastened to free it from the confines of his many layers, nearly dropping it when he saw what stared back at him.

“Hermione,” he croaked, cradling the pearly thing to him.  The very likeness of her eye, her lovely eye, wrought in the tiniest paint strokes.  It was amber, it was caramel, it was warmth incarnate.  A wisp of curl curved across her painted brow.  How he wished the rest of her could just materialize around this one fragment of her magnificence.  What feelings she evoked in him -- never before could he have imagined feeling such tenderness, yearning and wrath in one instance.  The abject misery he’d felt upon learning of Lily’s death paled in comparison.  Perhaps the difference was that he’d literally tasted what Hermione could mean to him… and she at least was not beyond his means to save.  Not yet.

Severus nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something brush past his ankles.  Upon seeing that it was none other than Hermione’s cat ( Questionable, that… ), he relaxed.  Although he had not come out the victor in his last encounter with the creature, he was reasonably sure that the cat’s motives were different this evening.

“Are you concerned for your mistress, too?” he asked, not expecting much of a reply.

The cat yowled peevishly and stalked toward the door, glancing back as if to say, Aren’t you coming?

Severus followed.  The cat led him through the castle to what Severus knew to be the closest exit, before it loped off in the direction of the main gates.  They swung open silently as Severus approached.  The cat had stopped just on the other side, in the middle of the path leading to Hogsmeade.

“Is that where she is?  So close?”

Again, the beast yowled.  Severus’ next steps took him through the gates.  Immediately he began feeling what he could only describe as an urgent tugging sensation.  He knew not what pulled or where or even why, but his instinct was to follow.  Somehow this had to be it.  Holding the image of Hermione in his mind’s eye and hoping beyond all hope that he was right, he Disapparated.

Chapter Text

Severus found himself on a bluff, wind whipping past him.  His long hair threatened to escape the queue at the nape of his neck.  In the near distance he could make out the steady beacon of a fire of some proportions.  Without thinking, he set off in that direction, stumbling now and then in the thick grass.

Let it not be that I have arrived too late , he begged silently.  Let her be unharmed, let her be--

His thought trailed off as the scene surrounding the fire came into view.  Two figures -- women, judging by their hair -- were seated near one another, with every appearance of conversing in earnest.  He did not recognize the handsome, nymph-like woman on the left.  On the right however was...

“Hermione?” he asked cautiously, his voice almost breaking on the syllables.  Instantly, the other woman shot to her feet, ready to attack.  At the same time, Severus had his wand in-hand and aimed directly at her heart.  He was too well trained, and had been at this far too long to be caught unawares in such circumstances.  I was right , he thought bitterly.  It was an illusion, meant to trick me…

“Stay where you are Lilith ,” he instructed nastily.  “You made a grave mistake in taking Miss Granger against her will.”

“What right have you to speak of such matters?” she countered.  “If anyone here has taken this daughter of wisdom against her will, surely it is you -- or have you not partaken of her blood?”  Lilith’s question was mocking and imbued with an inflection that indicated she knew quite well that he had drunk from Hermione.  There was no point in denying it, nor did Severus feel that he ought to.

“You will release her immediately from whatever bewitchment you have inflicted on her, or I shall end you, Lilith!  Or….” Severus paused for dramatic effect, “shall I call you Abitu ?”

Lilith winced in pain.  At this, Hermione too leapt up, throwing herself in front of Lilith.

“Severus, don’t!”

“Get out of the way, Miss Granger, you do not know what she is capable of!”  Severus side-stepped in an attempt to maintain a clear line of sight, only to have Hermione parry his movements.

“Severus, do not be a git about this -- you do not know the truth of things!  Trust me,” she implored.  Severus hesitated.  She certainly sounded like herself.  Hermione’s eyes narrowed as if unsure whether or not she’d gotten through to him.  “I mean it,” she said.  “If you won’t listen of your own accord, I won’t argue with Lilith if she wants to bind your movements until you will.”

“You hearten me daughter, but alas I cannot bind one such as him,” Lilith confessed from behind Hermione.  “It is as I was telling you, before we were so rudely interrupted -- my power over vampyres is limited.  It was for this reason that I created the amulets.”

To say that Severus was perplexed would be putting it mildly.  Here he’d thought he was rescuing Hermione but-- well, it seemed as though perhaps she did not need to be rescued.  He found himself unsure what to do with the energy that had been building in him the past hour or so, as it now seemed superfluous.

“Tell me,” he rasped, his throat having gone dry.

Hermione and Lilith exchanged a look.  “May I?”  Hermione asked.  Lilith nodded.

“Let’s all sit down, shall we?”  Hermione’s smile seemed forced as she gestured to the ground near the fire.  After a brief hesitation, Severus decided to oblige her, but kept his wand directed at Lilith.  To his mild irritation, she did not seem the least bit concerned by it.  Hermione cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

“Severus, I’m not sure how much you’ve heard about Lilith, from Dumbledore or elsewhere, but to say that history has gotten the wrong end of the stick would be putting it lightly.”  Hermione’s hands twisted together absentmindedly in her lap.  Lilith snorted, tossing her head.

“The amulet you took seven years ago was not a Lazakhar amulet,” she continued.

“I know,” Severus interjected.  “The Lazakhar amulets are charms to protect against her .”  He did not try to hide the venom in his voice.  Lilith glared at him in return, and might have retorted had Hermione not raised a hand.

“Please, both of you -- this must be explained in full before either party forms a final opinion.  Are we good now?”  Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them, expectantly.  A pair of grudging nods, and she continued.

“You know -- or perhaps you don’t, but you are certainly clever enough to -- how misogynistic published historical writers are.  Lilith had the simple misfortune of crossing a man in her youth, and has been subject to the repercussions ever since.  All those horrid stories about her feasting on women and children and luring men to their deaths, it’s all vile propaganda.  Lilith is a- a figurehead of the modern woman -- equality, the right to define our own sexuality, everything that scares the men who want to control us.”  

As Hermione spoke, the passion in her words grew with each statement.  The dormant insurgent in him stirred in response.  She spoke of something still so prevalent even now that he felt shame at having ever doubted it.  The same inherent desire to perpetuate a cause that had initially drawn him to the Dark Lord was now beginning to clamor for justice in an entirely different quarter.  As he looked upon Lilith with new eyes, he could sense the rightness of what Hermione was saying.  He saw frustration, not deception upon her mien.

“And--” he cleared his throat before trying again, directing his words at Lilith.  “What were you saying about the amulet, Madam?”

At this, a shadow passed over the strange woman’s face.  She seemed to be struggling with some inner turmoil.

“Hermione tells me you stole the amulet to protect your people.  What you did not realize was that in doing so, you doomed many others.”

Severus frowned, but said nothing.  Lilith continued.

“His name is Samael, and he too is a vampyre.  It was not always so.  Once, he was an honorable being, whose only fault was that he was tasked with the darkest heavenly tasks.  Several centuries ago he crossed paths with a vampyre, now long-dead.  His hunger knew no limits, and if he ever had a conscience, it was lost long ago.  Samael tried to overcome this demonic nature, yet after many years he succumbed to its seduction.  I am a powerful being myself, but I was created by HaShem and Samael is no longer of that realm.  My abilities are limited to those of HaShem’s domain.”  Lilith scrubbed a hand over her face, and Severus was struck by how vulnerable she seemed in that moment.

“The only thing I could do to curb his appetite was bind him to me.  To this end, I applied a soul-bond charm to a pair of amulets.”  She gestured briefly to the pendant resting just above her breasts.  Severus had not noticed it before, but now he saw that it was the twin of his own.

“It enabled me to keep Samael in my thrall, and even served to drain him of some of his power.  However,” and here, her voice and expression turned sour as she eyed Severus, “you freed him when you took the amulet.  His wrath was immeasurable, but rather than seek me out directly, he instead fell upon innocents.”  Lilith’s gray eyes were haunted, staring blindly at a horror only she could see.

“So many lives… and I have been unable to stop him ever since.  He is still too powerful.”  Her final words hung in the air.  After a moment, Hermione raised a hand and placed it on Lilith’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.  Lilith blinked several times and shook her head as if to chase away the nightmare.  She took a heavy breath before looking back at Severus.

“After centuries of exposure, I believe the amulet absorbed and stored no small amount of his powers.  It would seem that in taking the amulet, you have also inherited those abilities.”

“That seems a logical explanation,” Severus agreed somberly.

“Lilith,” Hermione started, the beginnings of a question evident in the tone of her voice.  “Earlier you mentioned something about Severus… taking me against my will.”  Her cheeks darkened in the firelight, and Severus was sure she was blushing.  Hell, he was damn near blushing at the reminder.  “I just want to be clear, since we’re laying it all out there, he uh-- hasn’t-- oh for goodness sake.  I asked him to.”

Lilith eyed Hermione speculatively.  “I can see that now, daughter,” she said at last.  “I feared, for the soul-charm in the amulet activated two nights ago.  There are but two manners in which this could have happened.  The first is the willful binding of a soul, as was the case for Samael and myself.  The second is the realization of a true soulmate connection, either physically or emotionally.”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, her eyes meeting Severus’.  In the cold light of day two weeks ago, Severus would have sneered derisively as such an assertion.  Tonight however, surrounded as he was by great icons of powerful nature magics and in deep conversation with an esoteric being who until tonight belonged only in dusty old texts, his hubris could find no purchase.

Chapter Text

“But,” Hermione broke their contact to look at Lilith again, perplexed.  “He only has the one amulet, wouldn’t he have needed the pair?”

Lilith lifted a shoulder in a small shrug.  “In truth, I sought only to succeed when creating the amulets, giving no consideration to what the side effects might be.  Perhaps it was folly of me to overlook this.”  Her expression grew pensive.  “It is not unlike the ‘computer coding’ practiced by humans -- non-magical humans,” she amended at Severus’ furrowed brow.  Hermione supposed this made sense -- as a muggleborn, of course she knew what Lilith was referring to.  Electronics were always in need of upgrades and patches to repair glitches or holes in their programming.  From what Hermione had gathered about Severus’ past, she imagined that despite being a half-blood, he’d probably had little experience with the fancier devices like smartphones and modern laptops.

“The pair was only meant to work for Samael and myself,” Lilith went on.  “To weaken him by depleting his power, and to ensure that he would only feed from me.”  With that revelation, any doubts Hermione might have harbored evaporated.  She could only imagine what a strain it must have been to enthrall such a creature as Samael for centuries.  The similar proposal she herself had offered Severus was but a pale reflection.  Lilith must be remarkable indeed, both in ability and in spirit.

“It would seem that they have some ability to work independently,” Severus observed.

“Yes,” Lilith agreed.  “Yours has clearly been active all this time, as it has sustained your vampyric nature.  Mine remained inert from the moment the connection to Samael was broken until two nights ago.”

“Is that how you found me?” Hermione asked, leaning forward interestedly.  She had so many questions still...

“It is.  The amulet has been drawing me to you both.  I must commend you on your castle’s wards, I was only able to overcome them once the veil thinned.”

“The veil?” Hermione queried.  Her eyes grew round as saucers as realization dawned on her.  “Ohhhh,” she breathed again, “the veil .  As in Halloween?  Of course I’ve read about it, and it did come up during my studies, but I must admit I didn’t give it much credence.”

“Samhain,” Lilith nodded.  “The earth magics are the strongest.  It is why I brought you here.”

“To defend me against Severus,” Hermione grinned.  Lilith’s lips twisted in a wry smile.

Hermione could not help but stifle a yawn.  Several hours had now passed since midnight, and as interesting as they had been, she still had a job to do when morning arrived.  Lilith seemed to sense this as well, for she rose to her feet in a decisive manner.

“I can see however that my intervention was unwarranted.  I apologize for drawing you both away from your evenings,” she said.  Her expression was chagrined, but Hermione detected a lingering sorrow.

“Surely that is not all,” Hermione protested.  “What about Samael?  There must be something we can do to stop him!”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, getting to his feet.  He extended a hand to Hermione, who took it and allowed him to pull her up as well.  “You must allow me to assist, given my role in releasing him.  It is the least that could be expected of me.”  His tone was grave.  Hermione was relieved that he had listened to her.  The things that Hermione had read about Lilith back at the Hogwarts library were consistent in only one thing -- their demonizing of the woman.  Other than that, the stories had been full of flaws and reeked of chauvinism.  Then again, Hermione supposed that was true of many biblical texts and their offspring.  She found it much easier to believe the tale that Lilith herself had presented.  Not only was it extremely relatable, but Hermione sensed in Lilith a deep altruism, her wild woman principles notwithstanding.

Lilith looked between the pair, clearly torn.  It was obvious that this was burdening her heavily, but even so there was something holding her back from accepting their help outright.

“Could we not use the amulets to contain him again?” Hermione ventured.  Something flickered in Lilith’s eyes, and Hermione could see that she’d hit the nail on the head… somehow.

“Daughter… even if I had the power to ensnare him again, I could not ask this sacrifice of either of you,” Lilith said, though it was clear she was refusing with some reluctance.

“What sacrifice do you mean, Lilith?”  Hermione glanced at Severus as she spoke.  His face was impassive, his eyes carefully neutral.  He knows, she realized.

“Severus’ humanity ended the moment he took possession of the amulet.  Should he relinquish it, I cannot say what might happen.  It is very possible that the vampyric power stored in the amulet is all that gives him life now.”

“No,” Hermione replied flatly.  “We’ll find something else, then.”

“If I may,” Severus interjected.  “I knew for a long time that I would die in the war between Light and Dark.  I only survived because of this cursed thing.  My life thereafter has merely been borrowed time, maintained quite literally by the lifeforce of others.  If I can trade this farce of an existence for the lives of many others, I shall do so quite willingly.”  He made to lift the chain from around his neck.

“No!”  Hermione and Lilith exclaimed at the same time -- Hermione with a cry, Lilith calmly with a raised palm.

“Let us not be hasty.  Even with the amulet in-hand, I cannot get near enough to him to use it,” Lilith explained.  Hermione was relieved to see Severus drop his hands, leaving the amulet where it lay.  Nevertheless, she was desperate to come up with something, anything to steer them away from this solution.  There must be something else!

“You said it yourself, Severus -- the amulets are working independently now.  Maybe we do not need yours!”

For a long moment, all that could be heard was the crackling of the large bonfire and the distant rush of the sea.  Far along the eastern horizon, the sky was just beginning to lighten.  Severus broke the silence rather abruptly.

“Lilith, did you not say that you were only able to penetrate the Hogwarts wards because it is Samhain?”  There was a gleam in his eye that Hermione did not entirely like.  Just what is he up to?

“I did.  My powers are increased at the cross-quarters, but none so much as Samhain.”  Some optimism returned to Lilith’s voice as she spoke.  “There is no better day for me to confront him than… today.  My powers will peak at midnight.”

“That would give us some time to come up with an alternative,” Hermione replied slowly.  I’ve done more with less, and perhaps Irma or Poppy could be of some use.  Of course it would have to be strictly theoretical, as far as they are concerned...

“Tonight then,” Severus proclaimed.  “Will you be able to summon him to you?”

“Perhaps with some incentive,” Lilith mused.  A horrible suggestion entered Hermione’s head.  No, she thought, abhorred that the idea even crossed her mind.  We couldn’t…

“Hermione,” Severus said gently.  “You never were one for hiding your emotions.  Out with it.”

Wide-eyed, she stared up at him.  Her mouth moved stiffly to shape the words.

“We could-- we could use the students.”

Chapter Text

Lilith had argued against it, unwilling to put the children at risk.  She wanted to bring Samael to the elemental circle in which the three of them had been conversing.  Hermione had quickly pointed out that Samael had no reason to agree to visit such an obvious location, whereas Lilith could present the school full of students as a peace offering, of sorts.  Severus thought Hermione’s idea had merit, especially as he was convinced he could strengthen the wards protecting the castle.  If Minerva ever caught wind of it, there would be hell to pay.  

They compromised by agreeing that the Shrieking Shack was the ideal location.  It was outside the bounds of Hogwarts, but still boasted a route onto the grounds.  All perfectly plausible, if it got that far.  While it was far from Severus’ favorite haunt, having been the site of more than one bitter moment in his past, he could see that it was well-suited to the situation.  He supposed there was some macabre irony that the place in which he had escaped death (and other near-fatal situations, come to think of it) was to be where he met his end, afterall.

Upon returning Hermione and Severus to the front steps of the castle, Lilith declined their invitation to stay, saying that she had matters of her own to see to before then.  Hermione took her leave of him once inside, disappearing in the direction of the library.  How typical, he thought, not unkindly.

On the whole, Severus felt rather unaffected by the entire thing.  He’d resigned himself to martyrdom over a decade ago, what did it matter if it came as a surprise many years later?  It matters because you’ve found her, you old fool. 

Yes, well.  We knew that was too good to be true, didn’t we?

Cheerless bastard.

Asinine romantic.

“Sod off,” he grumbled, before going about the business of preparing for his first lesson.  He had a full class load today, and did not much enjoy the prospect of an entire day spent attempting to reign in distracted students.  Not for the first time, he contemplated sacrificing the curriculum for a relatively uncomplicated, low-risk lesson on days such as this.

As he was setting out the final ingredients for the Wit-Sharpening Potion his fourth-year students would be brewing, he heard Minerva’s aging tread at his threshold.

“It’s good to see that you’ve returned in one piece, Severus,” she said by way of greeting.

“Hark, rejoice,” he replied tonelessly, not turning to face her.

“I do not understand why you insist on treating an old woman so,” she chided.  Severus snorted.  They may be friends, but he knew her too well to believe she’d sought him out purely out of interest in his well-being.

“You have only paid me a visit to inquire as to the details of last night, or perhaps more accurately, earlier this morning.  You know Professor Granger and myself have returned safely, as is your prerogative as Headmistress.   Now let us get this over with quickly so that we might both return to our tasks for the day.”

“Sourpuss,” she pouted.

“Minerva,” Severus warned.

“Oh, very well.  Have it your way,” she sighed tiredly.  “Give me something to reassure Irma with though, she’s been all of a dither thinking that it’s her fault something breached our wards.  Apparently one of her own got rather out of hand, and she thinks that in dismantling it she somehow weakened the castle’s wards.  Obviously that’s poppycock, but it would help if perhaps you or Hermione had some tidbit of explanation to offer her.”

Again, Severus exhaled sharply through his nose.  “Don’t make me laugh, Minerva.  Her little hexes may be nasty, but you know as well as I that the castle’s wards are well-insulated from the goings-on inside.  We house Britain’s finest young wizards and witchlings, who thankfully are unaware of just how dangerous they are capable of being.  It would be foolhardy indeed to not take such precautions.”

“You know it surprises me to hear you say that, considering how often you complain about them blowing up half your laboratory,” Minerva tittered.

“Yes, well, transfiguration accidents are thankfully limited to those committing them,” Severus grumbled.  

He’d been weighing his options since returning to the castle, in an effort to decide just how much to tell Minerva.  While he greatly respected her and knew she would be an asset, he also felt reasonably confident they could handle this without her.  She was getting on in years, and he was loath to worry her.  It had only been a few short years since the final battle, and the staff and remaining students who had been present were only just now beginning to accept that their lives had some kind of security.  What right had he to steal that away from Minerva?

“Well?  What happened?”  Minerva prodded.

“Professor Granger was… recruited.  By Lilith.  And before you ask, yes I do mean that Lilith -- it would appear that she does indeed exist,” Severus explained dryly.  He figured his best odds of evasion lay in keeping as close to the truth as possible.

“Oh I do like her, she’s a real treat, you know,” Minerva effervesced, clearly tickled by this revelation.  This threw Severus only momentarily.  Of course she would be a fan, I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.  What a pair those two would make…  He shuddered slightly at the thought.

“Thought I wouldn’t know her, did you?  Ha!” Minerva cackled.  “She should have written that she was dropping by, though of course I suppose it has been some time… perhaps she didn’t know where I’ve been all these years,” she considered, a faraway look in her eyes.  Severus shifted the jar of armadillo bile on his desk, straightening the ingredients.  The dull scrape of glass against wood drew Minerva’s attention back to the present.

“Well, that explains much, though if she got through the wards then either she’s gotten stronger or we’ve been slacking.  Either way, I’ve got some work to do!”  She patted the front of her robe sharply to emphasize her words before turning on her heel and making to leave.  At the door, she paused again, turning back to Severus with a distant smile on her face.  “Lilith, here .  Ah, those were good days.  Good days indeed.  She was quite a rallying point for us headstrong young women, you know.  I’m glad she’s found our newest professor, now that’s one to watch out for!”

“Get on with you, then,” Severus groused, though he was secretly gratified to see her like this.  It had been too long.  It also didn’t hurt that he was saved the trouble of outright lying to her.

--

Upon entering the library, Hermione was immediately set upon by Irma.

“Hermione!”  It was impressive, her ability to convey concern while doing a kind of whisper-hiss.

“Hello Irma,” she replied softly.  It was far too early for there to be other students in the library, but she supposed it best to follow the older woman’s example, especially considering the damage done to said library due to her presence there the previous evening.  “I’m sorry about the window, you would not believe the night I’ve had!  I trust it’s been put to rights?”

“Yes, yes,” Irma waved her hand.  “I’ll admit I was put out last night, but once Minerva explained you’d been taken… come with me, I was just about to head down for breakfast.  We can dine in my office instead.”

Hermione’s stomach rumbled, and she grinned.  Food and normal speech volumes!

Once they were settled, Hermione got down to brass tacks.

“I haven’t got long, Irma.  Suffice it to say I’ve got a major research project to get done by oh, this afternoon.  And that’s not including my class here at half past ten.”

“Right, what’s the subject?”  Irma bit into a slice of toast that was perhaps more marmalade than bread.

“Artificial life support, or if we go the other direction, ultra-powerful entrapment charms.  I know, it’s rather a broad range,” Hermione grimaced.  Despite the full breakfast before her, she found she was too jittery for anything but a few fortifying sips of tea.  She itched to get out to the stacks, but knew that employing Irma’s help would save her valuable time.

“Ah, not your everyday essay material.  I like it!”  There was a glint in Irma’s eye that pleased Hermione immensely.  “I do believe I should be able to come up with something …”

Less than a quarter of an hour later, Hermione was settled in her corner with several promising texts.  She promptly lost herself in a book entitled The Healer’s Helpmate: Ameliorating Advanced Afflictions by H. Pollingtonius, only dragging herself away when Irma stopped by to remind her that her class was due to start in five minutes.

Chapter Text

At dusk, Hermione and Severus made their way to the Shrieking Shack.  Hermione was subdued, having found little in her research that would be of any use on such short notice.  There were potions to curb hunger, ancient talismans said to ward off vampyres that were of course lost to time, and even one reference to an instance where a wizard had attempted live organ replication.  The results had been “inconclusive”, though how one could fail to conclude success or failure in such an endeavor was beyond Hermione.

Severus too was quiet.  Hermione wanted to scream at him, beg him to care , if only for her sake.  She did none of these things, however.  It would change nothing, and her time would be better spent continuing her last ditch efforts at brainstorming.

The Shack was as miserable as ever, wind howling around the creaking structure.  Lilith was already inside, having laid claim to the uppermost story.  Upon entering the dusty room, Hermione’s gaze was drawn automatically to where she’d last seen Severus all those years ago.  The dried remains of his spilt blood stained the floorboards, nobody having seen fit to bother with cleaning them.  If Severus was affected by the sight, he gave no sign of it.  His demeanor was as cool and impassive as ever.

“Thank you both,” Lilith said, her melodious voice at odds with the grim situation.  “Severus, I will not lie to you.  I have found no other way to subdue Samael that would not take time, time which we do not have if we wish to put an end to his wicked massacres.”

Severus was silent for a beat, before nodding curtly.

“I understand.  I am ready.”

“Your bravery does you great justice.  We know not what the outcome will be for you.  It is best that you conceal yourself until the moment comes, and only then remove the amulet.”

Again, Severus nodded.  He and Hermione stepped out of the room.  They were to Disillusion themselves and remain in the hallway while Lilith summoned Samael.  Severus lifted his wand, preparing to utter the spell.

“Wait,” Hermione stilled his hand with a soft touch of her own.  Even the barest contact of skin set her heart to racing, and she was filled with a desire to pull him to her.  “Severus, I--”

“No, Hermione,” he said, though the hard edge of his eyes had eased.  He caught her hand and held it to his breast.  She knew she would not feel anything, she knew his heart did not beat.  She also knew that he could feel hers hammer out a pounding rhythm, through the pulse in her wrist.  His thumb brushed over the thin veins there, before bringing her hand up to his face.  Severus’ lids drifted shut as Hermione’s fingers ghosted across his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble.  He inhaled deeply at the soft, tender spot where she could just make out the blue lines of her lifeblood.  His eyes flew open, and she could see that they were dilated, blackness edging out the darkest brown that ringed his pupils.

“Together,” she breathed, not daring to blink.  He nodded.  She whispered the incantation and felt the cool sensation of the charm trickle over her.  Her contact with Severus drew him under with her, and for this she was infinitely grateful.  If she only had him for a few more minutes, then she would damn well not give him up to invisibility.

“Are you ready, Daughter?  Severus?” Lilith’s calm voice carried easily through the open doorway.

“Yes,” Hermione replied for the both of them, and if it came out a little huskier than she might have liked, well it mattered little now.

She did not recognize most of the words that Lilith spoke next, though the lilting chant was lovely.  The one word she did know, the word Lilith ended with, sent a chill up her spine, and she was grateful to have Severus’ gaze to hold her steady.  Samael .

A great thunderclap shook the building, followed by an echoing silence.

“ Li-lithhhh ,” a new voice crooned.  It was deep and eerily smooth, and had the effect of sneaking into every corner of the room.  Severus’ grip on her hand tightened infinitesimally.  “It’s been an age ,” the newcomer purred.

“Samael,” they heard Lilith reply.  “You are looking… well,” she finished, her voice a blend of milk and honey.

“You never could resist me,” Samael replied.  “Or so you led me to believe.”  A resentful edge crept into his last words, and Hermione felt a pang of fear.  What if they failed?

Severus’ free hand came up to Hermione’s cheek, radiating a confidence she did not feel but desperately wanted to cling to.

“I was wrong, Samael,” and damned if she didn’t sound remorseful.  “I-- I’ve missed you.  I wanted to offer you something, a token of my apology, if you like.”  Hermione could hear shifting from the other side of the wall, and supposed Lilith was moving closer to Samael, perhaps subtly drawing him to her with a welcoming gesture of some kind.

“ Ohhh? ”  The responding growl was feral and sensual and anticipatory, and if Hermione didn’t know better she’d have sooner attributed it to a werewolf than a vampyre.  It stood the hairs on the back of her neck up in an altogether undesirable manner.  Hermione had to strain to hear the next words, so softly did Lilith speak them.

“Not far from here lies a castle full of children… unwary, innocent, magical children.”  With each word, the growl in the back of Samael’s throat grew.  

“What’s changed in you, Lilith ?  It is unlike you to encourage such behavior.”  To Hermione’s relief, Samael’s tone was less suspicious and more curious.  If he wants her, perhaps he’ll be blind to her motives.  Perhaps it will be enough…

“You know those awful things they say about me,” she pouted.  Hermione might have laughed outright at that, were the situation any different.  “One reaches a point when one has had enough -- when all one wants is a little fun ,” she ended with a playful mewl of her own.

What followed were the unmistakable sounds of two people connecting, flesh to flesh.  Hands dragging against supple leather and ephemeral silks, panting gasps and wet, smacking kisses.  Hermione felt her cheeks heat at the realization of what Lilith must have meant when she said she would distract Samael.  Her heart beat harder, realizing that this was as good a cue as Severus was going to get.

No, no, no!  Her mind screamed, eyes pleading silently with Severus.  His eyes were velvet as he lowered his forehead to hers, letting it rest there briefly.  Pulling back to look at her face, he ran his thumb over her lower lip.  His touch felt cool against her skin, too cool, but she didn’t want to let him go.  Severus pressed a desperate kiss to her brow.

My heart does not beat, Hermione, though for you… it has tried.

The words echoed in her head, drowning out everything else.  She didn’t see him raise his wand, but the words his lips silently formed were unmistakable.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

--

Throwing up a Disillusionment charm of his own, Severus caught Hermione and gently settled her on the floorboards in the hallway.

I’m sorry , he thought.  I had to.

Then, he stepped into the room.  Lilith and Samael were angled such that Samael’s back was to the door.

“Bite me,” Lilith moaned, a command Samael wasted no time in obeying.

It is now or never then -- while he is distracted but before he gleans too much from her…

Hastily, Severus stepped forward.  In one smooth movement, he unclasped the silver chain and threw it over Samael’s shoulder, catching the free end up deftly in his other hand.  Time seemed to slow to a trickle as the amulet fell through the air and settled on Samael’s chest.

Lilith was ready.  She pushed Samael away, reciting the words that would activate her hold on him.  There was a brief moment where the confusion on his face turned to betrayal and rage, only to turn just as quickly to a dull, placid nothingness.  It was done.

No sooner had Severus registered all of this than he began to feel the energy seeping out of him.  I am dying , he realized dimly.  It worked, and I’m dying.   He collapsed to his knees, swaying.  He felt his power draining away, and with it the Disillusionment charm he’d placed on himself.  Lilith caught him before he crashed face-first into the floor.  As if from a great distance, he heard Hermione cry out as the Full-Body Bind he’d used on her also dissolved.  His vision was fading, but her face swam into view above his own.

“No, no, no, Severus!”

But he was beyond words.

He was beyond…

Chapter Text

A great cry rent the air.  Hermione was screaming, Lilith clutching her in her arms and rocking her back and forth.  Severus lay lifeless in Hermione’s lap.

A great cry rent the air.  It was not just Hermione screaming.  This cry rang out while Hermione gasped in her shuddering breaths.

A great melodious cry.  It echoed across the land, drawing nearer and nearer.  With a burst of fiery wings, it exploded through one of the boarded up windows, swooping down to land next to Severus.

“F-fawkes!”  Hermione exclaimed, hardly daring to believe her eyes.  “P-p-please, you have to save him!  He’s done s-s-so much for us all, if anyone deserves your tears it’s him!”

The great bird let out another cry, softer this time.  He bent his beautiful head, laying it on Severus’ chest.  Hermione let out another sob as she watched a large, pearly tear form in the corner of Fawkes’ eye.  It seemed to take forever to fall, to reach Severus.

His great button-clad chest hitched, and he took a gasping breath.  It seemed as though his entire body swelled with the effort of it, and Hermione thought she’d never felt anything so wonderful in her whole life.  Before her eyes, his cheeks took on a warm pallor she’d never seen on him before.  Perhaps most beautifully, she could just make out the flutter of a pulse in his neck.  Severus’ dark eyes sought out hers, and he lifted a hand to brush her tears away.

Hermione sobbed again at how delightfully warm his touch was.  Her skin tingled where he’d touched it, and she nuzzled her cheek deeper into his palm.

“My beautiful, miserable Hermione,” he chuckled.  The rumble of it nearly set her off again, it was so-- so alive , and so unlike the bitter man she’d always known.  Instead she laughed through her tears, rather un-prettily but she really couldn’t give a fig just then.

“Severus,” was all she could say.  She bent down and took the kiss she’d been wanting for the better part of a week.  He was firm and soft all at once, his mouth warm and so deliciously human .

Lilith had stepped away, and when Hermione and Severus broke apart, they could see that she was speaking quietly to Fawkes, stroking his feathers as he perched on her arm.

“Fawkes,” Severus called to the bird.  “My thanks.”

The great phoenix dipped its head in an unmistakable nod, before launching itself into the air and departing the way it came.

Severus climbed to his feet, again offering Hermione a hand up.  When they were both standing, they turned to Lilith.

“What will you do now?”  Hermione asked.

Lilith smiled.  “I believe I have learned a thing or two about attempting to handle everything on my own.  It is time that I reconnect with those responsible for my excommunication.  I plan to petition the angels to intervene -- perhaps there is some way to undo what has been done to him, as we saw tonight with Severus.”

Hermione looked up at the tall man standing at her side, and slipped an arm around his waist.

“I’m glad, you shouldn’t have to tie yourself down to that ,” she said, jerking her chin toward the unmoving man on the other side of the room.

“Before you go,” Severus added, “you should know there is someone up at the castle who would appreciate a visit from you, next time you are in town.”

“Oh?” Hermione and Lilith inquired at the same time.  Severus smiled.

“Minerva.”

Lilith promised that she would stop by for a proper visit, once she’d dealt with Samael.  She then bid them farewell and departed with Samael in tow.

Severus looked down at Hermione, still nestled under his arm.  The smile he gave her was genuine and conveyed a sense of great fondness.  Hermione could hardly believe that he was really here, really human again.

Her stomach rumbled.  Severus’ grin widened.

“Hungry, are we?” he asked.

“Famished, I don’t think I’ve had anything proper to eat since yesterday,” she said sheepishly.

“That’s nothing,” he countered loftily.  “I believe I have you beat at seven years, two months, sixteen days…”

“Oh look who’s being clever!” she laughed as she punched him lightly on the arm.  His responding chuckle rumbled deeply in his chest, and he caught her up in his arms before she could repeat the gesture.  Their amusement quieted as they looked upon one another.  Hermione’s face was now slightly higher than Severus’, and she rested her hands on his shoulders.  Curling her fingers into his hair, she met him halfway in a kiss that was just the right blend of joy, euphoria and longing.

When Severus and Hermione returned to the castle, it was in a much different mood than when they had left it.  With her small hand tucked in his larger one, their future promised to be a bright one.  Together.

--

Fin.