6

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I make no money here.

AN: Many thanks to my beta, dreamy_dragon73, for all her help; she makes it all readable.

Severus explained what he knew and how he'd learned it, purposely leaving out the part of being a peeper of course, as he was quite sure that Harry would not appreciate that particular piece of information at all. "After overhearing the conversation with Miss Granger and Draco via her speaker phone, I returned home and Flooed Draco myself. He refused to tell me anything, citing client confidentiality. He did seem worried however, and asked me to keep an eye on her."

"That's why I'm here," responded Harry. "Draco actually came to my home, and while he refused to reveal any details to me either, he did voice a good bit of concern and suggested that it might be prudent for me to check up on Hermione's well-being. This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, and while things have changed a good deal since the war, we aren't exactly friends. So when he comes to me and tells me he's worried about the welfare of his client and my best friend, I take it quite seriously. Hermione is not by nature one to drown her sorrows in drink, so it's obvious to me that she was extremely upset about the article in the Prophet."

"I believe there was a much deeper cause to her distress; the interview posted in that rag was merely the catalyst." At Harry's puzzled look, Severus proceeded to repeat practically verbatim the contents of the overheard conversation. He, after all, felt no compunction to honor any code of confidentiality. He felt that Harry, as Hermione's self-proclaimed brother, was entitled to know the kinds of things her ex had used to hurt and mangle her self-esteem.

"That bloody tosser! I knew there was more to it all, things that she wasn't telling me! I'm going to kill him."

"Which is precisely why she didn't tell you, I'm sure. While doing great bodily harm to Mr. Nott would indeed be extremely satisfying, you losing your job or ending up in Azkaban would do Miss Granger no favors."

"Well then, just what would you suggest, Professor? That we just let him get away with it, hurting people willy-nilly, let him become Minister of Magic and run the whole fucking show?"

"No, Mr. Potter... Harry. I do suggest, however, that you start thinking less like a brash, charge-in-without-a-plan Gryffindor and start thinking more like a set-the-trap-and-give-the-bloody-twit-his-just-dues Slytherin," Severus responded with an evil smirk and a gleam in his eye.

"Oh, yeah, I'm beginning to like the way you think, Severus," Harry responded with a grin. "What's the plan?"

"What is the one thing that Mr. Nott appears to desire above all else?"

"He wants to be Minister."

"Precisely. We are going to make sure he does not win the election. Not only that. By the time we're done with the little prick, he won't have a reputation left to stand on. I suggest a meeting of the minds for a planning session. Myself of course, you, Mr. Weasley, Ronald that is; George's devious mind might be an advantage as well. I think Draco would be more than willing, perhaps Mr. Zabini? I believe Mr. Longbottom is quite fond of Miss Granger, he could be of help also."

"Do we include Hermione or do we do it on our own?"

"Hmmm... I am unsure; you know her better than anyone. Would she approve, or would she try to dissuade us from our goal?"

"Hard to say. She might try to stop us, worried that we'd get caught or get in trouble, and then she'd feel it was her fault. On the other hand, she might savor the satisfaction of doing it herself."

"Let's keep that option open then, why don't we? We'll start our plans and decide later whether to include her in the final stage."

"Sir... err... Severus, can I ask you something?" Without waiting for an answer, Harry asked, "Why are you doing this? I mean, why do you care? Nott was one of your Slytherins, after all."

Severus considered the question before he replied, "Our Miss Granger is fortunate that she got free before he had a chance to lure her irretrievably into an unbreakable, magically binding marriage contract. If his reaction to her thwarting of his plans is any indication, their marriage would have been fraught with verbal and psychological abuse at the very least; and considering what I know of that family's history, it undoubtedly would have led eventually to physical abuse. No one deserves that kind of treatment, that kind of life. No one. Mr. Nott has been a pompous little pureblood prick since he was a firstie, and I will be more than happy to see him get his just dues.

"Secondly, I myself have personally experienced living with lies, betrayal and deceit. I find I have developed a grudging admiration for the girl. I want to see her vindicated."

~**~

Hermione awoke the next morning with an awful taste in her mouth, a splitting headache and a fuzzy memory of getting wasted at the Green Dragon. She'd been rude to Paddy and had a vague image of being brought home by the heretofore absent pub owner, who had morphed into a Snape look-alike. Maybe this town was on some kind of weird vortex which caused people to look like other people? Paddy like George, Mr. Spaveene like Snape... maybe there was a dotty confectioner who looked like Dumbledore, or a resident harridan who looked like Molly Weasley?

She recalled being tucked into bed by Harry and telling him about her strange dream of asking Snape to Obliviate her. But why Harry had been here, she had no idea. Had he been part of the dream as well? Hermione rolled over in her bed and froze as her eyes zeroed in on a little blue bottle on her bedside table; her hand was shaking as she reached out to grab it. She noted the label: Hangover Relief Potion: one full dose. "What the hell!" It wasn't the blue bottle or what was in it that had her spooked. It was the handwriting: his handwriting. Snape's.

"Oh good, you're awake finally. It's about time." Harry stood grinning in her bedroom doorway.

Holding up the bottle, she demanded sharply, "What the hell is this?"

With a frown, Harry took the bottle. "It's hangover potion. See, it says so right here," he replied, pointing to the label and speaking as if he were talking to a small child. "I thought you'd be needing a dose this morning."

Hermione snatched the bottle back out of his hand and pointed at the very same label. "This is Snape's handwriting, Harry. Snape's!" She squinted closely at the bottom of the label. "And the bottling date reads just six months ago."

"Oh, umm... well... Hermione, you see... that is, I..."

"Oh, sweet Merlin. It wasn't a dream, was it? He's alive. He's really alive."

"Yes. Yes, he is. He's alive, and he's been living here in the Muggle world for the past eight years."

"Eight years. Why that's amazing." Hermione popped the cork out of the bottle and downed the potion in one gulp. "So it really was him who brought me home. Oh my gosh, I practically vomited on his shoes. How embarrassing."

As the hangover potion kicked in, Hermione chattered on, "I'll bet you were shocked to see him, weren't you, Harry? What did you say to him? What did he say to you?"

Looking up, she noticed that Harry seemed a little nervous, and she began to suspect all was not as it seemed. "So... were you shocked, Harry?"

His eyes met hers guiltily.

"Harry Potter, how long have you known?"

"Well... errr... I may have... that is. IguessImighthaveknownforthepastsixyears."

"Excuse me?"

"Six years, okay? I've known he was alive and living here in Clonbur for six years."

"You've known for six years, and you never told me?" she asked, sounding hurt.

"Hermione, please. It wasn't my story to tell, was it? Once I knew all that he'd done, it haunted me not knowing what happened to him after the final battle. I tracked him down on my own, but once I found out he was alive and safe, living in the Muggle world, I was satisfied with that. I figured if and when he was ready for our world to know, then he'd let them know. He didn't even know I knew until last night. I had no idea that your Aunt Maeve's home was here as well, though. If I had realized that, I would have given you some warning, I swear."

"So you knew for six years. You kept this enormous secret completely to yourself and you told no one, absolutely no one?" He shook is head. "Not Ron?" He shook his head again. "Not even Ginny?" A third time he shook his head.

Hermione jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Harry. I think that's absolutely brilliant. I'm so proud of you. It was truly the honorable thing to do."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were going to be furious with me. Women! I still can't figure you out; a guy never knows what to expect!"

~ **~

Harry stayed and fixed Hermione breakfast, which she was able to enjoy, thanks to the potion she'd taken. Hermione didn't cook much for herself and would have made do with a slice of toast and a cup of tea. Not that she couldn't cook, she just didn't like to and so avoided it whenever possible.

They made small talk for a while. Harry brought her up to date on the latest Weasley news, they speculated about Draco and Luna as a couple, and Hermione told him the news from Hogwarts she'd read in the latest letter from Minerva.

To the relief of both, they were able to avoid the subject of the Prophet article and Theo Nott entirely.

Finally, Harry asked her about her writing. "So how's it going; got the world's next great novel banged out yet?"

"Well, not quite, but it's going great. Fine... er... fantastic, that is. Really, really well. Peachy, in fact."

"You haven't written anything, have you?" Harry asked knowingly.

"Not one bloody word," Hermione sighed. "It's so much harder than I'd ever dreamed it would be."

"You said yourself you don't really have to work for a while, you can get by. Maybe, you should just take some time off, just enjoy yourself here. Besides, maybe being a writer isn't what you're meant to do."

"But, Harry, it seems so perfect. I love books," she protested.

"Yeah, well, Ron loves food, but he's no chef."

Hermione giggled. "Well, you're spot on there."

Harry thought for a minute, then suggested, "You know, they say you should write what you know best; you were always great at researching stuff. Maybe you should put those skills to work. Find a topic that interests you, research the hell out of it, then write your book about that. But do it in your own time, love. You're not on any deadline."

"Thanks, Harry," she replied, giving him a hug as he prepared to leave. "That does seem like a really good idea. I'll think about it. And thanks for showing up here last night. I know you were worried about me. I'll be good; I promise: no more drunken binges."

tbc