I'm Right Here

Summary: The aftermath, the portrait, and a breath.

A/N: With gratitude to Anastasia, partner-in-Transfiguration.

What Minerva didn't know was that what she would ask of Hermione Granger was not unlike what Albus had asked, so often, of Severus Snape.

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Half an hour later, Hermione sat in the headmistress' office, accepting a cup of tea. The cup clattered against the saucer as she held it in her lap.

Poor child, Minerva thought, sitting behind her desk. Aloud, she said "I've notified the Weasleys – good news at such an hour is a rarity, but even so, I'm afraid they are quite understandably upset. Arthur is with Molly now, and the children will be along shortly."

Hermione nodded, staring at her milky tea. She blinked. Only hours before she had been gazing into brandy, into a heavy lead-crystal snifter, and in it she had glimpsed the refracted shapes that had led her – You embraced it - to present events.

Minerva peered at her with some concern. "My dear, I know you must be quite shaken up by what you've seen tonight..."

Seen? Done. Hermione just nodded.

"...and I hate to ask it of you, but I need to know. What has happened?"

Hermione began, "I was researching, working on my formula, trying to get a fix on various aspects of the Horcrux problem, and..."

"Working? Where?"

"Grimmauld Place. The Burrow is rather... " she gestured, half-apologetically. "It being Harry's birthday... "

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Minerva's mouth twitched. "I quite imagine it is rather a difficult place to concentrate. Well, you're safe enough at Grimmauld Place. You did leave word as to where you were going?"

Hermione looked up guiltily. "No, Headmistress. Harry assumed I was coming here, to the Library. I... I let him."

A stern look. "Miss Granger, that was – " Minerva stopped herself. Something on Hermione's face... "Yes, well. You know perfectly well it was irresponsible. Continue."

Hermione's mind raced frantically. How much to tell? All? Some? If some, what? She glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait, and Minerva looked at her sympathetically.

"I miss him too, Miss Granger."

"Has he awakened at all, yet?" Hermione asked, the possible ramifications of what she might divulge still playing out in logical pathways that had thus far offered her no guidance for how much to say.

Minerva looked away from the portrait and closed her eyes. In that brief moment, Hermione saw Dumbledore shake his head at her, very slightly. So you are awake, then. I thought as much...Okay, so, he wants me to keep quiet about Severus.

Mastering whatever she'd been feeling, Minerva said crisply, "No, Miss Granger, I am afraid he hasn't."

"Ah..." Hermione's tone was bland. Right, then.

Minerva looked up. That tone, a tone which revealed nothing save that it was hiding something, reminded her of... no. Shaking the feeling off, she continued, "Miss Granger, do proceed. I cannot keep the Weasleys at bay indefinitely, and – forgive me, child – you are a sight. Tell me what happened, and let's get you tucked away – you may stay in the dormitory – and perhaps a hot soak would be in order."

"Yes, Headmistress." Just the facts. And not too many of those. Hermione shuffled the night's events in her mind, and delivered a highly edited version of her story. "I was researching, and working a few formulae – the library at Grimmauld Place has a few rather... well... shady... um... Arithmantic sources - " An image flashed in her mind, a sensory memory, of Severus' hair sweeping across her face as she clutched his shoulders, the tendons in his neck straining as he arched his back... Oh, dear... "Shady sources"... indeed. She swallowed nervously, repressing a highly inappropriate giggle.

"I do understand, Miss Granger, and would urge you to extreme caution where such sources are concerned..."

Oh, gods...

The headmistress continued, "They pose no small danger to the inexperienced." She paused, and her face pinched with disapproval. "They can be quite seductive."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

Minerva sighed. "But such risks are sometimes necessary. I trust you have experienced nothing out of the ordinary? No unexpected effects from your activities this evening?"

Keeping her jaw firmly clamped shut, Hermione looked the headmistress in the eye and shook her head.

"No?"

Digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, she shook her head more firmly.

That seemed to satisfy the headmistress, who nodded once. "Then pray continue."

Hermione drew a steadying breath.

Minerva inclined her head sympathetically. "Take a moment if you need to, Miss Granger. Realizing that you have inadvertently flirted with a Darkness for which you were completely unprepared, that you may have courted your own transformation – yes, most unsettling. I do understand."

If this continues much longer, I shall burst into hysterics, Hermione thought wildly, steeling herself to a greater amount of control than she'd ever possessed. Focus. Finding her voice, she announced, "I believe that I may have found a pattern in Voldemort's actions."

Minerva's eyes widened at that, and she leaned forward slightly.

Hermione recounted the parallels between Voldemort's life stages at the creation of the Horcruxes, and the ages of his victims, leaving out all mention of the fact that Severus' memories were what had allowed her to see the patterns. "I am not entirely certain, Headmistress, but the pattern insofar as I have been able to reconstruct it indicates that... Well, I believe there may be some kind of..." she swallowed. "... some kind of life Indemnity required to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. It seems logical."

Minerva sat back in her chair as the implications of Hermione's words registered. The child's a marvel.

"I hypothesized that the third Horcrux might be connected somehow to the issue of Motherhood – more specifically, fertility – and thought immediately of Molly."

"An inspired bit of logic. Yes, inspired."

That small voice in Hermione's mind laughed dryly. "Inspired." You have no idea.

"Well done, Miss Granger."

Hermione breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"One more question, before you go."

"Yes, Headmistress?"

"How did you know to go to the Leaky Cauldron?"

Hermione's eyes flew to Dumbledore's portrait again, but no more assistance was forthcoming from that source. Turning her gaze back to Minerva, she was quiet for a moment, before saying firmly, "I can't tell you."

Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "Can't?"

Hermione considered her options, then amended, "No, of course, you're right. I'm afraid that the truth is that I won't. Tell you, that is. You're going to have to trust me."

Although her own manner was forthright to the point of bluntness, Minerva McGonagall had witnessed too many exchanges between Albus and Severus not to catch a similar subtext in this one. She was tipped off by someone. She caught her breath sharply. And she's protecting her source... young Malfoy, perhaps. She breathed out, slowly, glaring at Albus' portrait. Wake up, old man. Sooner would be preferable. Then her heart tightened, and she thought, I am a Scot, Albus; we've always preferred Claymores to spying.

There was a long moment of silence, in which she searched Hermione's face appraisingly, running through all of her memories of Hermione's student years. Hermione returned her look calmly, accepting whatever judgment the older witch would reach.

Finally, the headmistress nodded.

"There is something else," Hermione began, reaching into her pocket. "This was in Kreacher's nest."

She stood and placed Slytherin's locket on the headmistress' desk.

Minerva pushed her chair back, eyes wide.

"I believe that Molly's life may somehow be..." Hermione dropped her eyes and her voice, "... required. In order to destroy it," she finished.

The headmistress' horrified eyes flew from the locket to Hermione and back.

Hermione whispered, "I'll keep working on it."

"Do." Then Minerva's eyes softened, and she gave Hermione a small smile. "Whoever - However you managed it, you saved Molly's life tonight. You must continue your research." More briskly, she concluded, "I shall inform the Weasleys that you are working on Order business and that for now you must do so uninterrupted. After tonight - " she glanced out the window at the lightening sky and frowned " - after this morning, then – you shall stay at Grimmauld Place. Report to me daily, on your research and... on anything else that may be relevant."

Hermione, knowing herself dismissed, rose to leave. As she reached for the door handle, Minerva spoke again.

"Hermione..."

Hand still on the handle, she turned.

"Be careful." The older woman's eyes were glistening.

Hermione nodded and left. She shut the door and leaned against it. I'm a spy, she thought. Well, no, not a spy, exactly, although goodness know what Professor McGonagall thinks. A courier, then. Okay, she could work with that.

That question settled, she started to head down the stairs. Abruptly, she reached out for the banister.

Minerva McGonagall had just ordered her to move in with Severus Snape. Inadvertently, to be sure, but... Oh, dear. And Dumbledore knows... Oh, dear. How very... She wanted to say "appalling," but the word would not come. How very... adequate.

She flew down the spiral staircase, through the halls, and barely made it into the Prefects' bathroom before she finally burst out laughing.

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A parchment lay on the floor in the pre-dawn light.

Stiffly, slowly, Severus bent down to pick it up. He glanced at it – the words "Molly Prewett Weasley" still pulsing faintly red – and set it on the table, eyes taking in the rumpled parchments that Hermione had roughly shoved aside not two hours earlier. Placing his palms on the table, he eased into her chair and drew the nearest parchments closer to him. His face a flat, expressionless mask, his eyes flicked to the top of a nearly empty page, which bore only the words "Voldemort's fourth Horcrux." Slowly, methodically, he set about smoothing the wrinkles out of the parchments with the heel of his hand, not stopping until all of them lay neat, flat, aligned perfectly with each other and the edge of the table. Resting his fingertips on the edge of the table, then, he focused his breathing and closed his eyes.

The unsuccessful attempt to capture Molly Weasley had earned the Death Eaters responsible for the mission severe punishment. From his place at the Dark Lord's left hand, he had watched dispassionately as Lucius Malfoy had meted out retribution. Only the forger had escaped the Dark Lord's wrath relatively unscathed; planting the doubt regarding Percy Weasley's allegiances was considered reasonable success. There would be time enough to target the family again, and sowing discord was...

Severus chased Albus' voice from his mind and reoriented his thoughts. He, too, believed that the former headmaster's portrait was probably awake. It would make a kind of brutal sense; upon "awakening," the portrait would be subjected to interrogation regarding his – Severus' – actions, and there was a good reason for keeping those quiet. The last shreds of whatever neutral reputation he had possessed had been sacrificed to guarantee one key moment in which the element of surprise could turn the final tide. A small enough sacrifice, all other things considered.

"Pretending we're not debating moral relativism is making me terribly thirsty," another voice in his mind. A voice that would eventually join the others, deciding all questions in favor of the greater good. His voice was among that chorus, for a very different set of reasons, but now...

Hermione, he breathed, flattening his palms over the table where he had watched her work a mere few hours ago. He ran his hands meditatively over the polished, smooth surface. So soft. So hard. Warmed by his hands... Bowing his head, he sat that way until the first rays of sun shone on its surface, into his eyes.

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Damp tendrils of hair still clinging to her flushed skin, Hermione eased into bed as the sun slanted into the otherwise empty dormitory, brushing a hand over the strange new mark on her heart, lingering over the bruises where Severus' sharp, lean body had so desperately tried to subsume her own. She smiled, nestling further down under the covers, then winced as the thousand small cuts from the glass in his urgent hands abraded against the sheets.

She reached to the nightstand for the two-way mirror. Was he back at Grimmauld Place? He'd said it was safe, but she had no idea how long Voldemort would have kept his followers after a failed mission. Resting her hand on the pillow beside her head, she looked at metal for a long time. Definitely it had been a fork, a mundane, utilitarian object transformed by a ruthlessly honed anger into something perfect, then broken, again...

She sighed. Her breath misted on the smooth metal, and she drew it to her lips. Please be okay.

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Brought out of his reverie by the feel of her breath on his cheek, he tasted her lips against his own before he drew his half of the two-way mirror out of his pocket. As soon as he touched it, he heard her barely breathed prayer.

"Still awake, I see."

"Severus?"

"I'm fine, Hermione. Sleep now."

A mild protest, "No. Don't go."

"I'm right here, Hermione." He closed his eyes against the empty room around him that gave lie to his meaning, if not to his words.

"I know," she thought, already drifting into sleep.

He chuckled tiredly.

"That tickles," her thought barely a whisper. "Do it again..."

Hermione's half of the two-way mirror slipped to rest beside her face on the pillow as, finally, exhausted, she fell asleep, her breath misting its surface.

Still holding his mirror, he climbed the stairs, seeking his own bed, finally, settled, his position mirroring hers, the halved metal disk next to his head on his pillow.

Entranced by the feel of her breath on his neck, Severus slept.