Timing

Summary: The turn of a friendly (?) card.

A/N: Anything remotely exciting in this chapter is dedicated to the divine Anastasia.

His voice echoed in the empty frame. "Not a word to anyone. Especially not Harry..."

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A fire glowed in the hearth and Hermione and Severus were surrounded by books in the library at Grimmauld Place, working on the trapping spell. Tayet was perched on the mantel, occasionally preening, occasionally gliding over to the table where they were working. Feathers itched, and she was not a patient bird.

In the hallway, Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus were playing rummy. Mrs. Black was winning.

At the Burrow, Arthur and Molly were enjoying a cup of tea while Harry, Ron and Ginny were outside stargazing under the watchful eyes of Tonks and Kingsley. Everyone's clock hands were still stuck on "mortal peril." Molly didn't even look at it any more.

At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody were in the Trophy Room, blinking before a noxious cloud of oily smoke. As the smoke cleared, a badger device was plainly evident on the side of a cup. It had been the Award for Special Services to the School after all.

In the Entrance Hall, Argus Filch was scratching his stubbly chin. He could have sworn that the giant hourglasses had been emptied after term, and now Gryffindor and Slytherin appeared to be nearly tied. "Ruddy teachers," he grumbled to Mrs. Norris. "Always messing about."

Hagrid was sitting in the Forest with Grawp, roasting something on a stick over an open campfire. Grawp looked up at the sound of a twig breaking and grunted. As silently as he could, Hagrid put down the stick and reached for his crossbow.

A tongue of red flame suddenly shot between them. Grawp charged into the underbrush.

"Grawpy, no!" Hagrid bellowed, doing his best to dodge the spells that were arcing from every direction.

The campfire burned down slowly, oblivious to the sound of cracking limbs, falling trees, hoarse shouts and gurgling cries that died away to nothing.

A little bit before midnight, Grawp and Hagrid returned to the campfire scorched, bleeding, but still whole, Grawp swinging the body of a dead Death Eater by the ankle.

"We got to get back to the castle, Grawpy. Get yer things."

A large boot kicked dirt onto what remained of the campfire and stomped out the remaining coals, and the forest was dark. Eventually the night noises started up again.

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Hermione's hair was escaping from her usual messy knot, and a long curl swayed every time she bent to make a note. Severus found himself staring at it as it brushed her neck. Her hair glowed warm in the firelight.

Tayet glided over and landed on his book. She looked from him to Hermione and clacked over to Hermione and tugged the curl with her beak.

Without taking her eyes off of the page she was reading, Hermione twisted the curl back into the knot and absently patted Tayet.

Satisfied, Tayet, looked at Severus, who closed his eyes briefly and went back to his work. Tayet glided back to the mantel.

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"Another hand?" Mrs. Black asked Phineas Nigellus.

He nodded.

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Hermione eyed the stack of books on Severus' side of the table. He had reserved most of the Dark books for himself, and she had, uncharacteristically, not questioned his decision.

She looked at his face, which was impassive, only his cold eyes revealing that whatever he was reading was testing his self-control. Seduction or repulsion; he was keeping one or the other at bay.

She had no idea which one. Maybe both.

She looked at him some more, at his hand curled on the book's spine, fingers splayed on the cover, the other, ink-stained like her own, twirling the quill one way, then the other.

One way – pause – the other – pause – one way – pause –

His hands. The memory of what his hands could do. Something in her abdomen tightened. The thought of what his hands would do. Something in her mind cringed.

She wondered if it hurt to die.

Tayet glided over and rubbed against Severus' quill hand. The hypnotic motion stopped. Tayet looked apologetically at Hermione, and glided back to the mantel.

Hermione sighed soundlessly and bent back to her own book.

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"I knock on 2," said Phineas Nigellus, laying down his cards.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Black inquired, stealing a glance toward the library.

"Quite," he replied.

She lay down her cards. All were in sequence or in groups, save the ace of hearts.

"My hand," she said.

They both sighed.

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"If you were in Molly's position, would you want to know earlier or later?" she asked suddenly.

"I am, and I do know, and my own answer looms so large that I cannot answer that question for anyone else," he said, not lifting his eyes from the page.

"Okay."

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"Gin," said Phineas Nigellus.

"You were bound to win one eventually," said Mrs. Black. "Law of averages."

"Again?"

They looked toward the library, and Mrs. Black began shuffling.

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Some time passed.

"Why does Dumbledore insist on secrecy? Especially with Harry?" she asked.

Reaching for a different text, Severus said, "Do you really think the Order would let me live long enough to convince them of my real part?"

"Maybe," she replied.

"Really?" His tone was deceptively light as he opened the book. "And how many of them would I have to neutralize in order to remain alive until they were convinced?"

"Moody, certainly. Fred and George. Ron. Oh. Yes. That wouldn't exactly make your case, would it."

He continued, "And if by some unthinkable miracle it did, do you believe Potter would not betray my allegiance before the Dark Lord, at the end? Even a glance would be enough, Hermione." He looked over the top edge of the book at her. "Is he that good an actor?"

She had to admit he was not.

He dropped his eyes. "The element of surprise is crucial, Hermione, and not just for the Dark Lord. For Potter, as well."

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Harry looked at Ginny's hair, alive in the dim moonlight, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

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In the empty office, Dumbledore looked calmly at the waning moon.

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"Shall we, dear?" Arthur asked.

Molly smiled, put her knitting away, and took her husband's hand.

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"Hagrid, he simply cannot stay in the castle, but I agree that you both must remain within the grounds." Minerva Transfigured a few rocks into a shelter. Her wand hand trembled slightly.

Neither Hagrid nor Grawp noticed.

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To hell with it, Harry thought, reaching out to touch Ginny's hair.

But at that moment, Ginny laughed at something Ron had said, turning her head. Her hair just brushed Harry's fingertips before his hand curled around air.

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Severus was reading a text so old that it hardly qualified as a book. The pages had been cut from a scroll before being roughly sewn together. He sat up straighter, suddenly alert, and re-read a section. "Hermione."

She looked up. The circles under her eyes were bruises in the lamplight.

"Foris Clausa. The closed door."

She reached for it, but he held up his hand.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't touch it. Just read."

She nodded, but asked, "Why?"

"This codex will kill any Muggleborn who touches it. The Curses on it are arcane – I cannot even make notes from it, not even in summary."

She sat on her hands.

She started reading. Foris Clausa was a foundation spell, a spell which initiated a pre-determined sequence – in this case, to trap a witch or wizard for the purposes of casting the Killing Curse. "The Foreclosure Curse – the only way to release it is for the original caster to cast Avada Kedavra – else it traps its own caster." She scanned the rest of the page.

He nodded.

"Why isn't this a listed Unforgivable?"

"I suspect no one remembers it. The state of this book suggests it may be the only copy in existence. Possibly it was listed at one time, and got buried in its own logic. If the caster fails, he dies; if he succeeds, he casts another Unforgivable, and the question becomes rather academic."

"Oh, dear," she said, still sitting on her hands. "Um... could you maybe... " she gestured with her chin.

He drew the book away from her and set it safely on his side of the table.

She brought her hands back to the table and looked at him for a moment.

He saw the combination of terror and courage in her eyes. Devastating. He reached for her hand.

She looked at him seriously. "You'll be able to cast it?"

He just looked at her.

"Foris Clausa, I mean. It requires intent."

He knew what she meant.

She would not release his gaze.

"Yes," he said quietly, his thumb a caress on her hand. "I'll be able to cast it."

Something in her gave way. If she had to die, why did it have to be him? "Why you, Severus?"

His tone was clinical. "Potter's success depends on timing. I can control that."

She inhaled sharply.

"And I won't allow anyone else to touch you, Hermione. If it is all I can give you, I can give you a clean death." He covered her hand with his own, then withdrew. "The others – his followers – would use you first, to make you suffer. I will prevent that."

"You can control both? The timing and... that?"

"I believe so."

"And if you can't?" she pressed, struggling to keep her voice from rising.

"Then I can still control the timing."

The hair on Hermione's arms raised. She knew that was the right answer, the only answer, but... She swallowed nervously. "Severus," she said, after a moment, "you'll have to mean it. The Killing Curse."

On the mantel, Tayet tilted her head, and said, "Whirp?" Her voice was liquid, low.

"The Vow, the Compulsion – for Potter to succeed, the Indemnities must be satisfied; to protect him, and his mission, I will do it, or I will die. The knowledge that I am protecting you from something worse will prevent my choosing the latter, in the moment." He paused. "It has before."

"Dumbledore," she said.

He nodded bleakly.

"And... after? You... what will happen to you?"

"Well, it is possible that one of the other players may attempt revenge. Moody" - his lip curled - "if he is there, if he survives, he will certainly try. He's been thirsting after me for years." His eyes glinted sharply - even eagerly.

The sight threw Hermione briefly back into First Year Potions.

Severus' memories were darker, and lasted longer, and they ended, as they always did, with Dumbledore. Forcing himself back to the present, he continued, "I will probably be alive to the end, and then the victor will kill me. The Dark Lord, for failure; Potter, for success." His lips twisted at the irony.

She watched him as he looked at the dark window.

He exhaled. "I suspect that in the end things will happen rather quickly." Mostly to himself, he added, "They will have to."

"Whirp?" Tayet asked again.

That broke the moment.

"I don't understand how any of this will neutralize the scar Horcrux," Hermione muttered.

"I don't know, Hermione. The scar that connects Potter and the Dark Lord belongs to the two of them; I suspect that depends on Potter. Once it is neutralized, the Dark Lord can be killed, and it will be over. Or it may work the other way around." His voice softened, tightened. "No matter what is happening between us, Hermione, you and I are not the main actors."

She thought about that for a moment, and then he saw resolve grow in her eyes, in the set of her jaw. "Oh, yes, we bloody well are."

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Mrs. Black laid down her cards and shot a triumphant look at Phineas Nigellus. "That's game," she said.

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Tayet glided to Severus' shoulder and looked at him very seriously before rubbing her head on his cheek. Then she turned suddenly and began to preen, warbling at him for assistance. She was one day old, and she was growing as fast as she could.

And everything itched abominably.