Chapter Six

"You need to stir that twice before you can add the hellebore," Snape said distractedly, adding a sprig of knotgrass to his own cauldron.

"Technically, yes, but if I add the hellebore while I'm stirring, it will disperse better, and I won't have to let it simmer as long."

He broke from his own brewing and watched as she tested her theory. Sure enough, the potion immediately changed from light green to dark teal.

"Very good," he said detachedly, turning back to his own work.

They had been working in cordial synchronization for three days. Snape had given Hermione free reign to change and experiment her processes as she wished. So far she had been right about three separate variations of her own devising. The one time she had been wrong, Snape had simply Evanesco'd the concoction she had been working on and said patiently, "Again."

She had seen a new side of Snape emerge in the time she had spent with him since the break began. His patience had both surprised and excited her. With this new, amiable Snape, she could feel free to ask questions and take chances that she never would have attempted when she'd been in his Potions classroom.

She had asked, more than once, actually, about the intended effects of the potion. Both times, Snape had simply told her that he was unable to discuss the potion's intended use with her, and she should content herself with the knowledge that her work was going to be used in a worthy cause.

They'd taken meals together in the lab, most of them brought by house-elves. Snape had been quite impressed that Hermione's simple utterance of, "I'm starving..." brought the appearance of Dobby, and occasionally Winky, who had apparently also been listening intently for Hermione's call.

"They act as if you are their Mistress," he'd commented the day before, after taking a bite into a rather large egg salad sandwich as Hermione stood to refill their glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Nobody is their Mistress," she'd replied reproachfully, sitting back down across from him. "They are free elves, and if I had my way, the entire kitchen staff would be liberated right alongside them."

"Naturally," he'd replied, taking a sip of his newly-filled glass. "But I would keep that information to myself, if I were you. It is no wonder none of the other elves have visited the dungeons in the past week. They are all afraid you will throw a sock at them if they come to clean. Quite inconvenient actually..."

"Oppressor," she chastised.

"Anarchist," he replied, smirking.

As their third day of work came to a close, Hermione cleaned up her workstation and retreated into Snape's office to copy down her notes on the day's progress. He'd allowed her to use his desk for such documentations, and she would wordlessly move to a separate chair on the opposite side if he entered the room with the intent of recording his own findings.

"There is no need to change seats," he commented when she began to rise as he entered the room. "I will sit here," he finished, walking toward the guest chair across the desk.

"But it's your chair," she replied, still half-standing, slightly risen up off the chair.

"You use it as much as I do," he answered absently, taking the seat across from her and unfolding his notes. He looked up at her over the parchment he was scribbling on. "Sit," he said, pointing at the chair with his quill. She complied, smiling.

"So what are your plans for Saturday?" she asked nonchalantly, scribbling out the last paragraph she'd written.

"Regarding what?" he asked, eyes on his parchment.

"Christmas, of course," she retorted.

"I will be working on the potion."

"Yes, but after that?"

He looked up at her over his writing. "There will be no after," he said matter-of-factly. "The potion requires constant surveillance. You know that."

"Well, yes," she answered, putting down her quill, "but I had thought you would have factored in a stasis period. It is Christmas after all."

"Christmas is rather inconsequential to me," he stated clearly, returning once more to his notes.

She regarded him carefully as he scribed, a sympathetic look etched into her face. "I don't have to go," she said quietly, watching for his reaction.

"Go where?" he replied, his quill unceasing.

"Home...for Christmas, I mean," she clarified. "I don't have to go back. I can stay and help you brew."

"Do not be ridiculous," he said, brows furrowed, looking down at his notes. "I am perfectly capable of finishing the day's work without a peer."

"I know that," she said rather defensively. "I just thought you'd want company. Who wants to be alone on Christmas?"

"I believe I have already told you that Christmas holds no luster for me," he said, bringing his eyes up to hers. "My last Christmas was solitary in nature, as was the one before that and the one before that. Trust me, I do not mind."

He waited until she nodded her understanding, as though he wanted to be sure his point had sunk in. She returned to her writing, though her mind was wandering and certainly nowhere near her work. It saddened her to think that Professor Snape would be alone on Christmas. Of course, he had said that he didn't mind...that he was used to it actually...but did anyone ever really become accustomed to a reclusive existence?

That night, when Hermione returned to her dorm room, she grabbed her most recent issue of Collectable Books Monthly out of her trunk and opened it atop her duvet. Scanning it quickly, she found what she was looking for and hastily scribbled out her inquiry on a small piece of parchment. She would use Pigwidgeon, who Ron had left with her over the holidays in case she needed to reach them from her parents' home, to send off the letter right away. The little bird would need to start off quickly if she was going to pull this off.

"Pssst! Pig! Come here, will you?"

The tiny owl unfurled his head from in between his feathers, blinking rapidly at Hermione.

"Care to post a letter for me?" she said encouragingly, dangling the rolled parchment in front of her.

Pigwidgeon hooted excitedly, hopping off of the bedrail of Parvati's four-poster bed and landing softly atop Hermione's coverlet. She pulled out a small bag of money from her nightstand drawer, opening it and removing a few of the coins.

"Thank you, Piggy," Hermione said pleasantly, tying the letter to the bird's leg before getting up to open the window for him. "Take this to 21 Symphonic Place, London, okay? You can just leave it in the mail slot out front if no one is there."

The owl ruffled his feathers and took direct flight off of her bed, sailing quickly out the window and disappearing into the night. She shut the latch and smiled happily to herself. This was going to be a fine Christmas.

***

Christmas Eve came quickly, and Hermione was exhausted by the middle of the day. The potion required thirty additions to it that day, and both she and Snape found themselves tiring quickly with the many exhausting tasks they had been performing.

"Seven turns, then take a break," Snape said to her when the potion had turned a deep shade of turquoise.

She nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow with her shirtsleeve. When she had finished stirring, she sat back on her stool and waited until Severus had put a stasis on his cauldron and perched himself on the seat next to hers.

"I have somewhere to be for the next few hours," he said to her once his breathing had evened out. "Will you be able to handle the next additions on your own?"

"Sure," she answered, sipping at her bottle of water. "I've got the lines sketched out on the chalkboard. I should be fine. Is it something important?"

"Yes," he answered, nodding. "If you have any uncertainties, my notes are on the desk in the library."

"Am I able to get in there without you?"

"The wards have been altered in there as well," he replied, rising from his seat. He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to go now. I shall be returning before cleanup."

With that, he was gone.

She toiled hard over the next several hours, stopping only when the potion required simmering. By the time she placed the ladle down at last, she was exhausted. She'd long since unbuttoned the top three buttons to her blouse and rolled up her shirt sleeves, and her hair was escaping its rubber shackle in curly tendrils around her face. She was glad Snape wasn't there to see her, as she was sure she looked a mess.

The last potion addition of the day required lovage, a plant that she was quite unfamiliar with. After several minutes spent attempting to decide whether it should be chopped or shaved, she gave up and decided to check Snape's notes on the subject.

"Shaved with a piercing shear..." she said aloud to herself, scanning the piece of parchment. "What on earth is a piercing shear?"

She thumbed through Snape's other notes, searching for a description of the tool. Coming up empty, she searched around his desk for a manual or a notebook...anything that would shed some light on the subject.

After pulling a black binder from the second drawer of the escritoire, she opened it to a page marked with a single black ribbon. The title read, Maglia Sradicare. The entire page was in Italian. She glanced up at one of Snape's bookcases. "Accio Italian to English Dictionary."

The decoded title of the book, Linked Eradication, caught her curiosity.

The more she translated, the wider her eyes grew. In total, the page read as follows:

Seventeen drops submersed in any drink,

On the day of desired dissolution,

To the primary of the order,

Will channel through with the proper incantation:

Tutto Distruggere

Tutto Distruggere... total destruction.

She turned the page, letting out a loud and horrified gasp...there was a drawing in Severus' print of the Dark Mark, linked by two thin lines to the title of the incantation and the list of ingredients required for the potion she'd been working on.

"What are you doing?"

Severus' cold, deep voice reached her ears from the doorway. She looked up at him and could sense her anger flashing behind her own eyes.

"Why?" she asked dangerously, staring him down.

"You were not supposed to see that," he said quietly, his gaze not leaving hers.

"This is what you had me doing?" Her voice rose as she spoke. "This is why I spent my holiday here instead of with my parents...to brew a potion to EXTERMINATE PEOPLE?"

"Hermione..."

"Don't!" she shouted, rounding the desk and approaching him. "Just tell me why. Why in Merlin's name would you make that to begin with, and why have me help you with it? All those people!"

"Hermione, you do not know all of the details," he replied, keeping his voice calm.

"I know what the book says. I know that you are trying to get rid of You-Know-Who by killing off his followers, using the Dark Mark as the link."

"Death Eaters," he said sternly. "Listen to what you just said. They are minions of the Dark Lord, Hermione."

"They aren't all evil," she replied at little more than a whisper, her voice shaking. Tears were shining in her eyes. "You can't just destroy an entire group of people. You are talking about mass genocide. It's wrong."

"It is a last resort. We have no intention of using the potion unless it is absolutely necessary."

She looked at him seriously. "You mean if Harry fails...if he dies and You-Know-Who lives."

"Yes," he said, watching her carefully.

"You would die with him," she said, her voice soft. "How could you do that? How could you just sacrifice yourself?"

"I..." he paused, considering his words carefully, then sighed. "I have never held the delusion that I would live to see Potter destroy the Dark Lord. Each day in the presence of his madness is a moment closer to death. My assignment is one of danger, if not peril. I would gladly lay down my life if it would insure his destruction."

"Please," she said, her eyes moving to the floor. "Please don't say that."

Tears were escaping her eyelids and creeping slowly down her face, shattering with a quiet splat on the carpet below them.

"I apologize for keeping this from you," he said evenly.

"That's not why I'm upset," she said, letting slip a hollow chuckle.

"Severus," she said, raising her eyes to look at him, gauging his reaction to her use of his given name. He made no movement, no sound. She continued, "I just can't believe that you don't care."

His eyes bore into hers, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, a stifled hiccup of a sob.

"My feelings have no place in any of this," he said softly.

"And mine?" she whispered back.

"In regards to what?"

"To you," she answered.

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable. Finally, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, wiping a stray tear from her skin with the pad of his thumb.

"Hermione," he began...then paused.

Her eyes were glued to his, and she felt as if there were no one else in the world. It was just the two of them alone in that library...a moment frozen in time.

His scent invaded her senses...patchouli and wormwood, the same fragrances she had smelled in Slughorn's Amortentia brew. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she processed the aroma, her olfactory senses tingling. When she opened her eyes, she found herself studying his face, every line, every curvature. Her eyes ran down his prominent nose and rested on his mouth. His lips looked soft and moist, and she felt the urge to taste them for herself.

She leaned in towards him and stood up on the balls of her feet, bringing her face closer to his. He jerked minutely backwards at first, his expression that of surprise. Almost immediately, he stilled all movement, and she could see that he wasn't breathing.

She came very close to drawing back...to forgetting about her intended actions and leaving the room right then and there.

But she didn't draw back. And she didn't leave the room. She reached up with her lips and placed them on his, brushing them lightly from side to side. Seconds passed, and he didn't reciprocate her movements, only allowing her mouth to rest upon his without attention.

She withdrew from the kiss, her eyes drawn to the floor, away from his. When she looked back up, he was staring at her with an unreadable visage. An apology would be in order...she had crossed a very crucial line.

She could feel the wetness building behind her eyelids. "I..."

His lips were on hers before she could finish her sentence, his caress firmer than hers had been. She sighed into his mouth and brought the fingers of her left hand up to tangle in his hair, and he reciprocated the action.

She parted her lips slightly, and he took the opportunity to delve into her mouth, allowing her to taste him. The kiss intensified, and she wrapped her right palm around his neck, forcing him to support her weight. The action elicited a low growl from somewhere within his throat, and he pulled his head back slightly, raking over her body with his eyes. He snaked his left arm around her back and pulled her to him roughly, his mouth finding hers once more. She sighed happily at the feeling of being pulled flush against his body, inhaling sharply when she felt the hardened evidence of his arousal sticking into her stomach.

He pulled his lips back and rested his forehead on hers, both of them breathing heavily. His eyes locked with hers, and she smiled at him...a happy, brilliant, satisfied smile.

He blinked several times, his mouth parting more than once as if he wanted to say something. "Hermione," he breathed, her whispered name from his lips sounding like music to her ears.

He wrenched back from her suddenly, and she almost fell to the floor at the loss of his support. Letting out a pained groan, he grabbed his left forearm with his opposite hand, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"I have to go," he said, rushing to the coat rack and grabbing his cloak.

He paused when he reached the door, turning back to her. "We will discuss this when I return."

"Severus," she called quickly, and he halted. "I just..."

He interrupted her sentence with yet another pained cry. "It gets worse if I wait," he said hastily between clenched teeth.

"Go," she replied immediately.

He declined his chin once and turned, leaving the room in a flourish of rippling robes. She watched him go, and the events of the last few minutes raced through her mind. There would be no sleep for her tonight. The exhaustion that she had felt only hours ago now seemed to be turned into an inability to sit still, and she fluttered around the room as a nervous energy invaded her body. She left the laboratory and made for her bedroom, unsure of whether she should be happy or distressed. At the moment, she was simply confused.

***

Snape didn't return that evening. He wasn't back by the time she caught her Portkey the next day, either. Luckily, her return letter from the distributor of Obscure Books Monthly came early the next morning, along with her order, and she was able to leave it for him in his quarters.

She hadn't been able to sleep the night before, not even for a split second. The memory of Severus' lips pressed tightly against hers ran through her mind over and over, and she found herself in a state of profound, meticulous contemplation.

Christmas morning at the Grangers' went very much as she'd expected it to. Her dad woke her up by blaring holiday music through the family's expensive surround-sound system, and he'd torn through his stocking by the time she'd reached the bottom of the staircase.

"I just couldn't wait!" he'd said, beaming over at Hermione.

"I told you to wait for your daughter!" her mother had chastised from the kitchen. "Honestly, you'd think you were the adolescent and she were the parent..."

Her original plan had been to spend the night at her parents' and return to Hogwarts in the morning, but her curiosity (and concern, if she could bring herself to admit it) regarding the professor had her anxious, and she felt the urge to return early to the school.

"Mum, I have work to do," she said consolingly when her mother had asked why she was leaving early.

"Your extra lessons?" her mother asked speculatively. "You haven't stopped talking about them since you got here. You must be learning a lot."

"I am," she answered, smiling.

"And he must be quite captivating," her mother added wryly.

"Who?" Hermione asked distractedly, tossing Rare Herbs of the Serengeti into her trunk.

"Whichever boy has you so smitten with him," her mother answered, her smile creeping into her voice.

Hermione froze and then continued to pack as if her heart hadn't just almost stopped beating. "I don't know what you are talking about, Mum," she said nonchalantly. "There is no guy."

"Mmm hmm. Whatever you say, dear," her mother answered, then left Hermione to finish packing.

Hermione waited until she heard her mother's soft footsteps descending the staircase, and then she peeked her head out of the doorway. She was all alone on the second floor of the house, and she shut her bedroom door before sitting down heavily on the edge of her bed.

Her mother thought she had a crush at school...a lover, perhaps. Was she that obvious? Truthfully, she wasn't even sure that she felt that way about Professor Snape...Severus...Snape...er...her tutor.

To be fair, he was an extremely intelligent man...more intelligent, perhaps, than anyone she'd ever known. He was intense and focused on his work, probably even more so than she was herself. She wouldn't call him a handsome man, but his features held an incredible amount of character.

At any rate, she was drawn to him, and she didn't know quite how to feel about it. He was her tutor, her professor, and twenty years her senior...could there really ever be anything between the two of them? Would he even consider such a social taboo? Though she had no recollection of reading anything in the school rules in reference to a student/teacher relationship, she couldn't imagine there not being something written on the subject.

She sighed, tossing a pair of folded white socks rather roughly across the room. Who am I kidding? she thought sullenly. It's never going to happen.

She checked her watch and glanced down at the monocular Portkey she had been given the previous day. If she was going to activate it early, now was as good a time as ever.

After hugging both of her parents goodbye and gathering up her presents and school items, she pointed her wand at the magical device and stated clearly, "Activus."

Moments later, she found herself staring up at the iron gates of Hogwarts, trudging down the snowy path to the school. She had barely put her trunk down in her dorm room when a small, black bird began pecking mercilessly at her window. Opening it curiously, she had to literally duck out of the way when the anxious fowl came tearing through the open aperture and into her room, landing with annoyance on her bed.

"Who on earth do you belong to?" she asked curiously, approaching the slender crow. The tiny creature held out a leg in what she mused was almost a snotty manner, and Hermione nearly chuckled aloud at the sight. She paused before taking the proffered bundle, studying the bird. It was looking away from her in a way that clearly stated, "I'm too good for this," and she could have sworn the thing had one eyebrow arched higher than the other.

"Oh, you have to belong to Severus," she said amusedly.

The bird let out a sneeze that sounded eerily like a snort, and she nearly doubled over in a fit of giggles. When the crow glared at her, she did her best not to convulse with uncontrollable laughter and finally managed to extract the package from the bird's leg. The little aviary comedian took flight off of her bed and soared out of her window gracefully, and Hermione watched it fly down the outside of the tower toward the substructure of the castle. Oh, yes, that was definitely Professor Snape's bird.

A neatly folded piece of parchment was attached to the package, and she unraveled it carefully, reading the solitary line that had been scribbled onto it: Happy Christmas.

She attempted to pry open the tiny box, but it appeared to have been spelled to a smaller version of itself. After placing the parcel on her bed, she extracted her wand from her waistband and stood in front of it. "Reverto," she incanted, pointing her length of vine wood at the package.

The box grew to at least ten times its previous size, and she unfastened the now normal-sized latch carefully. Inside was a beautiful quill-and-parchment set, complete with three different coloured bottles of what she knew to be very expensive ink.

She reached an eager hand into the box and touched the quill, jumping back immediately when a feeling of unnatural power coursed through her fingertips and up her arm.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said in surprised awe, reaching back into the box and picking up the quill with her writing hand.

The scribing utensil fit perfectly between her third and fourth fingers and seemed to contour itself to form an independent fixture to her hand. She couldn't even smile at the gift...she was far too enchanted with the concept of it.

She'd read about such an instrument before, but had never had the luxury of seeing on in person. It was a Peruvian Stylograph...a rare and much sought-after quill invented in the late fourteenth century. So rare, in fact, that she'd heard of collectors offering up entire sets of first-edition works in exchange for the acquisition of one of the devices.

The quill was charmed to recognize each new owner, giving it a magical signature that made it nearly impossible for anyone but its current master or mistress to yield it. She'd never received such a gift in all her life, and she had the sudden urge to tear down to the dungeons at lightning speed.

After placing the gift lovingly back in its box, she finished her unpacking and changed into a warmer outfit before heading down to visit the professor.

"Don't you ever knock?" he asked, not looking up from his scribbling as Hermione entered the lab in the dungeons.

"No." She chuckled lightly...his voice had lacked bite.

"Thank you for the present, sir. It's amazing. You really didn't have to do that."

He looked up at her over his scribing. "Nor did you. I have no idea where you managed to find a first edition copy of Plants of the Sonoran Desert, but I have never received such a gift." He looked back down at his parchment, his voice diminutive when he added, "Thank you."

She nearly compared their identical reactions out loud...she had thought the same thing when she'd opened her own present.

"I assume that you no longer wish to assist with the potion," he said seriously, eyeing her.

She sighed, partially because she hadn't been expecting him to bring up the potion and partially because she'd hoped the conversation would start off on a different, more intimate note.

"I want to help," she started, entering the room and sitting down next to him. "I just don't see why such a weapon is necessary. Harry..."

"Potter, according to the Headmaster," Severus interrupted, "is making adequate progress in his training. But you must realize that he is still going to have to face the most powerful wizard ever born. His chances of victory are slender, if not nonexistent."

She sighed, picking up a jar lid and spinning it around absently on the table. "I know," she replied, "but the thought of killing all those people, even if they are trying to do the same to me and others like me, just doesn't seem right."

"Things are not always so easily categorized, Hermione," he answered, and she hid a smile when she heard him use her first name again. "Sometimes there is neither right nor wrong...there is only victory and defeat."

"That sounds like something he would say," she said, giving him an unhappy glare.

"And he would," Snape replied, looking at her earnestly. "He may be a mad man, but he is not a stupid one."

She nodded. "How much longer until the potion is completed?"

"Just tonight," he said, flipping forward a few pages in his notebook and pointing to the last phases of the potion, "and tomorrow morning. We should have it completed by 3 P.M."

"Well, let's get to work then, shall we?" she asked brightly, pulling a hair elastic off of her wrist and tying her bushy curls back in a loose bun.

"Indeed," he replied. "Hand me the silver dagger, please."

***

The evening was nearing midnight before the duo took a break. Hermione sat back on her stool, wiping the beads of sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her sweater. Snape followed her lead, though he didn't really look as if he'd been perspiring at all.

"Tea?" he asked generally.

"Iced, I think," she replied distractedly, glancing around the room. "I'll just call for Dob..."

"Please," he cut in, "leave the elves alone... especially that one."

"What have you got against Dobby?" she asked crossly.

"Other than the fact that his incessant squeaking reverberates against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, nothing at all," he said, arching a sarcastic brow.

"Well I'm not walking all the way down to the kitchens at this hour," she answered, shaking her head adamantly.

He rolled his eyes, standing from his stool. "I do live here, you know," he said, walking past her.

She leaned her elbow on the table and placed the left side of her face in the palm of her hand, facing away from the door. She didn't know why he was bothering to fetch the drinks himself...Dobby would have been so much quicker.

"Well?" she heard him say irritably from behind her. "Are you coming or not?"

"Oh," she said softly, hopping off her stool and taking long strides across the room to reach him.

She followed him down the hallway, through dungeon number five and into his quarters. "I will be back in a moment," he said, continuing his path forward toward the door at the far end of the room.

She took a seat on the couch, and minutes later he returned carrying two tall glasses of iced tea. After handing one to Hermione, he conjured up a comfortable-looking armchair and sat across from her.

"Hermione," he said, and she nearly cringed at his tone. She knew where this conversation was heading.

"I know," she answered quietly, looking up at him. "I guess we need to talk."

"Yes, we do," he answered, conjuring up a side table next to his chair and placing his glass on it slowly. "Hermione," he began and then paused, eyes toward the ceiling in contemplation, before looking at her again. "You were upset the other night, and I believe I took advantage of that, though I remain adamant that such an act was not my intent."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. He had taken advantage of her?

"No, you didn't," she replied. "I initiated the kiss. I wanted to kiss you."

He gave her an are you sure you haven't been eating potions ingredients sort of look, which made her feel the need to elaborate further. "I did," she repeated, staring at him seriously. "If anything, I was the one who took advantage of you."

He snorted, clearly amused by her version of the events. "Either way, Hermione, it cannot happen again. The fact of the matter is that I am a teacher at this school, and you are my student. There were boundaries crossed that should not have been, and I will not be doing so again. If I had had a clear head..."

"You would have pushed me away?" she said crossly. "Told me to sod off?" she finished angrily.

He shook his head warily. "No, Hermione, I do not think that I would have done any such thing," he replied, surprising her. "And that is what frightens me. It cannot happen again. There is too much at stake."

She sighed, shaking her head. What was it with her and complicated relationships? First Ron, then Viktor, now Snape...

What a mess.

"And our sessions?" she asked suddenly, a little alarmed. Whatever happened between her and Professor Snape, she certainly did not wish to discontinue her tutoring lessons.

"Will continue as planned," he said reassuringly, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, smiling.

"Severus," she said, looking up, and then corrected herself, "er...I mean, sir..."

He waved a hand toward her. "Severus is fine," he said calmly, "in private."

She gave him a wan smile and then feigned interest in the books on the wall to her right. "What about after I am no longer your student?" she asked slowly, her eyes remaining fixed anywhere but on him.

After several moments of silence, she finally turned back to look in his direction.

"If I survive the war?" he asked seriously.

"If we both do," she replied, her eyes glued to his, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

"If we both survive this war," he said slowly, articulating each and every word slowly and carefully, "you will not want to acknowledge that you even know me, Hermione."

She scrunched up her face, taken aback. "That is not a very nice thing to say," she argued. "Of course I will admit that I know you."

He sighed. It was more than evident that something was weighing heavily on his mind and that he had no intention of clueing her in anytime in the near future.

"You cannot be sure of that right now," he said quietly, staring at his iced tea. "You have no idea how you will feel when this is all over."

"And how will you feel?" she asked softly, watching him carefully.

He broke his gaze away from his glass and faced Hermione, frowning slightly. "If this war reaches its conclusion and your opinion of me does not change, I will come for you."

She smiled sarcastically. "You say that now."

He rose purposefully from his seat and walked out of the room, back behind the door he had retreated past previously. She was left feeling a bit flabbergasted, wondering where he had gone. Perhaps he was angry with her...

He returned less than one minute later and halted beside her, rigid. "Hold out your hand," he instructed.

She did as she was told, and he dropped a large coin into her palm, fingering her hand closed into a fist when she held the object firmly.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Surely you recognize an invention of your own design?" he said, smirking.

"It's like the galleons..." she said, awed. "How..."

"We teachers pick up on a lot more than you give us credit for. Besides," he added, walking back over to his chair and sitting down lightly. "The house-elves know all about your liberation tactics... Spewy Lady," he finished, a shit-eating grin etched into his face.

Her mouth dropped open. "They don't really call me that, do they?"

"Not all of them," he said, shaking his head. "Just the ones that are not named Dobby."