Research

Disclaimer: Playing in the Potterverse is like trying on wedding dresses at Harrods: not mine, never will be, but oh what fun I'm having.

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Closing the door behind him, Severus silently reset his wards to permit Hermione's access to his rooms.

Smirking ever so faintly, he billowed down the empty corridor and came to a stop in front of the mirror that concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Rather than sweep right into the common room as he usually did, he flicked his eyes up and down his own reflection. Sure enough, his final clinch with Hermione had disordered his appearance a bit. Scowling, he twitched at his robes and pulled the tie off his hair, letting it fall down in its customary curtains on either side of his face.

'Oh, Professor, I liked your hair the other way,' purred the mirror. 'You should wear it back more often; it's so becoming.'

'Syllabub,' snarled Severus, resisting the urge to kick the mirror in.

'Oh, fine, rush right through, don't stop to chat,' wailed the glass as it began to shade into transparency. 'Gods, I'm so bored today; where is everybody?' The last words of the mirror's complaint were almost inaudible; its surface had gone from reflective glass to shimmering air, and Severus stepped through it.

He strode to the centre of the room...to where the green light from two of the great underwater windows met on the thickly carpeted stone floor...and surveyed the cavernous space. Of course he knew that Draco was unlikely to be inside on a fine Sunday afternoon, but Severus intended to start running him to ground here.

The room was nearly deserted. But near the hearth, a clutch of third-years were huddled over a table, staring at an open book and sniggering wildly as only a pack of fourteen-year-old boys can.

'Mr Urquhart!' barked Severus. 'Come here.'

All three boys jumped at the sound of their Head of House's voice...they'd been too engrossed in their book to notice his entrance. Pitt...a pallid little waster who was typically the ringleader in whatever nonsense this lot got up to...pushed the book off the table and surreptitiously kicked it under a sofa.

Eye-rolling was not in Severus's expressive repertoire, so, stone-faced, he waved his wand and said 'Accio book.' It flew to his hand and he glanced at the print on the jacket. '101 Ways to Drive a Witch Wild, by the editors of WQ Magazine,' he pronounced, each syllable dripping with contempt.

He looked at Pitt. 'More contraband, Mr Pitt? This is getting very old. Ten points from Slytherin, and all of you will report to Mr Filch's office for detention on Wednesday at eight o'clock. Now go outside.'

As the three of them shuffled past him, Severus growled, 'Not so fast, Mr Urquhart. I need a word with you.' Urquhart, a hulking, spotty child who played Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, halted and stood, hunched over and staring at the floor.

'Find Draco Malfoy and tell him to come to me in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom straight away,' said Snape. 'Understand?'

'Yes,' mumbled Urquhart. 'Malfoy, in your office, straight away.'

'No: Malfoy, in my classroom, straight away,' hissed Severus. 'The classroom is distinct from the office; they are in fact several floors apart. I trust this message is not too complex for you to convey, Mr Urquhart.'

'Ah, n-no, no, sir. I have it. I'll find him straight away. I'll just g-go now.' And the boy hurried after his classmates.

'Stand up straight,' said the mirror irritably as Urquhart approached it. 'You'll grow a hump on your back and no one will ever love you.' Then it shimmered clear and let him pass.

Severus looked around the now-deserted common room, then down at the book in his hand. Smirking much more broadly now, he shrank it down to the size of a matchbox and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket before following his charges out of the room.

'I hate warm Sundays,' sighed the mirror once all of its people had departed. 'So boring.'

* * *

Sandwiches duly demolished, Hermione had taken her usual chair in front of Severus's desk. She had her running to-do list out and had added several items under a freshly drawn line:

1. Note to S

2. Find blush glamour...or potion?

3. Cover story details

4. Write to Jill!!

5. Galleons

6. R section research...get pass from Burbage (?)

7. M map...ask Lupin?

8. Bath (do first?)

Looking over it, she acknowledged to herself that people who knew how to sneak around did not make lists to help them remember how to sneak around.

She inserted a caret between items number 3 and 4 and added another item to the list:

> 3a. Create code

There. Now to start in on it.

Item number 1: note to S. Her stomach swooped. Severus. She had been calling him that in her mind for many months. Now she could say it to his face. He had asked her to.

What else could she now call him to herself? My beloved? Too twee. My boyfriend? She wrinkled her nose. So wrong. My man? Well, yes, if she were an R&B singer.

My lover.

The word sent a shiver through her. He's not, yet, really. But he wanted to be...that was very clear. I want it, too. She wanted it so much she could hardly breathe when she thought about it. She was going to have sex with Severus. Hopefully a lot of it. And the sooner the better.

She hoped it could be as soon as Tuesday night. Hence item number 6 on the list. Reading smut was one thing. She needed to fill out her research in the Human Sexuality section of the library. Professor Burbage would give her a pass...the Muggle Studies teacher had a soft spot for Muggle-borns.

Part of her was glad she and Severus had stopped this afternoon. It would have been too much to handle, surely, if they had gone from teacher and student to lovers in the space of two hours.

Part of her was chagrined, though. He'd proceeded on the assumption that she was much more experienced than she was, only to discover she was a virgin who'd only ever been kissed by two boys. One of them a slimy git.

She had until Tuesday night to work out what she was doing in the realm of seduction. If If she could help it, she was not going to endure any more frustration or uncertainty in his arms...or watch him go off to the bathroom to tend to himself again.

Her vision blurred and she licked her lips.

Agh! Every line of thought landed her in the same state.

She had it so bad.

Hence item number 2 on the list. She knew she was no good at concealing strong emotions. That needed seeing to, or half the school would be suspicious by nightfall.

Sighing, she pulled a piece of parchment towards her from the pile at the side of the desk and sat for a moment, quill poised, before beginning her note.

Dear Professor Snape, she wrote.

I have thought of a solution to the communication issue we spoke of earlier. If you would care to talk about it before tomorrow, I will be in the library after dinner until curfew.

H. Granger

She read it over with satisfaction. It was perfectly neutral on the surface but, as with the only other note she had ever left him, earlier in the term, the words "dear" and "yours" gave her a thrill to write. And this time when he read those words, he would know what she meant by them.

Hermione pushed the parchment over to his side of the desk and crossed out item number 1 on her list. She scanned the other items and sighed. Items number 2 and 3 were absolutely crucial, and altogether, she would be spending most of her spare time in the library for the next few days.

But really, a bath would need to be next on her list. The prefects' bathroom, with the big, luxurious bath and all those taps and jets. Mmmm. Just the thing.

After a final trip to Severus's bathroom to check her appearance, she let herself out of his rooms and began making her way upstairs...dearly hoping that the fine weather would mean deserted corridors all along her way.

Hermione's list, by QalaChaki.

* * *

The view from the DADA classroom windows was southward, out over the lake, so that now, in late afternoon, sunlight poured over the rows of dark wooden desks and the air sparkled with dust motes.

When Draco pushed open the doors, the bright light made him squint. He had in fact spent the entire day indoors, both in the Room of Requirement and in the library.

Lately, his efforts to fix the Vanishing Cabinet had become all-consuming. When he wasn't tinkering with it and testing it, he was researching new approaches. Or revisiting failed approaches. Once or twice he had stood in the stacks in the Dark Charms aisle of the Restricted Section, closed his eyes, reached out his hands, and pulled out whichever volumes he happened to touch.

He knew he looked a mess. He'd become so thin his bespoke trousers bagged around his flanks. The Slytherin mirror had run out of flattering things to say to him, and merely sighed heavily whenever he stood before it.

Sleep eluded him, and when it came, it was full of terrors he tried not to remember when he awoke. His emotional life had devolved into a tight little spiral of fear, desperation, and resentment. He kept his social alliances going by dint of will...he got no pleasure out of talking to his so-called friends, not one of whom knew what he was working on, what he needed to do to save himself and his parents.

Now here was that oily glory-hound Snape pulling him out of the library to have yet another go at him.

But the teacher's desk was vacant, and nothing stirred in the room but swirls of glittering dust particles. What, he's not even fucking here to keep his appointment?

'Professor Snape, are you here?' called Draco, not bothering to conceal his peevishness. 'It's me, Draco.'

Snape took a single step out of the deeply shadowed area between two of the windows. He pointed at the floor in front of him. 'Come over here, if you please.'

Draco didn't please. He walked halfway to where his professor stood, then stopped and folded his arms. 'What is it? I'm rather busy at the moment, and if this is going to be the same lecture I've heard twenty times from you, I'd just as soon..."

His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth and his limbs were paralysed. He felt himself lifted an inch or two off the floor and pulled forward to dangle within two feet of Professor Snape. The sun shone directly into his eyes...his eyelids were frozen open.

'No, Draco,' Snape said. 'The time for lecturing has passed. You have been thoroughly obtuse, and I have been sufficiently patient. Legilimens!'

Draco suffered the mental invasion in silence...he didn't have a choice...but his rage flared so hot he hoped Snape would burn himself on it. How dare he... double-crossing git... Aunt Bella was right... he'll be sorry, sorry, sorry...

But as he felt Snape getting closer to the heart of his plan, Draco began to panic. What if the safeguard didn't work? Snape's mind was so strong, so insistent... Draco felt helpless, his own defenses shredding like dry leaves.

Then he felt it, like a body blow. And he could tell Snape felt it too, because his paralysis disappeared for a fraction of a second, resuming before he collapsed onto the floor. He could feel renewed attack, renewed repulse, retreat. With each approach, Draco's gut churned. He longed to puke, but he couldn't. The sunlight flowing into his dazzled eyes felt like it was boring through his retinas and eating away at his optic nerves.

Snape was like water, like air, like fire, seeking to flow around the barrier. But it held. Draco wished it would just break and end his misery.

At last Snape withdrew from his mind, and Draco crashed to the floor, rolled over on his side, and vomited.

Severus staggered back against the classroom wall and pulled out a handkerchief to stanch the flow of blood from his own nose.

When he could speak, he rasped, 'Who gave you that?'

The boy at his feet just heaved and gasped, and Severus crouched down beside him. He ran his hand over Draco's solar plexus, muttering an anti-nausea spell, and Transfigured a nearby chair into the items he needed...a basin of water, a cloth, a drinking glass.

When the boy could sit upright, Severus spelled away both vomit and blood, then asked again, quietly. 'Who, Draco? That was dangerous.'

Draco squawked. 'No shit it was. I will end you for that. I am going to tell...' He gulped and began coughing, then fell silent, leaving open the question of just whom he was going to 'tell.'

Severus sighed. Idiotic little shit. 'Draco. You couldn't end a dying cat in your condition. And we both know that anyone you might tell either doesn't care or can't touch me.'

He sat down beside the boy on the stone floor. 'Just tell me, Draco. Time is growing short. Let me help you.'

Draco choked out a slightly hysterical laugh. 'Back to the lecture, Professor? I've told you before I don't want your help, and now I'm going to tell you where to stick it...'

'Careful, Mr Malfoy,' Severus murmured. 'The Headmaster is likely in his office as we speak, and there's nothing to prevent my taking you up to visit him right now. You will keep a respectful tongue in your head.'

Draco flung his head back, rapping it hard against the stone wall behind him. 'Fuck!' He rubbed at the back of his skull. 'Aunt Bella was right about you. Completely, totally right. And when my father hears what you did, he will disembowel you. You do not fuck with the Malfoys.'

'Is that who put that barrier in your mind? Bellatrix? Did she tell you it could kill you? No? Well. Not really the font of sober good sense, our Bella.' Severus rose to his feet. 'Get her to remove it. Most wizards who decide to use Legilimency on you won't scruple to stop before the block breaks, and you with it. Occlumency is much safer; I could teach you...

'Merlin's huge, hairy bollocks, I don't want your fucking help! For the twenty-first time, back off, Snape! This is my job, and I will get it done.' Draco started to pull himself off the floor, but quickly subsided, white-lipped and groaning.

Severus looked down at Draco with an impassive expression. 'Best that you rest here for at least fifteen minutes, I'd say. Then get yourself up to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey will be able to take care of the nausea quite easily, I expect.'

He started towards the door. When he got there, he turned around. 'I will be checking with Madam Pomfrey, and if you don't report to her promptly, I'll convey you there myself. Let's avoid that little scene, shall we?'

He paused. 'And Draco. Regardless of what your Aunt Bellatrix has told you, or of what you feel about what happened here today, I am your ally. You will need my help, and I will render it. Think better of your stubbornness. We will all come through this in far better condition if we work together.'

With that, Severus swept out of the classroom, closing the door behind him.

Once he was in the corridor, he shut his eyes tight and dug the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose. Bella's blocking spell had left him with a hellish headache and an irritatingly high level of uncertainty.

He had been able to come close to the kernel of Draco's plan. He'd seen that there was only the one plan on the horizon...just one more throw of the dice before the school year ended and Draco's access to Dumbledore disappeared.

Severus had also seen that Draco was flailing about, trying to fix something broken...something that the boy was certain would allow him to carry through with his plan. Draco's mind was suffused with fear and desperation, and with something else that Severus found very interesting and illuminating...resistance.

He really doesn't want to do it. Draco's mind was working against itself even as he strove to fulfil his task. He couldn't afford to admit it to himself, but it seemed that he was using the very elaborateness of his own plan as a means to delay...and thus somehow avoid...becoming a murderer and a fugitive.

He'll keep himself in a helpless lather until the last minute, and then... then Draco would act. Whether by somehow pulling together this mysterious plan or by trying the more desperate direct approach, the boy would make his final attempt before the end of term.

In sum, Severus and Draco would both play their parts as ordained by Voldemort and Dumbledore, and as sealed by Severus's Wand Oath to Narcissa.

Of course they would. That had never been in question.

Severus descended the stairs, scowling.

So he had three weeks, or perhaps four, before the catastrophe.

He'd better get to it, then. He tapped his fingers against the outside of his waistcoat pocket, where the silly little sex book lay like a talisman.

* * *

An adequate glamour spell had been easy enough to find. Hermione would have preferred the surer effects a potion could give, but in the brief time she'd had to research before dinner, she couldn't find one that did the job. Perhaps Severus could help with that, later.

Once it was in place, the glamour would show anyone looking at Hermione only what they expected to see. And since no one she knew expected to see a flushed, love-struck Hermione, no one would. Theoretically. She would still have to be very careful about what she did and said and where she let her eyes linger, but the glamour should help conceal the sudden, uncontrollable blushing to which she was prone.

Hermione looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes until dinner began.

She looked at her list, and put lines through numbers 8, 2, 3, and 3a. I'm not half bad at this, she thought, then sighed. She knew perfectly well that the difficult part hadn't even begun yet.

She gathered her things into her bag and reshelved the books she'd used. Just before she left the library, she cast the glamour. It was show time.

* * *

She came into the Great Hall in a knot of other Gryffindors, twelve minutes past the start of the dinner hour.

She was arm in arm with Ginny Weasley, laughing and talking. Potter and Ronald Weasley trailed behind them, both looking a bit awkward.

Under cover of his habitual bored stare, he drank her in. Just before she sat, she paused and swept her gaze around the room, pausing for a half second when her eyes met his. That blush. It was charming, and it did marvellous things to his insides, but he'd have to find her a potion to conceal it.

She chose to sit with her back to him. Good girl. The boy Weasley plopped down next to her, and Potter and the Weasley girl sat opposite, and quite close to one another. Draped over one another, to be more precise. Ah. They're... together now. How tedious, and how splendid.

Severus had rarely felt so fit, or enjoyed a meal more thoroughly. Potter was decisively eliminated as a rival, the curried vegetable marrow soup was excellent, and he had Hermione's handkerchief in his pocket...he'd retrieved it from the floor near his desk. It was another talisman: his lady's favour, embroidered with tiny pink flowers and stiff with dried tears and snot.

He had her note in another pocket. She had some solution to their communication issue, she wrote. And he would be able to see and speak to her again this evening without having to come up with some pretext of his own. He rubbed the parchment between his thumb and forefinger.

'Sybill,' he purred to his neighbour, who jumped in alarm. 'Would you kindly pass the Stilton? Thank you.' He smiled, showing his teeth.

Professor Trelawney, trembling, fumbled her flask out of her sleeve and emptied it into her goblet. Snape was being civil to her. What disaster could this portend? She drained her goblet, shut her eyes, and prayed to the Powers for strength in whatever trial was to come.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed something she'd overlooked, and touched Snape's sleeve. 'Excuse me, Severus. Is that flagon over there empty? It's not? Oh, thank you, just a little bit, just to wet my lips. A little more. Maybe a splash more. Well, might as well finish it off, eh? Cheers!'

Ever mindful of favours bestowed, Sybill sent up her thanks to the Powers for gifting her with just a bit more liquid courage. Perhaps all would be well after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: It has sssuch interesting things in its pocketses, Preciousss!

Those of you familiar with the Polyjuice episode from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets may be confused that a mirror has appeared at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It was a gift to the House from Narcissa Malfoy at the end of Draco's third year at Hogwarts, when his preferred hairstyle was so horrifyingly ugly and unflattering that his mother assumed that he was simply never looking in the mirror. This gift ensured that he had to see his reflection (and hear about it) at least twice a day.

True story.

Again with this chapter my love and thanks are due to greenstuff, hechicera, and lifeasanamazon...three women with extremely busy lives who make time every week or so to help me with this story. * brushes away a tear of gratitude *

If you would like to see a larger version of the illustration by QalaChaki, go to her DA page: http://qalachaki.deviantart.com/art/Caramel-Hermione-s-to-do-list-146048735?q=sort%3Atime+gallery%3Aqalachaki&qo=3.