Chapter 4

AN: Thanks go to my beta firefly_124 and my Brit-picker saracen77!

Chapter 4

Wednesdays. Stuck dead center in the middle of her work week, they're lost in a limbo of being neither a beginning nor an ending. And they're terribly dull for it.

As the last of the parchments delivered at four o'clock wing away from her desk to snick shut in the appropriate cabinets, Hermione scowls down at the paper she's just pulled from her top desk drawer.

She tucks it inside her robe and heads for the stairs. Severus didn't pop 'round today, not that they had plans for him to, so she figures it's her turn.

His lab smells ... well, it smells absolutely foul. The sulfurous stench of rotted eggs mixes with a sourness that's like the worst-smelling feet ever, and after camping with Harry and Ron for months, that's saying something. Above it all runs a top note of something sickeningly sweet, as cloying as too much candy floss on the back of her tongue.

Severus stands over a small silver cauldron stirring vigorously. There's something in his posture, a stiffness, that indicates he knows he's being watched, but he doesn't look up, so this must be a delicate step in the brewing.

Not that anything associated with that smell deserves to be called delicate, mind.

The potion splutters and pops, and as he reverses the direction of stirring, it begins to hiss steam that glows a sickly yellow-green. Even near the door, the smell grows much, much worse.

Gagging a little, Hermione edges back into the fresh air of the hall and casts a Bubble-head Charm on herself.

Now she can get much closer, so she's able to watch when he transfers his stirrer to his left hand, leaving him free to use his wand with his right. This is advanced work, and she's fascinated to see a master at it, his wand weaving a complex pattern over the simpler circular movements of his left hand.

What a lot of dexterity, she thinks, then grins at where her mind goes.

The potion chooses that moment to make one last push of obstinacy. Huge bubbles roil from the surface to float a good foot about the cauldron before Severus's vicious wand stabs burst them. His voice rises to audibility, a long chant in a language she doesn't recognize. Three more stirs and a flash of red light showers from his wand down over the mixture, which settles immediately as the sparks touch it.

After filling a small vial with a sample of the potion, now a murky yellow, he straightens and holds it up to the light. He adds a few lines of text to the parchment on the workbench beside him, then turns to her. "Hermione. You used a Bubble-head Charm. Good."

"Why didn't you? The smell was ..." Her nose curls at the thought.

"Smell is one of the ways a Potions master can detect subtle changes in the brewing process." He smirks. "Although I'm sure the students at Hogwarts thought I made them breathe in all those vapors because I was, quote, an obnoxious git, end quote. Shall we go into my office? I have shielded its airflow from that of the laboratory."

Nodding, she precedes him into the smaller room, struck once again by the thought that it's not so different from his one at Hogwarts. Then again, he's the same person, so why should it be? There are more books though – two walls are lined with them, leaving only the remaining two for jars of mysterious and often grotesque Potions ingredients.

Severus shuts the door. "I should make sure the office is well sealed before you remove your charm." No matter his words, she recognizes the series of spells he performs non-verbally as cloaking shields. Settling beside her, he says, "Good, now we can talk, and you really can remove that charm."

A quick Finite Incantatem! and she's saying, "What was that language you were using on the potion? It certainly wasn't Latin."

"It was Old English."

"Funny that – I didn't recognize it at all."

"Neither should you expect to. There is almost no linguistic connection between Old English and Modern English due to the Norman Invasion."

"Ah."

"But it has its uses, I have come to discover. That last trip to Hogwarts may not have provided any additional information for our project, but a text attracted my attention that may prove quite useful in my own research. I did not mention it when we had dinner because I had not yet ascertained its value." He leans forwards to pick a slim book off of his desk and hands it to her. "Gristletow's Arcana Albion. He proposes that, for some magics, performing them in one of the earliest tongues of the land can tap into a greater potential. Old English is not the earliest language of this island, but it is the earliest that we have enough knowledge of to prove useful."

Flipping through the pages, Hermione remembers the foul and recalcitrant concoction just brewed. "I hope it works for you."

"It already has. The potion I was just working on exploded in under a minute whenever I attempted it using Latin. This may be the very thing that will allow me to develop a cure for spell-inflicted nerve damage."

"That's fantastic!"

He smiles – his real smile, she notes. "Indeed it is. I only wish I had found this text years ago. There is no telling what else might have been possible with it in hand." A small frown crosses his face.

"What is it?"

"It is odd. I could have sworn I had read every book in The Restricted Section ... or at least skimmed them. And yet ... well, it is no matter. I have it now, and the language itself is fascinating to study. And you – how goes your research?"

She hands him the book with a sigh and pulls out the piece of parchment. "Not so good, dismal in fact. I have nothing."

When it unrolls for a good few feet, Severus cocks an eyebrow, saying, "Tea?"

"Circe, yes, I could kill for a cuppa. I worked through my four o'clock so I'd have time to come and see you."

His wand sets his tea set dancing. "Or I have so spoiled you that you will never again be able to drink that swill the Ministry passes off as tea."

She grins over the rim of the cup he hands her. "Or that."

He looks over her work, hmming every so often.

Fidgeting a bit, she finishes off half her tea, then can't contain herself any longer. "I do want you to look it over, Severus. But I'm fairly sure there's nothing there. Just ... nothing! I mean, I looked everywhere and couldn't find anything on the Squib situation – not even St. Mungo's had records of any such births."

"Nor would I expect them to. For some children, it can take a good few months for their magical ability to manifest to the point that diagnostic spells can detect it. Birth records would rarely be accurate in terms of magical ability, so it tends to not be recorded. Besides which, many pure-blooded families still deliver at home, attended only by a Midwifery Witch."

"Well, I suppose it's somewhat comforting that this conspiracy doesn't extend quite that far at least."

"Conspiracy?"

"Yes! So many records hidden, newspapers changed – all of this seems too much for only one person, even if they are magical." She takes a sip of tea. "Speaking of groups of people doing things in secret, the Pure-blood Sanctimonia sure are a cagey lot. They registered their creation with the Ministry in 1953 without providing a full roster of members beyond their president."

"Umbridge?"

"Got it in one. I suppose I can't say it's exactly surprising to think that Umbridge would be involved with something to do with promoting pure-bloods, not with the decrees and hateful investigations she ran the year the Death Eater's controlled the Ministry. In fact, I'm still amazed she got away with it all."

"Are you?" Severus's smirk edged towards sardonic. "The Umbridge family may not be wealthy, but that does not mean they are not well connected within pure-blood circles."

"Maybe that explains this too. There's not a single other record on file for the Pure-blood Sanctimonia – nothing. That in and of itself is as dodgy as dodgy can be."

"Why is that?"

"Because, in a bureaucracy, everything leaves a paper trail, and I do mean everything. I can tell you exactly how much Arthur's Muggle Technocratia Club has spent on tea and biccies for every meeting these last five years."

He snorts into his cup.

"So she started it as a public society and then decided to go secret for some reason and couldn't wipe every single record – the protection charms on the Records Room files do kick in for certain categories of documents. And having her involved confirms that the two things could be related. Umbridge creates and signs off on the student lists Hogwarts receives and she runs a dodgy pure-blood club."

"And pure-bloods were having trouble with Squib births."

"It's all connected – I feel it. But how?" She gestures towards the bottom half of the parchment. "I researched her too. Again, everything on her is perfect. All of her obvious positions at the Ministry are well documented, though it took a fair amount of digging to find that she does indeed still hold the role of Junior Undersecretary of Educational Admissions. There was nothing on her trouble at Hogwarts, nothing on her harassment of Muggle-born. And Malfoy – it's very similar. Any records of his arrest and imprisonment have been downplayed, and there's very little else other than a long list of contributions made to various Ministry causes. There's just ... nothing." Hermione's shoulders slump.

"Then, if I may suggest ..."

"Yes?"

He slides a scroll across the desk towards her.

The cream linen parchment lies weighty in her hand, and her mouth drops open, gobsmacked, as she reads. "How did you ... how did you get this?"

"Lucius likes to maintain the illusion that he and I were both unwilling followers of Voldemort, that he was simply Imperioed into being a Death Eater. He takes special care to invite me, Dumbledore's double-spy, to his public functions."

"A party at the Manor this Friday – this is fantastic! You definitely have to go. You can back him into a corner and drop hints about babies to see if he squirms."

"We should both attend, for if we are truly to appear involved, it is only natural for you to accompany me. Although there will be no Gryffindor foolishness of the kind you propose, absolutely nothing that blatantly exposes that we have suspicions of any kind."

"It's a party celebrating the birth of his grandson. I was kind of hoping you could slip babies into the conversation as a matter of course."

"Hermione." His voice holds a note of warning.

"All right. You're the master spy after all."

"Yes, I am." His smirk looks quite self-satisfied.

+=+

+=+=+=+=+

+=+

Of course agreeing not to do anything 'foolish and Gryffindor' isn't quite the same as not actually doing anything 'foolish and Gryffindor.'

"Whatever do you think you are doing?" he whispers.

She shuts the library door behind them and turns to survey the room. "Looking for clues."

"And here I thought we agreed we would do nothing to tip our hand."

"Come on, Severus." Shelf after shelf of books line the walls, but she heads for the one section that's fronted by glass doors – locked glass doors, damn it. "The party is boring, and you won't let me talk to anyone who might be in the Sanctimonia. Therefore, a little snooping is called for, so help."

"Help how?"

"Well, we could try to get this open." She rattles the latch.

"Hermione." It's almost a groan.

"Or we could look for suspicious titles. Perhaps the spell we want is in one of these, and if we could suss out what book it is, we could find another copy." She starts skimming title after title of ancient texts that would normally have her fingers itching to open them, but none of them sound like what they're interested in.

Severus remains quiet at her side, so she assumes he's capitulated. Or at least until he says, "I have it: The Expert's Guide to Killing Mudblood Infants."

She swats him on the arm with the back of her hand. "Oh, now you're just taking the piss."

He grins.

"You're right." She offers a wry little smile in return. "Lucius may be many things – many bad things, that is – but he's not stupid enough to leave anything incriminating out in plain sight." Glancing around the room again, she asks, "So where do you think he'd hide –"

The library door opens.

Instinct, it must be pure instinct. Hermione throws her arms around Severus and pulls herself into his body with enough force that he rocks backwards slightly and clutches at her in reflex. Adrenaline spikes her heart rate, and she can feel her cheeks flush as she opens her mouth to gasp in a few panicked breaths.

Severus, while nothing as extreme, also appears flustered.

It should look, she thinks, like an interrupted lover's clench as she buries her face in Severus's neck, breathing in the smell of him, running her hands down his back.

A throat clears behind her, and Severus steps abruptly away from her as if startled. He really is quite good at this, she realizes, watching as his face morphs from slight shock, through irritation, and settles on amusement.

"Draco." He gives the name a sardonic edge.

"Severus and ... Hermione."

She turns, smoothing a hand over the front of her dress in a nervous gesture that hopefully seems like embarrassment. "Draco."

The man in front of her watches them closely, eyes slightly narrowed and mouth pursed into a thin line.

But if he's suspicious, it's obviously not enough for him to act upon, or his wand would already be out, so she relaxes and links her arm through Severus's. "Congratulations on the birth of Scorpius. He's beautiful." And he was earlier when presented to the room, all smiles and cooing with pink arms waving as his mother held him – and not needing Hermione to touch his nappy ever.

"Yes," Severus says, "congratulations."

"Thank you." Draco's face softens. "Astoria and I are very pleased."

They stand in awkward silence for prolonged moments, and Draco looks at the cabinet behind them and then back to them with a sharp expression overcoming his face, his mouth opening as if to say something. Then he shakes his head slightly and points to the fireplace on the other side of the room. "If you will excuse me, I would like to Floocall Astoria to make sure she and Scorpius arrived home safely. The party was running a bit late for a two-month old."

Severus tugs her gently towards the door. "Of course."

"Give her our regards," Hermione says just before the door clicks shut.

She wants to collapse against it, laughing at their narrow escape, but there are too many eyes, so she allows Severus to escort her back to the drawing room, which still elicits a shiver of revulsion, even though it's been redecorated at some point in the past eight years. Delicate new furniture and a different color scheme, ice-blue and crystal-white, do little to wash it clean in her eyes.

Severus glances at her, concern hovering about his bearing just as it had when they first entered the room earlier that night. She realizes that one day she'll tell him about Bellatrix, even though she rarely speaks of it with anyone.

Giving his arm a little squeeze, she puts on a bright smile, saying, "I could use a drink."

When Severus turns to catch the eye of a serving elf, Lucius's voice sounds from her left. "Ah, Miss Granger, such a surprise to have the honor of your company this evening."

She extends her hand and waits for him to be fully bent over it before saying, "I can well imagine since I seem to be the only Muggle-born here."

"Yes." He straightens, expression mocking. "It is sad that so many are unable to understand my plight at being forced to serve Voldemort. If only more Muggle-born were able to look past their prejudices, then ..." He waves a hand airily at the gathering.

The very nerve of him! Grinding her teeth to keep from saying as much, she turns a brittle smile upon a returning Severus and hides behind the champagne flute as soon as it's in her hand. The wine is rather the nicest thing about the place after all.

"Severus, how good to see you and that you brought the delightful Miss Granger."

"Lucius." Severus's face remains carefully neutral.

"I was just telling her –"

"Lucius, oh, Lucius," a high voice simpers, and people part to let a pink-ruffled monstrosity through. "There you are. Why, whatever are you doing over here? I thought we were going to talk to ..." Umbridge trails off as she notices Hermione and Severus, her eyes narrowing and her mouth twisting as if she's smelled something particularly foul.

"Dolores," Lucius says, a hard edge to his voice, "I was just on my way back over. Why don't you assemble everyone we wanted to speak with?"

Giving one last look down her nose, which is amazing since she's shorter than either of them, Umbridge snorts before spinning abruptly enough that the abundant flounces on her robes rise and move as if suddenly overcome with independent life. She cleaves the crowd, gathering various people behind her like goslings imprinted upon a fuchsia mother goose.

Lucius pulls Hermione's attention back to him by taking her hand. "It appears I must attend to my other guests, but I hope that one day you'll do me the honor of visiting my home for a third time."

Which only calls to mind her first visit. A threat?

Anger rises in her, strengthening her resolve, and she refuses to let this man see he bothers her. Practicing Severus's unflappable expression, she shades her voice with mockery. "Yes, the Manor always has such ... interesting entertainments to offer."

His eyebrow raise has nothing on Severus's, and she stares at him for a stretched time until suddenly he nods once at Severus and turns to move off in the same direction as Umbridge.

"Would you like to go?" Severus's voice sounds soft and concerned in her ear.

She nods, but only starts forward once she's catalogued every person surrounding Malfoy and Umbridge: Cassius Cadwallader, Lizbet Umfraville, Evergud Entwhistle, Mafalda Hopkirk, and Stamford Jorkins – all names from the early Pure-blood Sanctimonia days.

All Ministry officials.

Perhaps the evening isn't a complete loss after all.

+=+=+=+=+

When Severus leans in to kiss her cheek goodnight, she pulls him solid and warm against her.

"Will you tell me what has upset you, Hermione?"

Keeping her face pressed to his shoulder, she nods. "During that last year of the war, we were captured, Harry, Ron, and I, and taken to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix picked one of us to torture to try to get the others to talk ... or ... or maybe just because she liked it." Her voice grows quiet. "She picked me."

His arms tighten around her, and his hand strokes her back.

"It was in the drawing room, and Lucius watched. I ..." And she's crying, softly but unstoppably crying.

He pulls back a bit and uses a hand to tip her chin up to meet his eyes. "Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the most powerful and vicious people I have ever had the misfortune to know. That you are here and whole speaks volumes about your strength." He presses a kiss to her temple and ushers her into her flat and onto the sofa.

A few moments later, Severus places a damp flannel in her hand and a glass of water on the table in front of her.

Once she's a bit more together, she leans against him.

He says nothing more, just stays for an hour, a solid and comforting presence at her side.

+=+

+=+=+=+=+

+=+

Searching Ministry Records on the new list of names proves just as fruitless as it did for Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy, so when Severus comes with tea the Tuesday after the party, Hermione's ready to pull out her hair in frustration.

As soon as the privacy spells go up, she says, "I almost don't know why we bother. I've got nothing new to say. Cadwallader, Umfraville, Entwhistle, Hopkirk, and Jorkins all have records as clean as clean can be."

"So purposefully purged then."

"Yes. Not that I can prove it, mind."

Severus reaches over to lay his hand on hers. "You will find something, Hermione. You only need an untampered source. We could go through my mother's Daily Prophets again."

"You're right – maybe there's something in the Squib articles we overlooked. And we should track all the names of the Pure-blood Sanctimonia this time to see if ..." His words echo in her mind, bouncing off of ideas half formed, and suddenly she turns her hand over to give his a squeeze. "And I could also go to another untampered source, as you say. Someone old enough to remember what went on during that time."

"Minerva." He really is frightfully clever.

She nods. "Minerva."

+=+

+=+=+=+=+

+=+

That Friday, Hermione pushes back from a still-laden table and dabs at her lips with a serviette. "Oh, the food is just as lovely as always, Minerva, especially the treacle tart. Thank you for having me to lunch."

"How could I resist when you practically invited yourself?" Minerva's eyes almost twinkle.

"Yes, well, my earlier visit made me realize just how much I miss this place." Her finger taps at her nose.

"I see." Wand out, Minerva makes short work of forming a protective layer of cloaking spells. "What can I do for you, my dear?"

"I came across some old clippings from the Prophet that discussed the fact that, for a time, many pure-bloods were giving birth to a high proportion of Squibs. The thing is, there's not really a lot of detail, and I can't find any other sources of information on it. So I'd hoped ..."

"You'd hoped an old bat like me might remember something." Minerva's lips twitch slightly.

Hermione grins. "Yes, though more because I thought your connection to Hogwarts would give you insight. It's not all about your advanced age, you know."

Minerva's small smile disappears to be replaced by a more thoughtful look. "Oh, I haven't thought about this for years, but now that you mention it, yes, there was something like that around the time I first began teaching at Hogwarts – that would have been in the mid to late 1950s. Many of the pure-blood families began giving birth to Squib after Squib. That is, when they could have children at all. Some weren't having any babies, and others had quite a few stillborn or ones who died in their first year. It was a sad, sad time."

"Did anyone propose doing anything about it?"

"Well, there was talk of something to address it around 1972, which was when the number of Muggle-born and half-blood children with superior power began grow large enough to really be recognized. A Marriage Law act of some sort was proposed. It was going to force Muggle-born to marry pure-bloods so as to hopefully make children with stronger magic."

"Really? That's ... that's ..." She shudders at the thought of being decreed by law to marry someone.

"Precisely."

"So they realized it was a violation of basic human rights, and that was that?"

"Violation of basic human rights?" Laughter overwhelms her, and she waves her hand helplessly for a bit.

Minerva's loosened up a bit since the War, but Hermione's never seen the older woman quite this tickled before, so she grins into her cup, enjoying the sight no matter the circumstances.

Once she's gained her composure, Minerva continues. "Oh, no, my dear. The staunchest faction of pure-bloods, the oldest of the old families, was up in arms about it immediately. Word is they were horrified at the thought of having to touch 'filthy Mudbloods' – if you'll pardon me using the expression – let alone diluting their 'precious' bloodlines with them. They killed the notion before it ever went up for a vote."

Hermione feels her teeth grind, but continues. "And did what instead?"

"Why nothing. Not long after that – speaking in Wizarding world terms, my dear, where everything moves a bit more slowly – the first war with Voldemort occurred, and everyone had other things to think about. By the time that died down, the problem seemed to have sorted itself out. What pure-blood children were born were once again reasonably magical, and talk of a problem faded away."

"Hmm. And can you think of any way for any of that to have a connection to the Pure-blood Sanctimonia?"

"Oh, now there's a name I haven't heard in years." She takes a long drink of tea and stares into the distance. After long moments, she turns back to Hermione. "Besides the fact that it was pure-bloods having the Squibs, and these same pure-bloods tended to be in the Sanctimonia, I can't think of anything."

"What about its president, Umbridge?"

"Oh, well, there's one who definitely liked her bit of time in the limelight. Why every chance she got, there was a reporter at the events snapping off photos of her with one pure-blood aristocrat after another. Always mugging for the camera, she was." Minerva sniffed in disdain.

"But is that all she did, all the Sanctimonia did? Hold fundraising parties and such?"

"I can't be completely sure because, while I went to some of the charity events, I never joined. There was talk for a while that it was actually just a publicly acceptable front for something else, and people later surmised that such meant the Death Eaters." She pauses, brow creasing. "But now that I think about it, the Sanctimonia always had a much larger membership than the Death Eaters, so I'm not sure they were necessarily one and the same."

"And do you remember when it was disbanded?"

"Hmm." She taps a finger against her cup while looking into it, brow furrowed. "I don't recall ever hearing that it formally disbanded. It just seems that the events grew rarer and then ... and then I didn't hear about it anymore."

"I see." Hermione takes another sip of tea, giving herself a bit of time to digest both the hot liquid and the information. "There's one more thing, if you don't mind, though it's on a different subject."

Minerva sets down her empty cup. "Of course, my dear."

"It's ... it's, well, it's quite horrific, and I hate to bring it up." She takes a deep breath and continues in a rush. "Have you ever heard of a spell that requires ... requires killing a baby who's exactly three-months-old?"

Minerva blanches and raises her serviette to cover her mouth. After a bit, she says softly, "After all the atrocities of the war, I'd thought myself somewhat immune to shocks of this sort, but using an infant ..."

The horror of it hits Hermione afresh upon seeing how someone not used to the information reacts. "I wouldn't have burdened you with it, but I'm at a loss as to where to go from here."

"No, I've not heard of the like." Minerva's face hardens, lips and eyes thinning. "But when you find who's been doing this, you make sure I'm there – I and the entire Order are at your disposal."

"Thank you, Minerva. Your support means a lot, and I'll make sure to take you up on that." She pauses, voice dropping. "I only hope it can be soon."

This time when she leaves, she makes sure to give the older woman a quick hug.

+=+=+=+=+

Hermione steps out of a Floo in the Atrium to find Severus waiting for her.

"My dear," he says, taking her arm in his, "how I missed you. May I escort you back to the Records Room?"

A bit shocked, she nods her head instead of replying verbally.

"I know it is somewhat presumptuous of me this early in our relationship, but I had hoped that, tonight being Friday, you would do me the honor of dinner?"

He's laying it on a bit thick, she thinks, then notices that they have quite the audience.

Person after person passes by with the most gobsmacked expression – mouth gaping open, eyes about to pop from their sockets. They stop and turn to watch Hermione and Severus walk by, not noticing or caring how obvious their behavior is. One even drops the parcel he's carrying as his fingers seemingly give out in shock. Fizzlebees emerge from the crack in the box and buzz around the room, adding another note of chaos as multi-colored bubbles stream from their stingers in a series of pops.

Laughing, Hermione looks up at Severus, who smirks his nicest smirk, and replies, "I'd love to, Severus."

"Wonderful." He presses the button for the lift and gives her arm a little squeeze. "And how is Minerva?"

She takes the hint to keep up the small talk. "She's doing quite well. The renovations will be completed soon, and there's to be a ceremony in a month or so. She's asked us to come."

They step into the lift going down with five or six people Hermione knows work in Magical Law Enforcement on Level Two, which happens to be above the Atrium level.

Severus tilts his head towards their fellow passengers and ratchets up the level of his smirk.

She fights to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Of course, I would be happy to attend," he says. "Although I had hoped to see Minerva and some of my other colleagues sooner than that." Smirk gone, he looks at her meaningfully.

She nods. "I'm sure we could arrange a more ... personal get together with all of them soon."

The lift arrives at her floor, and they get out.

Hermione suppresses the desire to wave to the people watching them with avid eyes as the doors shut.

He escorts her to her desk. "Would six o'clock at my house be all right with you? I know it is a bit early for dinner, but I find myself wanting to cook and thought you might keep me company while I do so."

"Six o'clock would be fine."

"I will leave you to it then. I am afraid there is something pressing I must research. Until this evening." He bends briefly over her hand and turns with a flourish of robes.

The Sneakoscope in her robes spins for a good ten minutes after he's gone. Irritated that the close scrutiny gave no chance to discuss what he was up to – for he was definitely up to something – Hermione nonetheless smiles, certain that Ministry gossip will speak of nothing else for the next fortnight.

+=+

+=+=+=+=+

+=+

The second she Apparates onto the doorstep of Severus's house, the Sneakoscope in her pocket whirls to life yet again.

Severus opens to her knock and winks quickly before pulling her into a hug, the length of his body a firm, warm pressure against her.

Let's make this good, she thinks and stretches up so that her mouth is near his ear. "Oh, Severus," she breathes as a wistful sigh like the distillation of every bad romance novel she's never read.

His fingers clench, pulling her momentarily closer. Then he pulls back and turns his head to kiss her cheek.

Rationalizations about 'authenticity' bounce through her brain, and she turns as well, pressing her lips to his.

In an instant, it's no longer a game.

The kiss remains light, exploring, the brush of lips playing over lips without anything more than the barest tip of tongue.

Yet she almost moans into his mouth. Her fingers clutch, fisting the material of his frock coat, and she pulls him closer as a flush of heat flashes across her body, pooling wherever they touch.

Untold moments later, they break apart, both panting slightly, and if Severus's face is anything to go by, both looking a bit dazed.

He smoothes a hand slowly down the front of his coat, eyes still a bit unfocused, but the movement seems enough to break the spell holding them in place, and he waves her into the house and shuts the door.

The frantic motion in her pocket ceases immediately like a switch flipped to off.

If only her heart were as easy to calm.

She falls back against the hallway wall, breathing more quickly than normal, and tells herself to focus. Pulling out the Sneakoscope, she finds it still warm from all the spinning. "Can you believe that? They weren't even trying to hide that they were watching!"

"While I applaud your attempts to add an even greater level of authenticity to our ...," he clears his throat, "charade, I can only hope that those who have been observing us for longer, and with a greater level of stealth, have been equally as fooled."

She wonders how he can still see this as nothing more than an act after that kiss. What could she do ... No, wait ... "What was that second part?"

"I received a message today that leads me to believe that at least one person knows what we have been looking into with the project."

"Oh, no." Her heart's already been racing, even if for pleasanter reasons, but now her stomach twists.

"Indeed." He gestures her into the sitting room and, once they're seated, continues. "At a quarter past twelve today, someone tried to force their way past my wards here at the house. When I arrived a few moments after, there was nothing but a note left on the back doorstep."

"So they did it on purpose to get your attention in a way that kept you from having any idea who they are."

"It would seem so." He holds out a small piece of paper. "They were equally careful in crafting the note. The parchment and ink are the most commonly available brands Scrivenshaft's carries, and even the Quick-Quotes Quill used is the least expensive one favored all across the Wizarding world."

She hmms in reply and reads.

On the flanks of that misty mount,

Where kings of old go to their rest,

There lies the lake that holds the sword.

And when full-dark next descends,

No moon shining on those still waters,

The secret many shall gather in horror.

"Well," Hermione says, "it's obvious that no one would go to all of this trouble just to send you a poem." She looks up to see his eyebrow rise somewhat sardonically. "I mean, not a poem like this kind of poem, so it must be in code."

"Not precisely. It is instead a riddle. The first stanza tells of a location, the second a time."

She looks at it again. "Well ... swords and kings and all ... I'd say Arthur."

He nods. "Yes."

"But I don't know enough about him to suss this out. In History of Magic, Binns focused more on Merlin and Nimue."

"Then allow me. I took the liberty of researching the topic this afternoon. Llyn Llydaw is a lake that lies halfway up Mount Snowdon, which tends to be shrouded in fog for a majority of the year. In ancient times, this lake was the site of the Portkey to Avalon. Both Arthur and Excalibur were taken away there."

"Avalon, really? It exists? Where's that then?"

"Destroyed in 1408 during the first battle between the newly Christianized Muggles and Wizard-kind."

"Oh." She fidgets with the parchment, reading the verse over a few times. "I think you must be right about Llyn Llydaw. And if the second stanza means time, then 'no moon shining' would be the new moon, which is ..."

"Which is tomorrow night."

"Right. Making this either a tip or a trap."

"Yes."

"And we have no other real leads."

"Correct."

She sets the slip of paper down and turns to look at him dead on. "So we go."

He nods, something warm flashing through his eyes that looks a lot like approval.