Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: In which Hermione Granger and Harry Potter discover that Severus Snape's Patronus has changed, and he reveals a secret.

Hermione woke in a muck sweat, sheet sticking to her damp skin, and her heart beating at an erratic pace. The fading sound of a horrified cry echoed in the otherwise silent room, and all she could think about was blood. There had been so much blood.

Trembling uncontrollably, she stumbled to her small bathroom and opened the medicine chest above her sink. She surveyed the top shelf where she kept her potions (contraceptive, headache, Pepperup,) and grabbed the small green bottle of Calming Draught. She knocked the vial of Pepperup into the sink where it shattered. Steam rose from the white porcelain basin, but Hermione ignored the mess in favor of the Calming Draught. It had been at least a year since she had dreamed with such vivid recall.

After using the lavatory, she returned to bed, pulling the covers to her chin. She forced herself to relax, trying with a pathetic lack of success to replace the horrific images with any others, even the erotic encounter with the fantasy cube. However, every time she closed her eyes she plummeted once again into the surreal images of blood, a wall of books, the Shrieking Shack, an exsanguinated boar, and a woman's voice whispering 'Strige.' Finally, the draught took effect, but for the remainder of the night, Hermione lay curled in a fetal position staring at the small seam between the panels of her curtains, looking for the first sight of dawn.

Hundreds of miles away from a one-bedroom flat in a wizarding part of Canterbury, Severus Snape rose at the urging of his alter ego. It was nearing dawn and instinct impelled him to hunt. He rose from his bed, one foot meeting the icy chill of the stone floor, the other sinking into the thick rug he preferred in his private rooms. Without bothering to dress, he crossed the sitting room and flung open the French doors. His spells kept the terrace free of snow, but it the air was frigid when he stepped onto the balcony. The temperature didn't affect him for long as he extended his arms and initiated the metamorphosis which allowed him to fly. He dived from the edge of the balcony and exulted at the heady rush of flight.

It had been at least a week since he was last airborne, but the weather had finally stabilized during the night. Snow powdered the landscape like a layer of confectioner's sugar, sparkling as if a Luminosity Charm had been cast on it. He soared over the castle, seeing the pinkish hue along the horizon, knowing the sun would follow in its wake.

He rode an air current toward the Quidditch pitch, reveling as wind rushed into his face. Snape swooped in and around the hoops, frivolously pretending he was a Keeper.

The sky grew brighter, and a large winged creature broke through the Forbidden Forest's canopy keening a fierce cry. Snape pulled out of his turn, hovering in an updraft while he watched the alpha thestral stretch his wings. After a cautious circuit above the trees, the thestral uttered an invitation. Several smaller winged creatures joined their alpha for a game of tag.

Snape watched their antics while gliding on an undulating current, but then he noticed a large owl skimming the treetops. At first, he thought it must belong to the Owlery, yet it seemed much larger than the usual school owl, or even a privately owned student familiar. Snape side-skipped into an updraft, riding it to a higher altitude for a better look. The owl's wing-span was considerable, and he hadn't been watching for long when it folded its wings and dropped through the trees in search of a meal. Wishing it the best of hunting, Snape wheeled midair.

It was time to begin the day, and he reluctantly returned to the castle.

Twenty minutes later, he arrived for breakfast in the Great Hall. The majority of his colleagues were already present, although Mellors and Flitwick were absent. The headmistress was seated in Dumbledore's throne-like chair, cutting up a grilled chop. Snape passed behind Charlie Weasley, prepared to take his own customary seat next to McGonagall when he noticed her pinched expression. Following her line of sight, Snape halted mid-stride as if he'd been jinxed, for there, placed on the center of his plain earthenware plate was a bouquet of flowers, the stems wrapped in dark green ribbon.

Snape recovered his composure quickly and lowered himself onto his chair. He prodded the flowers off his plate with his wand, simultaneously casting a nonverbal Revealing Spell. Something was packed within the bundle of stems, but there was no Dark taint to flowers, ribbon, or the hidden prize.

Impotent rage suffused him, and he longed to incinerate the 'offering' into nothing more than a distasteful memory; however, he refrained because he was in public and the bunch of weeds was not only evidence. It might contain clues. Whoever had taken it into their malicious little minds to taunt him would regret it, deeply and passionately.

Automatically he spooned scrambled eggs onto his plate from the serving bowl between him and McGonagall. Before he'd finished, the Care of Magical Creatures' teacher passed him a platter of grilled kippers, asking, "Red herring, Professor?"

Charlie's tone reminded Snape that Weasley humor sometimes bordered on the malicious, and he sneered before spearing two of his favorite breakfast treats. "It isn't amusing, Professor Weasley."

Glancing at the bouquet, Charlie's grin widened. "Definitely not. I can't imagine enjoying proof that someone appreciated my finer qualities."

McGonagall came to Charlie's rescue before Snape verbally rent him fore to aft. "I recognize the amethyst," she said, pointing at the bouquet, "but what is that pretty white flower?"

Snape ignored her and took a large bite of eggs and kippers.

Pomona Sprout who had never been able to ignore a botanical gambit piped up from the far side of Septima Vector. "That's a snowdrop, Minerva. It's a little early in the season for them, but I suppose you could find some along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They're commonly used in Valentine's bouquets because they symbolize hope." Her expression hardened as she rested her gaze on Snape.

He glared in return. Then, with a great show of indifference, he plucked a piece of toast from the rack and spread a thin coating of marmite across it before taking a large bite out of one corner.

McGonagall diverted attention like the stalwart friend she was. "When do you expect to hear from Miss Granger, Headmistress?"

Oracle Banneker, seated at the opposite end of the high table, wrapped her hand around her dreadlocks and pulled them over one shoulder to lean forward without getting her long hair in her meal. It was, after all, her potential replacement they were discussing.

Vector patted her mouth with white linen before speaking. "I have begun to have my doubts about her."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the forthright deputy head.

"If it's taken her this long to make up her mind, I'm not sure I want someone on staff who has so little enthusiasm."

"Her enthusiasm has never been lacking," McGonagall replied. "I understand she's quite interested."

"Perhaps," replied the headmistress.

Horace Slughorn spoke up, arguing on Hermione's behalf, although it might have been that he wanted to secure his annual gift of candied pineapple or greater access to Harry Potter. Once Slughorn had said his piece, other staff members joined in the discussion, and Snape used the distraction to cover his departure. In his lap, he turned his serviette into a glove, although its edges were slightly frayed due to his haste. When he stood, he grabbed the bouquet before any of the others commented upon it.

He did not notice the exchange of worried looks between McGonagall and Irma Pince, nor the fact that they weren't the only ones to watch his departure with a speculative expression.

~o0o~

Hermione stepped out of the Floo at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and into the small parlor off the narrow entrance. The house barely resembled the dark and depressing place where Sirius Black had been imprisoned during the last year of his life. Hermione briefly wondered if the ancient Greeks would have considered his imprisonment and ultimate death an apt punishment for his teenaged hubris. It was a thought she had toyed with before, but the answer depended upon her mood. That day she decided Sirius' life had been a tragic waste.

She smiled at the small room in which she had arrived. It had once housed the Black family tapestry, which had spread like mold to cover three walls, and it had been applied with a Permanent Sticking Charm, like the portrait of Mrs. Black in the entry. After some negotiation with Kreacher, Harry had purchased Muggle plasterboard and a gross of two-by-fours. During the two months Hermione and Harry had lived at Grimmauld Place immediately after the Battle for Hogwarts, they made significant changes in the unwelcoming house. The Tapestry Room had been their first project, and it took a full week to create the inner framework of the room's new dimensions. The two friends had created a narrow passage between the inner frame and the original walls. As part of the agreement, Kreacher tended to the family legacy while a series of Spells kept the new room inviolate from the predations of the creeping tapestry. The finished room became the only room in the house to be linked to the Floo Network.

Instead of the ominous family tree, the walls now sported a portrait gallery of family and friends, including the few pictures Harry had of his parents and a single portrait of Sirius Black as a young teenager. The subject of one portrait greeted Hermione. "'lo, 'ermione. It's good ter see you."

"Hi, Hagrid," she answered in a perky voice. "How are you? And Mrs. Hagrid?"

Flecks of red paint in the portrait's background shifted to give the half-giant a blush. "Fine, fine. We're both jus' fine."

A childish squeal of delight could be heard from farther in the house. "I hope to see you soon, Hagrid, but I'm a bit late."

"Say hullo to Harry for me."

"I will. Bye."

Following the shrieks of laughter, Hermione stepped through the wide open archway from hallway to lounge, right through the place Mrs. Black's portrait had once hung. She had been removed by the simple expedient of Harry removing the wall. By creating an open and airy entrance to the lounge, they had changed the entire feel of the house, not to mention no one, save Kreacher, missed the abuse Walburga Black heaped on visitors to her former home.

It had taken four years to complete the bulk of the renovations, but now Grimmauld Place was a unique mix of wizarding and Muggle aesthetics, and when Harry and Ginny had married, the house had become a home.

"Mine!" shrieked two-year old James when he saw Hermione, running to her with the awkward gait of a small child. "Mine, mine, mine!"

He couldn't manage her entire name, but his nickname for her always caused the adults around him to smile. Hermione caught the small boy in her arms and spun him in a circle. "Jamesy, Jamesy, how are you?"

He giggled, pressed his chubby little hands against her cheeks, and with great solemnity he stared into her eyes. "I am fine, thank you. Unca Ron came to play."

Hermione looked beyond the young boy to where Ron was catching his breath on the hearth rug, his red hair and beard sticking up all over. She nearly laughed when she saw a smudge of dirt on his nose, just exactly where one had been when she'd first seen him on the Hogwarts Express all those years before. "Hullo, Ron."

The lanky redhead rose to his not inconsiderable height, brushing off his new dragonhide trousers. "It's about time you got here, 'Mione. We're starved, and Kreacher's got breakfast ready."

"Sorry. I overslept."

"You're forgiven," Ginny said as she entered the room. Her long hair would have been the envy of any Titian model, but it was tied by a ribbon these days to keep it out of the way of small hands.

James wriggled in Hermione's arms and she let him slide to the floor, where he ran across to grab his uncle's hand and pull him toward the hall.

Ginny greeted Hermione affectionately and they followed Ron and James to the dining room.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

"He'll be down in a minute. He's doing some work in Regulus' old room."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "He is? You mean? Are you..."

Ginny patted her slightly rounded abdomen which had escaped Hermione's notice until that instinctive, protective gesture. "Yes," Ginny answered, "pregnant again, and with another boy, too. You should've seen Harry's face when I told him. I thought I had the flu and couldn't understand why the Pepperup didn't work. The Healer at St. Mungo's thought I was a half-wit for not recognizing the symptoms."

"What wonderful news. Your parents must be thrilled."

Ginny dropped her hands, and her loose top hid the telltale bump once more. "They don't know yet."

"Really? Oh!" She remembered the miscarriage Ginny had suffered the year before, and understood. "You're waiting for the end of your first trimester?"

The two friends crossed into the hall, and the redhead explained, "I can't go through that again – I don't mean the miscarriage – but we don't want everyone to know, or I'll have Mum hovering. She'd smother me in a week!"

Hermione paused at the foot of the narrow staircase, turning toward her friend. "Then why tell me? Does Ron know?"

"It's the curse of having such close friends!" Ginny rested her hand on the bannister's finial. "We didn't tell him, but when Harry said he was finishing the ceiling in Regulus' room, Ron knew what it meant immediately. Only you and he knew we'd planned to use that room for little Al."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Little Al?"

"Albus Severus. That's what Harry wants to name the baby."

"That's almost as bad as Hermione. What is he thinking?"

"He can either go by Al or Rus," commented the baby's father as he came down the stairs, brushing wood shavings from his shirt.

Hermione arched her neck to look up at him. "True," she said, and accepted a brush of his lips against her cheek. "At least it's not as horrible as 'Mione, although the way James says it is rather adorable."

"Daddy, what does 'dorble mean?" James asked, returning to the hallway in search of his wayward family.

"It means lovable," Harry answered his son.

James beamed and then pronounced, "Breakfast!" and tugged on his father's trousers.

Ron waited impatiently in the dining room, a cup of very strong tea in his hand. The sideboard groaned – quite literally in a wizarding home – with their meal. Chafing dishes were filled with eggs, bacon, sausages and other delicacies. Kreacher and Ginny had come to an understanding over house management; she left him completely alone in his kitchen, not being the domestic goddess her mother was, and he didn't interfere in the raising of the young master, although he doted on the black-haired sprite much as he must have when Regulus Black had been a small child.

In fact, Kreacher took James to get cleaned up after his enthusiastic meal, when, simultaneously, a large Patronus glided into the room and the house wards were tripped.

Ron and Hermione covered their ears, and Ginny shrieked, "Harry! I told you that spell was too sensitive! Shut it off!"

"Shit!" Harry swore and dashed from the room, wand drawn. He shouted a Charm string as he ran.

No one heard what the strange Patronus said, and the large avian circled the dining room once before coming to land on the back of Hermione's chair. She twisted, looking up into the gleaming silver eyes of a large owl. It was bigger than Hedwig had been, but not abnormally so; only its startling wingspan gave the impression of enormous size.

Within moments the horrible warning shriek was cut off, and the sound of James' fear could be clearly heard from upstairs. "Sorry," Ginny said as she dashed from the room to calm her frightened child.

The Patronus waited patiently, giving Ron a dismissive once-over, but studying Hermione intensely.

"I think it likes your hair. It's probably building a nest," Ron teased, and pushed his plate away from him.

"Very funny," she replied tartly, and buttered her last scone.

"I thought so." He folded a piece of bacon into his mouth and spoke around it. "Never a dull moment with Harry."

Hermione's irritation was subsumed by her affection for Harry. "Not often."

Ron fingered his glossy beard. "I wouldn't change him for anything."

Thoughtfully, she spread jam on half her scone and took a bite. When she swallowed, she agreed with him.

For a moment they were in perfect accord, but then Ron straightened in his chair. "Hermione, do you really not mind – about Romilda, I mean?"

"If she makes you happy, then that's what I want for you."

He pushed his plate to the side and huffed a deep sigh. "I wanted it to be you."

"Me, too. But I think ..."

"We're better off friends." The taint of acrimony hid between the words. "I know."

Hermione leaned toward him. "Please don't be angry."

"I'm not, really. Not anymore. A bit sad, I expect."

She reached a hand across the table and he took it, squeezing tight.

Harry hurtled back into the room at that moment. "What was the message?" But his eyes goggled at his friends' clasped hands.

"It's not what you think." For once, Ron accurately read the subtext. "She's my best friend."

Hermione grinned and pointed a finger at Harry, "And you're pumpkin juice!"

Harry chuckled but their attention was drawn to the Patronus whose patience had worn thin. It crouched, hunching its body and extended its wings slightly as if preparing to take flight. Instead, it opened its beak and Severus Snape's smooth tones issued forth. "Miss Granger, and Mr. Potter, if my Patronus finds you together, I regret to inform you the stalker has resumed hostilities, only this time the tribute was left at a time and location I would discover in public. I would deem it a ... favor ... if you would come to Hogwarts as there had been an unsettling development."

"Unsettling?" Ron asked, rising to his feet. "What could be more unsettling than a dead pig across your threshold?"

"Boar, Ron. It was a wild boar," Hermione corrected as she wiped her mouth, leaving the remaining half-scone on her plate. "But it's a fair point. What could be more unsettling?"

With absolute certainty, Harry replied, "Having to discover it in public."

"Too right," Ron agreed.

Hermione dropped her serviette on the table and would have risen from her chair save for the Patronus which remained still and silent. "The stakes have been raised."

Snagging his left-over toast, Harry bit into it before adding, "Or the stalker feels his or her agenda has been threatened in some way."

At that moment, Ginny entered the room with a barely mollified, but clean, child on her hip and a martial glint in her eyes. Any scolding she might have given Harry died at the sight of the Patronus still perched on the back of Hermione's chair.

"Bird! Pretty bird," James chirped happily, displaying the mercurial temperament of toddlers.

"Ginny..."

She handed James to his father for a good-bye cuddle. "It's all right, Harry."

"It's Professor Snape's," Hermione explained. "We have to go."

Ron came round the table and ruffled his nephew's dark hair. "I can come if you want."

"Don't you have a date later?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, but this is more important. If you need me, Harry, I'll cancel."

"Thanks, mate," Harry said, handing James off to his uncle, "but it shouldn't take long, besides, Hermione's the one who'll have all the work to do if we find what we're looking for."

"Thanks loads." Hermione then turned toward the silvery owl. "Please tell the Professor we're on our way."

The owl bobbed its head before expanding its wings to their full extension and launching from the chair.

"Wow!" Ginny's reverent exclamation was covered by James' excitement as he reached for the Patronus with both hands and almost fell from Ron's grasp.

"Get your things, Harry, and let's go."

"Right." He kissed his wife and ruffled his son's hair. "If Snape is asking nicely, then it's pretty serious. Ron, if we need you we'll send a Patronus." He faltered mid-step toward the door. "Did you notice it wasn't a doe any longer?"

Hermione answered quietly, "We all did. I hope it means he's finally found peace with the past."

Five minutes later, Harry swore expressively. "Shit! I hate this weather. Why the hell did they have to put the fucking gate so far from the bloody castle?"

He and Hermione had Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, arriving in the midst of a snowstorm. Neither was dressed appropriately.

"I don't think we can fly in this, either," Hermione whinged. "Whatever happened, it had better be bloody important."

"That is the appropriate adjective, Miss Granger," Snape said, stepping out from the massive stone gatepost.

"Where did you come from?" Harry asked, looking around.

Snape smirked. "The Marauders Map didn't reveal all the castle's secrets, Mr. Potter. If you'll come with me." He tapped his wand in a deliberate pattern on the broad side of the gatepost causing the post's stones to fold and shift, revealing a man-sized opening.

Hermione's mouth dropped. "That's not in Hogwarts: a History either!"

His lip curled. "You should know by now –"

She cut Snape off. "I know, I know. Not everything can be found in a book."

"After you," he said, and sketched a courtly bow.

"Thank you." Somewhat disgruntled, she descended the short flight of steps to a stone-lined tunnel angled toward the castle. When the ingress closed behind Snape, the only sounds which could be heard were the rustle of their clothing and their footsteps. The tunnel was wide enough for them to walk two abreast, and Snape joined Hermione in the lead with Harry bringing up the rear. As they walked, torches lining the walls flared to life, illuminating their path several paces to the front, but they extinguished as soon as Harry passed their position.

"We got your message," he said redundantly.

Snape merely shot him a glance, but Hermione, taken aback by the teacher's attitude, had been looking at the dark-haired wizard carefully. "You haven't been sleeping," she commented.

Black eyes widened in surprise. "Not that it's your business, but no, I have not." Then he peered at her more closely. "It seems neither have you."

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Nightmares," she replied tersely, recalling the frustration and distress of her early morning dream.

Harry shuddered in sympathy. "Sorry."

Charitably, Snape said, "I doubt any of us are free of them, even after all this time."

"No, probably not," she agreed, and then fell silent.

At that point the tunnel's incline grew steep, and none spoke until they reached the seeming dead end. Snape reached through the illusion to grasp the hidden door's handle and gestured for Hermione to precede him into the cloak room off the castle's Entrance Hall, the one where Hermione's winter cloak had been soiled.

"Does the entire staff know about this?" she asked.

"Only the heads of house, the deputy head, and the headmaster, or headmistress as the case may be. As I have been both head of house and headmaster I am privy to more of the castle's secrets than many."

"Rank having its privileges?" she asked.

"It's more a question of security, I believe. We cling to outdated traditions, but change is inevitable, if lamentably slow." Snape sealed the tunnel behind them. "Now, if you'll permit me to Disillusion you, I would like to keep your presence unknown."

Harry nodded, stepping forward, and Snape anointed him first. Then it was her turn, and Hermione shuddered at the familiar chill dripping down to her toes.

When they reached Snape's private rooms in the South Tower, Harry and Hermione immediately re-cast the Magical Law Enforcement spells she had performed at Christmas. This time, Snape felt the magic brushing his skin, identifying him. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Only those on your list or who were here at Christmas have been in these rooms. Aside from you, no one else has been here within the past four days, not even a house-elf." Something in Snape's posture seemed to relax, but it was too soon as the younger man said, "You'll have to dismantle the Tongue-tying Jinx, Professor. It's illegal. If this were an official inquiry, I'd have to report it."

Snape frowned from his position at the French doors. "It's supposed to be untraceable."

Harry's eyes reflected the light like an old lemonade bottle in sunlight and he smirked. "Hermione's research has been rather profitable. The spell itself is undetectable, but as a result of her work, I can track the wand movements you used to cast it."

Hermione had ended up next to the window seat where Flitwick had drunk his coffee on her last visit, but now she frowned at Snape. While he had removed the Dark spell she had warned him about at Christmas, he had nonetheless used another, quasi-ethical piece of magic to secure his quarters. She couldn't really blame him so she said nothing, turning her attention to toward Harry's announcement. "Harry, you didn't say."

He stood near Snape's small desk, his back to the wall. "I haven't tried it till now."

"Tell me," she demanded, extremely pleased with his adaptation. "How did it present?"

With accompanying hand-strokes to emphasize his point, Harry recreated his experiment. "The wand movements in order, which is why I knew I was seeing the Tongue-tying Jinx."

"This is quite promising," Hermione enthused, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Before you hare off into some arcane bit of research in the archive's stacks and don't come out for a month, could we focus on the issue at hand?" Snape asked pointedly.

"Don't chastise her!" Harry snapped. "Her innovations could revolutionize the MLE's investigations. How do you think I caught Mulciber and Lestrange last year?"

"Luck?" Snape drawled, but desisted when he saw the real anger on the younger man's face. "Pax, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger, my remark was uncalled for."

Harry gaped.

A swift rush of pleasure burbled in Hermione's chest, caused by Harry's defense and by Snape's apology. As she removed her heavy coat and withdrew her beaded bag from the pocket, she said, "Despite the fact you've previously told me you don't apologize, Professor, I'm willing to make allowances for your vile temper. Under the circumstances anyone's patience would have been sorely tried."

"And you have reason to know that my temper is –"

"Mercurial," Hermione quipped even as Harry muttered, "Volatile."

Snape laughed, short but amused, Harry grinned, and Hermione ignored their mirth and expounded on her original thought. "The jinx might have been useful. Someone was bound to notice if one of their friends couldn't talk."

Holding his hand out for Hermione's coat, Snape also waited for Harry to remove his outer wear. "Yet Potter's point is well-made. If I use illegal means to identify the culprit, it invalidates the proof in any official capacity. If you'll have a seat, I'll retrieve the morning's evidence." He carried his guests' winter wear into his bedroom.

Harry chose one corner of the sofa while Hermione sat in Snape's armchair, a smile softening the edges of her mouth when the ottoman waddled in her direction. "No, thank you," she said to the charmed piece of furniture. It halted, its demeanor that of a chastened puppy.

"Ignore that," Snape said as he returned to the room and accurately predicted Hermione's imminent capitulation. "If you're not firm it will follow you everywhere."

Harry choked off a laugh, but Hermione asked, "Where did you get it?"

"Filius, a year ago last Christmas, but that's not the point." A tray hovered, shoulder-height, behind him. He waved his wand and the tray continued into the room and settled on the book-strewn coffee table. Upon its surface was a bedraggled bundle of wilting flowers, a wide green ribbon in the exact hue of Slytherin's dominant house color, and a small clear vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid.

Harry and Hermione immediately noted the presence of the small vial and they exchanged a glance.

Dryly, Snape said from his position by the mantelpiece, "It isn't a love potion."

"We can see that," Harry replied with a frown. "If it's what I think it is, circumstances have changed. We can't continue sneaking around to use the department's resources, taking the odd hour here and there. If we elevate this to an official investigation, we can make some real progress."

Snape turned his back on his guests, peering into the large mirror hanging above the mantelpiece. The two Aurors had no difficulty seeing his troubled expression, nor the obvious way in which he was gritting his teeth. "Due to the terms of my contract, if I am the subject of an official inquiry I'll be sacked."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, jerking the material of her beaded bag. "That's so unfair! Those inbred, pathetic excuses for educators! Oooh! I'd like to give them –"

Snape turned to face her, his anger vented with her vehemence. "Coal."

It stopped her mid-invective, and she stared at him before a peal of her laughter rang in the room. Bewildered, Harry looked between the two. "What does coal have to do with this?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied, but directed her next comment to the taller man. "Let's postpone the discussion about making it an official investigation until we confirm the contents of the vial. I assume you've already done so."

"I have." His mouth set in a grim line.

"Then the discussion is moot." She rose to her feet in order to take a closer look at the floral specimen, saying to Harry, "It means debatable, Harry, not immaterial. However, I would also like to know about these flowers. Those are snowdrops but what are the purple ones?"

Harry, too, took a closer look at the evidence, his fingers hovering above the small vial, and Snape answered Hermione's question. "Amethysts," he said from his position in front of the fire. "They're a variety of violet."

"Thanks." Hermione gave him a quick smile before she retrieved her bag to rummage through it. After considerable effort, she pulled a very thick book from the bag's depths, and then crooked her finger at the ottoman. It waddled as close to her as it could get, wriggling like a contented spaniel.

Snape snorted as he watched Hermione drop the beaded bag onto the seat of the chair and sat on the ottoman. "Do you carry that disreputable thing with you everywhere?"

Hermione shoved her hair off her forehead and glanced up at him. "Since Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding nine years ago."

"I see."

As she opened the pages of Collier's Cyclopedia of Commercial and Social Information and Treasure of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge compiled by Nugent Robinson in 1882, Harry returned to the corner of the sofa and took up the tale of the Most Useful Beaded Bag. "We lived out of that thing the entire last year of the war. For several months, Hermione carried Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait in it, along with our clothes, a tent, and our cookware."

"Don't forget my books," Hermione added distractedly as she flipped pages.

"And your books."

Snape sneered at the bag. "It's nostalgia that keeps it in its highly noticeable state?"

"It's nostalgia that makes me keep it," Hermione said as she turned to the Cyclopedia's index. "It's the fact that I was an underage and inadequately trained witch which means I unintentionally linked the Expanding Charm with the Appearance Charm. I can't change the exterior without destroying it."

Only Harry saw Snape nod before he said, "I did much the same thing when I devised the Muffliato spell. It worked, but not in the way I had intended."

"All too often, innovations deviate from their intended purpose." Hermione raised her head to smile at Snape, remembering several of their earlier discussions. He was watching her, and for a beat they carried on a wordless conversation.

Harry's voice broke the nonverbal tete-a-tete. "I've long wanted to thank you for Muffliato, Professor, but there's never been the right moment."

Snape inclined his head and said sardonically, "I created it with Gryffindors in mind."

Harry grinned. "To use on them, I'm sure."

"Indeed," Snape said.

Hermione had dived back into her book during Snape and Harry's bonding moment. "Ah! Just as I expected."

"What did you find, Hermione?" Harry rose from his spot on the sofa and stood behind her, peering into the book.

She pointed to a passage on the yellowed page. "As all previous floral tributes were lavender heather, it was impossible to speculate whether the flower was chosen because of availability or if was a deliberate choice because of the potential message."

Snape leaned against the mantelpiece, warming his long legs in front of the fire, listening to her intently and with a darkening visage.

"However," she said, shifting closer to the tray with the wilted flowers, "now that you've been given snowdrops and amethyst, it's logical to surmise their meaning was intentional."

"I had thought you a believer in the dissemination of information." Snape glowered and stepped away from the fireplace. "Why am I only learning of this now?"

Closing the book on her finger as a place holder, Hermione was startled by his expression. "It was inconclusive speculation at best, and while I mentioned it to Minerva and Filius the first time we were here, it seemed premature to concern you."

"After all, why should I be concerned?" he asked disbelievingly, drawing close enough for his posture to be considered looming.

Not to be intimidated, Hermione rose to her feet, without relinquishing the Cyclopedia or her finger's place in its pages. "Must you misconstrue practically everything I say?" Snape's overlarge nostrils flared but he remained silent. Hermione stepped sideways, between him and Harry, and she looked at both men. "Building a cohesive theory or putting an investigation together takes more than a single conjecture or clue. Lavender heather by itself is merely a locally grown, readily available flower – there are still places in the Forbidden Forest where it can be found this late in winter."

Hermione began to pace as she lectured, and if she'd looked at Harry, she would have noticed that despite the underlying seriousness of their visit, he was holding back amusement that Hermione had, at last, a captive audience in Severus Snape.

The cadence of her voice would be perfect for the classroom, and it was infused with the hint of the enthusiasm she held for the pure joy of learning. Snape's attention never wandered from her. "The wizarding world embraced the language of flowers for two decades in the early nineteen hundreds – until they realized the fad was introduced by a Muggle-born, and then its cachet died a swift, ignoble death." She stopped pacing next to the coffee table and pointed at the amethyst blooms. "However," she said, and Snape drew closer to her side, "there are brief resurgences of the fad from time to time, and in this case, when other less easily obtained blossoms are given, as they have been here, the language of flowers becomes a potentially viable clue."

Harry asked, "And what is it about these flowers that allows you to draw any sort of conclusion?"

The three magical humans stood in a row, staring down at the innocuous plants. Harry's expression was intensely curious, Hermione radiated the zeal of research fulfilled, but everything in Snape's manner expressed revulsion. It was he who said, "Other than 'hope' for my demise, I cannot see what message this irritating cretin is attempting to communicate."

"Hope?" Harry asked, perplexed, and he leaned forward to look at Snape. "But I thought..."

Hermione interrupted, lifting and opening the Cyclopedia at her finger-marked page. She quickly scanned an entry on the page and said, "The snowdrops represent hope. And it isn't for your death." Raising her head, Hermione looked straight into Snape's eyes. "The lavender heather and the amethyst violets both represent admiration."

Snape sucked in a breath, his lip curling in disgust.

Hermione elaborated. "I would venture to say your stalker admires you and hopes you will return the sentiment."

"Shit!" Harry swore, and it was his turn to pace, from window seat to French doors, he took long strides, passing the others twice before he returned to his point of departure.

Snape sneered. "I take it you're not pleased to find I'm admired, Mr. Potter?"

"Of course I'm not pleased," Harry snapped. "It has nothing to do with your being admired or not. This is serious."

"He knows that," Hermione said, huffily, poking her index finger into Harry's sternum. At her side, Snape clenched his fists.

"Besides," Harry said, removing her finger, "the message could have been deliberately misleading."

Snape strode to the French doors. "Designed to lull me with the promise of affection when ..."

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "It's used as a lure."

Hermione put the book on the ottoman and sank to her knees to examine the evidence more closely. "Harry, did you check the liquid?"

"Not yet," he replied grimly, withdrawing his wand from its sheath inside his sleeve. He swirled the tip in an anti-clockwise rotation and then swiftly jerked it in a hooking motion as he nonverbally cast a spell. A jet of viridian shot from the end of his wand, encasing the small vial containing the unidentified liquid. Within seconds the magical shroud attached itself to the bottle, and then penetrated the glass, strobing in a rapid display as it passed into the liquid itself and shrank into a tiny pulsating dot of red light. Then, with a blinding flash, the spell flared bright white before it winked out.

"Not only is it blood," Harry stated, "but it's human blood."

"Yes," Snape agreed while he stared out into the bleak winter landscape.

Harry turned his head in Snape's direction, and asked, "Did you also realize it's Muggle blood?"

In the reflective surface of the mirror, Hermione saw Snape's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but then he gripped the door's handle as if he were on the brink of seeking escape.

Hermione and Harry wore identical, concerned expressions, but it was she who approached the former spy. Gently she touched his arm and he flinched. "You must see that this changes things," she said. "We – I don't want you to be sacked, but Harry and I can't do what's necessary unless we make our investigation official."

"You forget I've already been the focus of two MLE investigations and the entire Wizengamot. I will not willingly live through another official investigation. I would rather take my chances with the stalker."

"We don't know how the blood was collected. The situation has become too dangerous to ignore."

Her voice contained a note of pleading Harry hadn't heard in a very long time, and his expression became more speculative than concerned.

Snape stared at her, and then said very quietly, "I am quite familiar with danger, Miss Granger."

She blinked furiously and looked out the window at the heavy snowfall beyond.

Harry joined them at the double doors. "We don't want to see you hurt. Been there, done that."

Snape turned toward the younger man, his face expressionless. "Ah yes, the day you received my most precious memories."

"Which I have returned to you," Harry replied equably, and then more soberly, "Watching Nagini bite you when I could do nothing about it was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. Believe me when I say I have no desire to see any more of your blood spilled."

"Blood!" Hermione choked out, the horror of her earlier nightmare beating at her brain, blood red and oozing. "You!" She pointed a shaking finger at Snape.

Harry and Snape looked at her with some degree of alarm. But she continued in a high, shaky voice, "Your Patronus changed."

Snape said coldly, "How perceptive of you."

"It's you! You're the owl!"

Snape remained silent, his entire demeanor stiff with foreboding. He didn't need to be a seer to know where she was leading the conversation, but it was Harry who asked the leading question. "What the hell are you talking about, Hermione?"

"In the Shrieking Shack." She grabbed Harry's arm and pointed at Snape. "When we went back. Severus was the owl we found. Remember?"

Neither noticed Snape's reaction to her use of his first name, but some of the tension eased from his spine, and the taut line of his shoulders became more human and less like a piece of carved marble. Hermione was too busy connecting the dots to notice, and Harry was taking yet another in a long line of intuitive leaps.

He had been a lost and neglected child when he'd arrived at Hogwarts, and his first seven years in the wizarding world had been a continual assault on his fortitude. Until his sixth year at school, Harry had annually suffered through months of Dumbledore's stonewalling tactics followed by quixotic bouts of excessive information, usually in the aftermath of traumatic events, all of which he had been expected to assimilate while learning to embrace the concept that it was he, Cupboard Under the Stairs Harry, who was destined to save a world he hadn't known existed until his eleventh birthday.

With all that being said, after his death-and-rebirth, Harry had made several decisions, one of which was that if he was going to be an Auror, he wouldn't do it riding on Hermione's brains. Thus, when he entered Auror training, he had become a dedicated student. As an Auror, he was competent, well-respected, and no longer the lack-wit Snape had once called him.

He ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair and faced Snape. "You're an Animagus."

That statement proved the catalyst for Hermione. "He's not just an Animagus, Harry. He's a Sanguinarian."

Snape bowed his head. "An astute observation, Hermione. You see, now, why I wish to avoid an official investigation into these events."

"It would have been easier had you told us." She held up a hand. "However, I understand why you didn't."

"How long have you been an Animagus?" Harry leaned his shoulder against the door frame, ignoring the winter chill of the nearest window panes. "Your name isn't in the register."

"It isn't?" Snape asked.

"Stop being coy!" Hermione snapped. "You know it isn't. Just tell us why."

Instead of stepping away from her into the room, Snape opened the French door, and stepped out onto the protected balcony. He asked over his shoulder, "What makes you think you have the right to know all my secrets? Haven't I bared my soul sufficiently?"

Harry followed him, and said very quietly, "Neither Hermione nor I want to see you hurt."

Snape's lip curled, and he crossed to the stone rail beyond which snow fell in a thick blanket.

"If only we had known ...." Hermione, too, left the cozy comfort of his rooms, crossing her arms against the chill, but she let her inadequate comment hang. What could she say? If they had known he wasn't a traitor. If they had known he wasn't actually dead. If they had known more about healing. She dropped her hand and played nervously with the hem of her jumper. "Despite everything we had experienced, we believed your charade. How could we have guessed differently?

"Dumbledore," she said the name with more loathing than she had ever said Voldemort, "manipulated us for years, and like good little pawns, we believed in him." It was Harry's turn to have a hand held to forestall the repetition of a years-long dispute. "But you know we came back for you. You saw us."

Snape heaved a sigh and turned his back on the winter storm. Instead, he faced the more dangerous one ahead. He stared into Hermione's warm brown eyes. "Very well. It's a lengthy story. Have you the time?"

"Ginny knows where I am," Harry answered.

Hermione shrugged, "I'm supposed to have a dinner tonight."

"A date?" Snape inquired lightly when he passed her while returning to his sitting room.

"With my parents." She followed closely on his heels rubbing her arms for warmth. Her thin red blouse was inadequate for rural Scotland in a snowstorm. "I see them every few weeks, but that's not until later, and if necessary, I'll Floo them and cancel."

Snape crossed to the leather chair with every intention of sitting in it, but as he did, his stomach growled loudly. Color stained his high cheekbones.

"I'd offer to take you to Hogsmeade for lunch, Professor, but I doubt any of us want to venture out into that." Harry gestured toward the snow falling in a thick curtain, and closing the French doors as he was the last to re-enter the room.

Snape stood in front of the hearth. "I can have something delivered from the kitchens if you'd care to join me."

"That would be lovely," Hermione said, giving Harry a pointed look. "Soup would be welcome."

Although he was still quite full, Harry made a request. "I always liked those chocolate biscuits the house-elves make. If they have any left ...."

Snape summoned Flossy and gave her their order, but once she had disappeared, he paced in front of the fireplace, unsure where to begin his tale, and unwilling to do so until the meal had been delivered.

Aware of the highly confidential nature of Snape's confession, Harry asked a simple question. "How many people know?"

"Five."

"Is it possible..." Snape cut across Hermione's half-formed question. "None would divulge the information."

The sound of a loud crack heralded the arrival of three trays filled with savory aromas and tempting victuals. Snape waved the trays toward the coffee table, and Hermione hastily moved the evidence. Placing it on the corner desk, she then turned and encountered Harry's amusement. He mouthed, 'Are you a witch or not?' in her direction.

Hermione ostentatiously fingered her wand and Harry raised his hands in mock surrender.

Snape sank into his chair, the tray containing his meal sliding into place as soon as he settled, but he'd noticed the byplay between the two friends and was hard pressed not to offer a biting comment. Hermione chose the end of the sofa nearest Snape, leaving Harry to resume his original seat at the opposite end. Their trays levitated into place.

"Not having to scrounge dinner at the end of a very long day of work is one of the most appealing aspects of accepting the position here." Hermione commented before her first spoonful of the fragrant beef and veg soup.

"Having to eat at least two of those meals a day in front of the students diminishes the pleasure, I assure you."

"Is it so different than when you were a student?"

Snape shrugged. "It becomes commonplace after a term."

Harry swallowed a bite of his thick roast beef sandwich. "Mind if we get back on track?" Snape nodded. "I don't want to be insensitive, Professor, but my parents were mistaken in Pettigrew. How do you know one of the five people who hold your secret isn't equally untrustworthy?"

Snape took his time before answering the question; he used his serviette to wipe his mouth and took a long pull at the ale he'd been served with his meal. "Peter Pettigrew was a weakling, consumed with envy and self-importance." When he continued, there was a trace of bitterness sustaining his tone. "I do not inspire envy."

"Have they taken an Unbreakable Vow?" Hermione asked bluntly. When Snape stiffened in shock, she set her spoon on the edge of her tray. "Don't say it! I could heat Hogwarts with the amount of coal I utter around you, but it's a valid question. If they've taken an Unbreakable Vow and are all still living, then we can eliminate them from the equation, otherwise, they remain variables."

"Does questioning under the influence of Veritaserum count?"

She gave him an admonishing glare. "As you know very well. You could've said."

"You're horribly impatient. You might have the decency to let me finish my meal and tell the story in my own way."

Harry was taken aback by their convivial bickering, and he grabbed a chocolate biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth before pushing the tray from his lap. Its purpose complete, the tray disappeared with an almost inaudible pop. "Are you saying you've questioned all five of your confidants with Veritaserum since the beginning of the school year?"

Snape turned his attention from Hermione, and she picked up her spoon again.

"Four of the five insisted upon it after that first intrusion into my office. As the potion came from the school's stores and was the product of my own brewing, I'm reasonably assured its potency wasn't compromised, nor did any of the four take an antidote in my presence. As I, too, partook on that occasion, I can assure you its potency was undiminished."

"There's always the possibility of natural resistance, in which case, you would hardly tell the difference, but I'll assume you've already considered that, given your areas of expertise." Harry ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair. "It's always possible the fifth person is unreliable."

"Only if you consider the Minister of Magic unreliable," Snape said dryly.

"Shacklebolt knows?" Harry asked, leaning forward, but Hermione's question sliced across his. "Just how long have you been an Animagus, Severus?"

Again she'd used his first name without thinking, but this time it didn't disconcert Snape. "Not as long as you suspect. I transformed for the first time the day Nagini attacked me."

Hermione nodded as if fitting the final pieces of data into an equation.

"While not the standard method of discovery, nonetheless it was effective, and kept me from dying as nothing else had." Harry's head bowed, but Snape made no comment. Hermione had been correct earlier when she'd said she and her friends had been manipulated by Dumbledore. They all had, and Snape no longer chose to use Harry Potter as his whipping boy.

Hermione's eyes glazed with the memory of a bloody wooden floor and the red-soaked feathers of the dazed owl she and Harry had discovered. "The blood. You drank your own blood," she whispered, her expression one of understanding and distaste.

"An astute assumption," Snape replied, pushing aside the tray, his meal unfinished. Like Harry's before, it, too, popped out of existence. "Apparently, among the Romans scattered liberally among my ancestors, a number were also striga. The genetic tendency has been repressed for generations. It seems my subconscious desire to survive triggered the latent trait in a reflexive, last ditch effort to keep me alive."

"I'm very glad it worked," Hermione said softly.

Snape's answering smile was sardonic. "As am I, regardless of an irritating desire to hunt small field mice at the most inappropriate times."

"Field mice?" Harry pounced on the comment.

"Indeed." Snape acknowledged both the question and the underlying possibilities. "I hunt only the natural prey of my Animagus form."

"What's the difference between a striga and other types of vampires?" Harry asked curiously.

"According to my research," Hermione said, ignoring Snape's indelicate snort, "a striga is one of the four predominant species of human-equivalent Sanguinarians. Striga inherit their powers which normally occur at the onset of puberty. They only require blood while transformed in their Animagus form, and their lifespan is unusually long, but they aren't immortal. And yes, a stake through the heart will kill a striga – just as it would any human being who was subjected to the same treatment. On the other hand, Revenant Sanguinarians, or common vampires, as you call them, Harry, are one of the other species. They're often called strigoi, and among those, a fully-adapted Animagus strigoi will require blood in both forms." She noticed Snape's expression and flushed, toying with her soup spoon so she didn't have to look at his amusement.

"Would you like to tell my story for me, Hermione?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering.

"I thought it prudent for all of us to share a common understanding," she said with some bite.

"As ignorance promotes the spread of prejudice and intolerance, I concede the point."

She simply said, "Thank you," and then moved her tray as well. No one noticed when it disappeared.

"All right," Harry said. "So you're a blood-sucker–" he ignored Hermione's shocked exclamation, "...but only when you're an owl."

"Crude, but accurate," Snape acknowledged.

"It's a short-cut," Harry said dismissively. "We'll assume, for the time being, that you're not perpetrating these bits of vandalism in a bid for attention."

Snape's laughter was harsh and short-lived. "No, Potter, I'm not seeking a bid for attention. I have had more than enough to last a lifetime, as you no doubt understand."

"To continue," Harry said, pointedly, "there are five others who know your secret, one of whom is the Minister of Magic. I would assume that two of the remaining four are Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall."

Snape leaned forward, impressed despite their history. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

"Because it was they who approached us on your behalf in the first place," Hermione interjected. "Also, Minerva Floo'd me at Christmas, and Filius is the one who brought me here."

Harry rose to his feet and began to pace along the wall of bookcases. "If you transformed for the first time that day in the Shrieking Shack, I doubt you would have known how to turn back into a man. Who better to seek assistance from than the resident Animagus?"

"Is that why you went to Germany?" Hermione asked the question out of turn.

"Partially." Snape leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face. His black hair gleamed in the firelight, and framed his face, lending him a saturnine appeal. "I spent that first year hidden in the Forbidden Forest or living with Filius at his flat in London. I couldn't control my transformations when the craving struck, and Minerva stayed with us those first three months teaching me how to master the skill. I still spontaneously transformed on occasion; fortunately, they were at predictable times and I made certain to be on my own then."

"Dawn and dusk," Hermione said, nodding as another bit of her research was verified.

"Dawn and dusk," Snape confirmed.

"It must've been dreadful," Harry said.

"It wasn't easy, especially as it took months to heal my injuries. I was as crippled in my strix form as I was as a man."

"Strix? I thought you said you were a striga?"

Snape looked expectantly at Hermione but she shook her head and pinched her lips. Pursing his lips in order not to laugh, Snape answered Harry's question. "Strix is the genus name for owl. In particular, I become a Great Gray owl."

"And that's when your Patronus changed." Harry said it as a statement.

"Indeed. It is also when I put the memory of your mother to rest, Potter."

Hermione gave him a penetrating look, and Harry pulled his pocket watch from his trousers' pocket, glanced at the time, which read, You should be home, and cleared his throat. "As I was saying, if this isn't a bid for attention on your part, then someone, other than the five you trust and now us, has discovered your secret."

Snape's sneer was his only response.

"I would venture to guess that Kingsley has your file in his office."

Green eyes met brown and Hermione nodded in agreement. "He probably keeps it in with the Incognito files," she said, "and they're protected by Unbreakable Vow."

Harry's head snapped up. "You didn't tell me that."

"I told you Kingsley couldn't give me the information we sought; I didn't think it was necessary to explain about the Unbreakable."

"It crosses him off the list entirely," Harry said angrily.

"True. Harry!"

"What?"

But she faced Snape instead of her friend, leaning over the arm of the sofa toward her former professor. "I know you don't want to elevate this to an official investigation, but I've an idea." His attention was all hers. "Whoever is stalking you is not only a threat to your secret, but dangerous to you as well. They must be discovered."

"Your point?"

"Kingsley already knows, and he'll have a vested interest in keeping this information from reaching others' ears. So ..." She smiled in triumph.

"So?" Snape asked a trifle impatiently.

"So we'll get Kingsley to put us on Special Assignment," Harry said, practically crowing their triumph.

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed. "We can devote our full time to the investigation, rather than sneaking an hour here or an hour there."

Snape's eyes glittered as he looked at her, and tone was bland. "With your relationship I'm sure he'll grant your request."

"My relationship? With Kingsley?" She frowned, glancing at Harry who shrugged. "What are you... Oh!" Then Hermione blushed. "Minerva has a big mouth."

Harry laughed. "If you think Kingsley Shacklebolt would bend to Hermione's will unless he agrees with her wholeheartedly, then you don't know him very well."

"Thanks, Harry."

He shrugged off her sarcasm as if it were a midge. "No problem."

"I concede the point, as I do know Shacklebolt, although not as well as I had originally thought." Snape rose to his feet, his eyes on Hermione's flushed cheeks. "As difficult as it is to admit, the idea of a Special Assignment is an excellent suggestion, and will most likely circumvent the contractual requirements." He offered the amende honorable and his hand.

When their skin touched, she shuddered, an intense contact shock firing the synapses in her entire body. Suddenly she was short of breath, and it was entirely gratifying to hear his sharp inhalation acknowledge that he, too, was affected. Gathering her scattered wits, she said, "If we leave now, I can spend an hour in my lab examining the vial and its contents. I want to see if there are any similarities between this vial and the one containing Horace's Love Philtre."

"Very well. You will keep me informed of your progress."

"Absolutely. Will you let us know if there are any other gifts? Which reminds me, why didn't you use the D.A. galleon I gave you?"

Snape pursed his lips. "I left it in my office. However, I've subsequently transferred it to the pocket of my robes for easy access."

"It's almost like an instant message. You will let us know of any sort of gift or tribute left for you?"

By way of an answer, Snape conjured a small bag to hold the wilted flowers, the ribbon and the vial containing Muggle blood. He presented it to Hermione with a flourish, and then tapped her on the crown of her head with his wand.

The Disillusionment spell cloaked her while he struck Harry's crown, and then, they retraced their steps through the castle and out the private tunnel beneath the school's grounds. Above ground, the howling wind blew snow in great drifts and the temperature plummeted.

~o0o~