Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: In which another of Severus Snape's secrets is revealed, and Hermione Granger comes face-to-face with his stalker.

Harry and Hermione followed the directions they'd been given and soon found themselves in The Bigg Market. They walked past number ten, Half-Moon Chambers and Café Neon with its sandwich board proclaiming English Breakfast for only three Muggle pounds. They didn't pause in their search for the Indian restaurant, and as they walked, their conversation focused on the information they'd just learned.

"If only we could question Dumbledore," Harry lamented.

Hermione stopped mid-stride, alternately repelled by the idea and eager to solve their mystery. "It would make things much easier, but even if we could get permission from the headmistress, he, like his predecessors, is bound by his confidentiality oaths."

"Here we are," Harry said, as they arrived at their destination. Savory aromas assailed them as they stepped through the entrance to Rupali. A late lunch crowd kept the restaurant busy, but after a short wait, the hungry Aurors were seated at a table in the corner. After Harry daringly ordered Curry Hell, the restaurant's renowned specialty, for himself and a milder chicken dish for Hermione, she cast the nonverbal Muffliato on their nearest neighbors with her wand jammed up the sleeve of her pink jumper.

"You know we can't get the information from Dumbledore without causing his only official portrait to combust," Harry said bluntly.

Hermione unfolded her serviette, twisting it out of frustration. "I know. It's like working with the Department of Mysteries, Harry. Have I ever told you how much I loathe being stonewalled?"

He nodded, and then smirked. "Or in this case, portrait-walled." She snorted, but then he asked bluntly, "What do you really think about this information?"

"1980 is when Professor Snape began teaching."

"He said he wasn't a fully-adapted strigoi, but what if he's lying? There were always those rumors at school."

She glared at him, instantly indignant. "He was called a lot of things while we were at school, including greasy git and bat of the dungeons."

They were interrupted as their drinks were delivered to the table, and when their waiter left, he tugged on one ear as if to clear it.

Harry took a long pull on his beer before he said, "Rumors are usually founded on some grain of the truth."

"Remember Rita?" Hermione asked, rearranging the table's condiments into a more orderly tablescape. "She claimed I was your girlfriend, and there's never been any truth to that allegation."

"That's true." He shrugged. "But I can see how the rumor started. We've always spent a lot of time together."

Their food arrived at that moment, and Hermione held her response until after she'd taken her first bite. The masala sauce was remarkable; as aromatic as the fragrance of the restaurant, and the chicken was cut into perfect bite-sized, tender pieces. She laughed when Harry tried the Curry Hell and his eyes watered and sweat dotted his forehead. "Hot enough?" she asked.

"Hell, yeah! It's great." He shoveled another piece of lamb into his mouth.

"Good. As I was saying, though ... there was as little basis for the rumors about the professor. He lived in the dungeons, and he still wears those billowing teaching robes. No one ever mentioned the word striga." Despite the anti-eavesdropping spell, Hermione lowered her voice on the last word. "I don't remember ever hearing the word before I began looking these past few weeks."

"That doesn't mean anything conclusive."

"I'm sure it's not him." Hermione speared a piece of chicken with as much emphasis as she defended Snape.

Harry didn't reply for several minutes, taking a long pull on his drink, and the two friends ate companionably. Hermione polished off the chicken quickly, but liked the sauce enough to add another spoonful of rice to her plate so she could savor the last dribs and drabs.

"I think," Harry said slowly, as if evaluating each word on its individual merits, "you might have become too involved for objectivity."

Hermione dropped her fork. "Harry!"

He said earnestly, "I know it's just you and I working this case, but I leave it behind me when I go home to Ginny and James. You're working on it round the clock. To the exclusion of everything else."

"It's my only case," she said, furious with him. Shoving her plate aside, she tapped on the tabletop to emphasize the points of her rebuttal. "It involves a man we both admire, and is happening at the school where I'm probably going to live and work for the next two or three decades. Of course, I'm working on it to the exclusion of everything else. I can't leave it 'at the office' when the office is currently my home."

"Oh. Good point." His expression lightened. "And you've always been a bit of a swot anyway." He popped his last bite of lamb into his mouth.

Hermione glared at him, but was relieved he'd backed off his assertion. "Besides," she said, just remembering, "he wasn't the only one to start that year. Both Madam Pince and the headmistress took positions at the same time."

"I hadn't realized."

"It's in my notes back at the flat. Professor Vector told me about it in my initial interview, when she asked me to call her Seven."

"Seven?"

Hermione recounted the story while Harry mopped up the last of his lamb curry with his naan bread. "I've only called her that once. I'm not quite comfortable calling her Seven. I don't know her all that well."

"I still have difficulty calling Flitwick Filius."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"But you can call Snape Severus," Harry said slyly.

"Only the once ... or twice ... besides, I've spent more time with him than the others." She picked up her glass and drained the last of the yoghurt drink. "There's another reason I don't think he's lying to us."

"What's that?" Harry wiped his mouth with his serviette.

"Wouldn't Remus have been able to tell? I mean, shouldn't he have been able to smell the professor's Animagus form?"

Harry paused in the middle of lifting his beer, and when he spoke his voice was low and thoughtful. "I don't know. As far as I know, Remus never recognized Pettigrew."

"Was he ever in Scabbers' presence?"

"No. Yes. Maybe."

"Wait! Yes." Her eyes canted to the left as she retrieved the memory. "Ron had Scabbers with him on the train the first time we met Remus. Remember your Sneakoscope?"

"Yes, but Remus was asleep. And after that, the dementors were there." He grimaced at the memory. "If I remember it right, Remus spent the rest of the ride calming us down, not to mention that he would've had more than his fair share of nightmares to combat."

"Fair enough." Hermione dipped her finger in the condensation on her glass, her eyes unfocused. "But, Scabbers was all over the school that year. I can't imagine Remus didn't have an opportunity to recognize his scent at some point or another. That is, if he could make that sort of identification from scent alone."

Harry picked at the label on his beer bottle. "Pettigrew may have been a coward, but he wasn't stupid. He would have kept as far away from Remus as possible."

"Well, that eliminates that line of thought." She watched Harry for a moment, and then she said, "You know, I think we can clear Severus." Harry's brow furrowed while the busboy removed their empty plates from the table. When he was gone, Hermione said, "I don't think he would have been as righteous about Remus teaching if he himself was a Sanguinarian."

Harry snorted, and accepted the bill from their waiter. "I don't think you can base your argument on that."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice rising.

"Hermione, I realize you've grown to like him." She set her chin, and he said, gently, "We know he's an accomplished liar."

She nodded reluctantly. "But he always ... always, Harry ... protected the children of the school. To the best of his ability and whether he liked them or not."

"True, but that has no bearing on whether he lied. And if Remus couldn't tell an Animagus by scent, then Snape had nothing to be concerned about."

"But he couldn't know that. If he was a Sanguinarian at that point, then – oh! Remus would have smelled the blood when he killed."

Harry shifted and pulled his wallet from his jeans. "Remus was always sensitive to the smell of blood."

Hermione blushed. "He was."

"What?" He paused in the act of counting out the appropriate amount of Muggle money.

Despite having lived in a tent with Harry for almost a year, and having been friends for more than a decade, there were some things they had never discussed. "You don't want to know."

An impatient rapping of his fingers was her answer.

"All right," she smirked. "Ginny told me once that he wouldn't come to dinner when it was Molly's time of the month."

"Oh." Harry choked. "She's never mentioned it to me."

Hermione's expression told him she thought he was an idiot. "She wouldn't have, would she?"

Harry said sheepishly, "No. She wouldn't."

"Besides, I don't believe the professor is, or was, such a hypocrite as to have been a Sanguinarian and then self-righteously protest Remus' appointment."

"Snape hated Remus."

"Regardless of how he felt about Remus, Severus rarely challenged Dumbledore, and I remember him baiting the headmaster all year long."

"All year?"

"Once I figured out Remus' secret, I was startled how blatant Severus' smear campaign was that year."

The waiter came and took Harry's money. After he'd left, Harry asked, with more than a touch of distaste, "And you like him?"

Hermione blushed and looked out the restaurant window. "He's different now. We're different now. I believe he's an honorable man," she said stiffly.

Before the waiter returned with change, Harry asked carefully, "How often have you been in his company?"

She tilted her chin. "I haven't seen him since we all met in his rooms, and it has no bearing on our discussion at the moment."

He eyed her thoughtfully. "I thought Snape was the topic of discussion."

"He is. The number of times I've been at the school is no ...." She trailed off. "Harry!" In her excitement she leaned forward, soiling her jumper in a spot of sauce in the process, but it went unnoticed. "She was there."

"You've lost me. Who is she? And where is there?"

"Madam Pince."

Again their conversation was interrupted, this time as the waiter brought the change. When he departed it was with a wide smile for their compliments on the food. While Harry counted out a generous tip, Hermione cancelled the anti-eavesdropping spells she'd cast on the other diners, and then rose to her feet.

Harry, too, stood. He left the tip on the table and pulled his coat from the back of his chair. Neither spoke again until they'd left the restaurant, and stepped out into the cold winter's day. The Bigg Market wasn't terribly crowded and they ducked into an alleyway before Disapparating to her flat.

As soon as they arrived, Harry asked, "Will you kindly explain what Madam Pince has to do with this?"

Hermione removed her coat, and said, "That day in the Shrieking Shack. Remember? Madam Pince was there when we found the owl."

"Oh, yeah," he said, unbuttoning his coat. "And she said something when we left. I didn't hear what?"

Leaving his favorite chair for him, Hermione headed into the lounge and sat on her sofa, ignoring the piles of parchment and writing paraphernalia that littered her coffee table. "That was eight years ago. I don't remember, either, but we could use my Pensieve."

He entered the lounge behind her, and draped his coat over one arm of the chair before flopping into it. "If what we're beginning to suspect has any validity we'll do just that."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "And she was in the library the other week, when I was looking up information about Horace's Love Philtre and Sanguinarians. She invited me to tea but then rescinded the offer. She was really out of sorts. I thought she was irritated because Charlie was – Oh, goddess! She heard me asking Charlie if he knew anything about strix."

Harry stretched out his legs and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "You do realize it's purely circumstantial."

"Circumstantial doesn't mean inaccurate, only that we should definitely consider her a possibility."

"Why didn't she do anything earlier?"

Hermione slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet beneath her, settling in for a long discussion. "He was gone until last year, and she might not have put all the clues together until then."

Harry slid his glasses back on. "Do you think she's a vampire?"

"Sanguinarian, Harry. If she is, maybe that's why she has an Incognito file."

"Good point. I'd say we invite her for a drink at the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "If the school holds to its traditional calendar, next weekend should be a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Then it won't be any hardship for her to meet us for lunch."

"Exactly."

"Hermione," he said, sitting upright suddenly, "we might have this solved in three more days."

She sighed. "Then I can start creating class plans."

"You're that sure then?"

"I think I'd like the challenge." She fluffed a pillow and settled more comfortably. "Despite the reasons we fought the war, there isn't a single Muggle-born on Hogwarts' staff. I've always wanted to effect change in the wizarding world, and maybe I'll have a greater opportunity if I start young."

Abruptly, Harry jerked as if he'd been stung by a wasp. Sheepishly, he pulled his watch from the pocket of his trousers. It was the one his in-laws had given him when he'd turned seventeen. "Molly's leaving, and I'll have to get take-away." He rose to his feet, preparing to leave, but he said quietly. "If you leave MLE, I'll miss you."

"Don't miss me yet," she rose to her feet and gave him a quick hug before walking with him to the entrance. "I haven't given my notice and our investigation isn't finished."

It was only after he'd gone that she realized she hadn't mentioned Snape's most recent Patronus message.

~o0o~

When he returned from scavenging breakfast in the forest, Snape cast a series of little-known revealing and detection spells on his quarters. It had become his habit to do so in recent weeks, a practice he had all but dropped entirely three or four years post-war. There was enough ill-will generated in his direction that he was never entirely off-guard, but recent events demanded additional security measures.

All too often these days, his temper was on edge, and he used every reasonable opportunity to leave the castle far behind. Flying was the only thing which soothed and kept him from returning to a mid-war surliness. Not that he cared about the students' feelings, per se, but he did care about his friends, and they were worried.

As he shucked his flannel nightshirt for a long shower, he thought he might have to adjust the small numbers of his friends upward to include Hermione Granger. He hadn't seen her in close to a month, but their unconventional communications had been surprisingly pleasant. Unconsciously, he smiled when he thought of her most recent Patronus message. She and Harry had found a potential lead they were pursuing, and they hoped to have encouraging if not positive news within the next few days.

He lathered his hair a second time and contemplated the day.

Saturday. It was a Hogsmeade weekend and he wasn't on duty, which was just as well. For twenty years or more he had loathed February's Hogsmeade weekend. It didn't matter if it fell on the fourteenth or not, because the entire village and school population spent the weekend under the influence of supercharged hormones. When he'd been reeling from the loss of what he'd believed was his one true love – thank you, Albus Dumbledore, you old bastard, for reinforcing that concept, ad nauseum, ad infinite– Valentine's Day had been as agonizing as the Cruciatus. Later, when the newness of the grief had worn thin, the lovers' holiday had been merely painful. After the war, after he'd put his memories away for safekeeping, the holiday had merely been one of saccharine sentiment.

After his shower, Snape dressed, leaving off his formal teaching robes and chose one of his favorite books, Of Mice and Men. He'd read it so many times, he could recite entire pages. The Muggle Studies teacher, Smith, had loaned it to him the year she'd taught at Hogwarts. Although it had been written by a Muggle, and an American at that, Snape had disdainfully opened the first pages of the novella only to find John Steinbeck's character, George Milton, captivated his imagination. While Dumbledore had been no Lennie, and the circumstances had been vastly different, Snape had nonetheless understood the tragedy of George's choices all too well.

Surprisingly, Snape hadn't picked up the book since the war, and while he could still see the excellence of the story, it no longer enthralled him the way it had once. He read the first chapter, but soon put the book down. He wasn't the same man he had been.

Severus Snape had a future. George Milton had none.

Restless, Snape waved his wand, returning the Steinbeck to its place amongst the small collection of Muggle literature. He decided to pay a visit to the Filches. Perhaps he could scare up a good game of chess and one or two of Irma Pince's toasted, buttered crumpets. He was hungry for human food and dinner was a long time to wait.

He met a sour-faced Argus Filch along the fourth floor hallway. The man was wearing his oldest clothes and carrying a bucket and a mop while Mrs. Norris trotted at his heels. "Mr. Filch?"

"Professor Snape. Be glad you're no longer a head of house. Some o' the first year Hufflepuffs have taken it into their heads to open the Chamber of Secrets."

Snape scowled. "It's used as an exhibit at the anniversary celebrations. Don't they know that?"

Filch's expression rivaled the Defense master's. "They wanted to start an Appreciate Harry Potter Club, and thought the chamber would be an appropriate place to hold meetings. Myrtle, bless her black heart, objected." Snape smirked, and Filch said angrily, "It's a mess to clean. All that water."

Snape fell in step with the caretaker as they descended a fixed flight of stairs. "I'm perfectly willing to lend a wand."

"I thought you were meeting Irma at the Three Broomsticks. She got one of those Patronuses this morning."

The two men paused at an intersection of hallways. "And you thought it was mine?" Snape asked.

"Isn't your Patronus a hind?" Filch gestured with one hand, wiggling his fingers atop his head as if they were antlers.

"It used to be a doe." Fleetingly, he had a sympathetic pang for his younger, desperately unhappy self. How relieved Snape had been the first time his owl Patronus had emerged from his wand tip.

"Yeah, that's right."

Impatiently, Snape asked, "Well, what message did it bring?"

"You know I can't understand them!"

"I thought perhaps Irma had translated." As a Squib, Filch could see but couldn't understand Patronus messages. Nevertheless, Snape knew exactly whose had visited Irma Pince. What he didn't know was why. Taking the lead, he said, "Let's dispatch that mess in the girls' lavatory and then I'm bound for the Three Broomsticks."

"You don't think sommat's wrong?" Filch turned in Snape's direction, the bucket swinging in his grip.

"No, but I'll stop in to make certain."

Fortunately, Moaning Myrtle remained in her U-bend, sulking, while Snape flicked and swished and cleaned the small flood in quick and efficient fashion. Filch thanked him and returned to his cozy sitting room for a quiet day in front of the fire.

Snape stopped in at his rooms, via the shortest route, and donned his winter robes before descending to the Entrance Hall and ducking into the cloak room. When he burst into the cold February air he used his wand to melt a narrow path to the road leading to the village. A short ten-minute walk found him amidst the lunch crowd at the tavern. He noticed McGonagall and Sprout seated at a table, conversing little, but Snape recognized the pinched expression on the Animagus' face. He smiled affectionately at the stern Scottish witch. When McGonagall gave her loyalty, she could outlast the staunchest Hufflepuff, and he was the lucky recipient of her friendship.

Without removing his outer garments, he slid quietly to the end of the bar, a location which gave him the best vantage point. Martin Edgecombe was seated at a table with two of his year-mates, surreptitiously showing one another their purchases from the newest of the Weasley franchises. The Three W's, as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was known in Hogsmeade, had opened the previous August and gave Zonko's stiff competition.

Snape perused the crowd; there was no sign of Harry Potter or Irma Pince. He resigned himself to asking the barmaid, a buxom redhead whose age was carefully concealed by a glamour charm. After her ordeal under Draco Malfoy's Imperius curse, Madam Rosmerta no longer served customers directly, although she still ran the tavern which had been in her family for generations.

A waitress entered the public room from the kitchen, levitating a heavily laden tray. Snape's attention honed in on one of the plates which held a serving of Haggis, turnips, and potatoes, one of Hogwarts' librarian's favorite meals. Briefly, he expected Pince to join McGonagall and Sprout even though he knew Pince and Sprout hadn't said more than was civil since his return to teaching. The two women had engaged in a vicious disagreement; Irma Pince would no more sit down to a private meal with Pomona Sprout than he would invite Lucius Malfoy to a Muggle play.

Snape followed the waitress when she ascended the stairs at the back of the tavern. There were four private rooms on the first floor, and hung back until the waitress entered the second room on the left before boldly opening the door to the room directly opposite as if he'd hired it for the day. It was a trick he had learned during his years as a spy. If he acted as if he belonged, then the majority of people assumed he did; rarely was he questioned.

Snape positioned himself next to the door, leaving it open the barest crack, and regretting his lack of an Invisibility Cloak. In lieu of such a coveted magical device, Snape smacked his head with his wand and Disillusioned himself. After a short few minutes, the opposite door opened; he heard Pince's voice and then another woman's reply. He was certain the other woman was Hermione. Of Harry Potter he heard nothing.

He gave the waitress time to have returned to the kitchens before stepping into the hall. The moment he did, he remembered that he was needed back at the school, and in fact, the compulsion was so strong Snape descended three steps before realizing he was under the influence of a spell. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the swell of panic and fear that something was wrong at Hogwarts ... that he had to leave right away ... that he was needed desperately ... elsewhere.

When Snape stopped outside the suspect door, he waved his wand and dismantled the Keep Away spell, privately impressed with its strength. Then, wand in hand, he attempted to listen in, but recognized the signature orange glow of an Imperturbable when he cast a revealing charm on the door. Fortunately, however, the spell had only been cast on the door, and not along the walls; Snape discovered a small hole in the floorboard where some creature, most likely a mouse, had burrowed into the old wood. With a smug smile, he retrieved an Extendable Ear, the 2005 model, from the pocket of his robes, and placing the receiving ear bud in his own ear, he levitated the listening end into the mouse hole.

"Madam Pince..." he heard Harry's voice speaking, "...we know you were hired the same year as Professor Snape, and we know you were at the Shrieking Shack that day. You sent us away."

"As I have already told you, Mr. Potter, I have nothing to say on this subject."

"I heard you," Hermione interjected, her voice pleading. "I heard what you said, and then again in the library when you found me talking to Charlie." From the quality of the following silence, Snape had no trouble imagining the stern expression on Pince's face. "We're not accusing you of harassing Professor Snape." Hermione continued to speak persuasively, and Snape thought she would make a good teacher one day. "On the contrary, we think you might have inadvertently revealed the information to someone else."

"Miss Granger, I would never divulge privileged information."

"Why not?" Harry asked, and his voice turned the two words into a nasty insinuation. "People share secrets all the time."

Again the remarkable disapproving silence filled the air.

From below, in the main room, a burst of noise made it impossible for Snape to hear the conversation. He scowled and stuck a finger in his unencumbered ear, blocking out the noisome interference.

"I'm sure you wouldn't do anything to hurt Professor Snape," Hermione said soothingly, and Snape realized she and her friend were playing a game; both ends against the middle, light Auror, dark Auror. Instinctively, despite the use of the Extendable Ear, Snape leaned closer to the wall, as if proximity could help him hear better. From inside, Hermione prodded. "You've already admitted to knowing his secret."

"I have admitted nothing." Pince was clearly agitated.

"You admitted knowing about the Snape-baiting. You admitted that you knew about the tributes left for him. And you certainly didn't deny knowing Snape well," Harry sneered.

"Harry," Hermione admonished her partner. "Madam Pince, we want to help Professor Snape. Don't you want to help him?"

"Of course I want to help him," the librarian's answer was sharp and angry.

"We're concerned you might have revealed the professor's secret. Don't you want to see the prankster caught?"

"Yes, I want to see them caught, but I would never, never betray Severus."

The sounds of a chair scraping against the floor reached Snape's ear, and he gripped his wand. They already know my secret he wanted to shout.

"Again I'll ask you, Madam Pince, why not?" Harry's tone was strident, and Snape thought he might have been able to hear it through the walls alone. "What do you know about Severus Snape or these Snape-baiting incidents which you're keeping from us?"

And then Irma Pince did the one thing guaranteed to move Severus Snape into action. She sniffled as if she were crying, and when she replied, her voice sounded thick with tears. "I have never betrayed him."

"Are you saying that you're the one leaving the flowers?" Hermione asked.

"No!"

"How can we believe you if you won't answer our questions?"

Pince snuffled and suppressed a noisy sob.

Snape flashed his wand, destroying the Imperturbable on the room's door in an instant; he threw open the door before cancelling his Disillusionment Spell. Later, he would be impressed by their quick reflexes, because as he burst into the room, Harry and Hermione had leapt to their feet – knocking over the table and sending crockery flying – wands in hand, and standing directly between the invisible intruder and Madam Pince.

Twin hexes hit Snape's hastily cast Protego, but one of them, Hermione's he would also later learn, corkscrewed its way through his shield charm and hit him in the thigh. Snape toppled like Neville Longbottom in the Gryffindor common room his first year at school.

When he came to, Snape heard the quiet murmur of voices in the room. He was lying on some sort of divan, and he could feel the presence of someone seated next to him; from the light fragrance, he surmised it was Hermione. "Bloody fucking hell!" he said, groaning, and then he opened his eyes. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" he asked, irritably.

"Probably not," Harry said, smirking but not maliciously.

Hermione was seated at the end of the faded green divan, and her lips trembled on the verge of a wide grin. "I suspect your skills are a little rusty, but you were always a bit impetuous."

Snape snorted.

Harry paced the room, miraculously restored to pre-invasion order, and looked searchingly at both Snape and the librarian, who had gone silent and pale the moment Hermione had removed the Disillusionment Spell on their intruder. Harry paused mid-stride, then held a wordless conversation with Hermione. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, a rarely indulged childhood habit, but then she addressed Madam Pince, "Professor Snape's the reason you have an Incognito file, isn't he?"

"It's comforting to know that you're able to manipulate single integer equations, Miss Granger," Snape said and rose from his recumbent position, only to lean forward and pinch the bridge of his nose. His head hurt.

"It's true though," Harry stated. "You're the reason ... Ah, Merlin on Billiwig Juice!" He turned to face Pince then, his expression carefully neutral, but something about his posture gave away his internal excitement, and he pointed a finger at the librarian. "You're Eileen Prince!"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes darting between mother and son. "How stupid of me! Eileen Prince ... Irma Pince. I'm a Prince."

The librarian said nothing, but her hands clutched each other so tightly, her fingers appeared bloodless.

Snape rose unsteadily to his feet, shaking off Hermione's attempts at lending a hand. "That was either a lucky guess, or proximity to Miss Granger has rubbed off on you, Potter." Two strides took him to his mother's side, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. She was shaking, but she looked at him and her expression was one of relief. "You're quite right, Madam Pince is my mother."

"But why keep it a secret?" Harry asked, stepping round the divan to take a seat next to Hermione. "The war's over."

"As an Incognito, she is geas-bound not to speak of it until the Minister releases her from the spell."

"But Irma Pince," Hermione protested. "It's such an obvious anagram."

"So obvious that no one has ever figured it out," Pince said dryly. "I've grown so used to it I doubt I'd ever change it now. Definitely not while I remain at Hogwarts."

"The Purloined Letter," Snape said by way of explanation.

"What letter?" Harry asked, reversing Snape's recently upgraded opinion in a single question.

"It's a story by Edgar Allen Poe, Harry," Hermione supplied. "It's terribly clever, and in it, the letter – the thing everyone is searching for – is hidden in plain sight, but no one ever finds it; well, until the detective figures it out."

"That's quite clever." Harry nodded his head.

"Indeed," Snape said. "My mother's safety was a condition of my agreement with Dumbledore. If I was to act as a double-agent for him, then she was to be kept safe from any reprisals." One of Pince's hands patted her son's long fingers where they rested upon her shoulders. Aside from a swift look at her, he continued to address Harry and Hermione. "The arrangement remained in place during your formative years because neither Dumbledore nor I were convinced Voldemort was truly vanquished. We had hoped, but didn't believe." He squeezed Pince's shoulder before releasing her. "I would do anything to protect my mother."

Hermione rose to her feet and responded to Snape's last comment. "I understand better than you can imagine."

Snape raised a brow interrogatively.

She spread her hands. "I removed my parents' memories and cast Memory Charms on them before sending them to Australia that last year of the war."

"Good god, how enterprising of you."

She couldn't tell whether he was being facetious or not, but elected to think charitably. "I was terrified," she said, "but with everything happening, I couldn't see any other choice. Aside from Ron and Harry, I didn't have anyone left I could trust with their safety."

"What about Minerva?" Snape asked, unconsciously taking a step closer to her. "Or the Weasleys?"

"After you – well, after that night, I chose to rely only on myself." She turned, briefly, to give Harry an apologetic look, but then faced Snape again. "If I hadn't survived, then at least they would have been happy in their new life."

The Defense master stared at her for a long moment, but it was his mother who said, "It is a loving child who will live with such a burden."

Hermione smiled at the older woman.

"What did you do with their memories?" Snape asked.

"I stored them in a Nutella jar in the kitchen pantry of their house." She took a step in his direction, smiling conspiratorially. "It's one of the reasons I'm so familiar with The Purloined Letter. It's where I came up with the idea."

Snape laughed.

There was a knock at the door and Harry opened it for the waitress. Once their meals were sorted, Snape settled against the divan with a plate of fish and chips, no mushy peas, thank you, and watched his mother shed her carapace while she chatted with Hermione.

Harry had resumed his pacing. When he stopped, he raised his head and looked directly at Hermione. "Unless it's either Filius or Minerva, the logical choice is Vector."

"Vector?" Snape asked, shocked, a bite of fish falling from his fork. His response automatically discounted either of the other two possibilities. His mother's fingers flew to her mouth as if to cover a curse or a gasp, and her teacup rattled as she placed it hastily in its saucer. "You said it was a romantic fixation."

Harry replied, "I did."

"Then it couldn't be Vector. She's a lesbian."

Hermione grinned at Harry triumphantly. Her success was to be short-lived as Pince spoke. "A lesbian? Whatever gave you that idea, Severus?"

Snape stared at his mother dumbfounded. "She isn't? What about Charity?"

Despite the seriousness of the moment, real amusement momentarily lightened the lines on Pince's face. "They were very good friends. Don't tell me you believed all those rumors?"

As if she herself hadn't come to the same erroneous conclusion, Hermione placated Snape. "It's an understandable mistake. However, if it isn't true, then she becomes a prime suspect." Harry's grim expression drew Hermione from her seat, and she crossed to his side, placing a calming hand on his arm. "The taint of Peter Pettigrew's betrayal has changed the way we look at our investigations, but, Harry, Minerva and Filius took the Veritaserum. We know them."

"Severus," Pince's voice was shrill, and it was clear she was frightened, "Minerva's the one who got the Veritaserum that night."

Snape had moved quickly to kneel at his mother's side. "I brewed the potion, and I, too, partook of it. I know it was efficacious. No, Mum, it wasn't either of them."

Harry shrugged before he said, "It's important to explore the possibilities."

Looking down at the kneeling Defense master, Hermione asked, "Does Professor Vector know you're a striga?"

"I bloody well hope not!" Snape surged to his feet. "What reason do you have to consider her a possibility?"

"The blood," Harry stated flatly, leaning one hip against the side of the divan.

"The Muggle blood?"

"Yes." Hermione leaned toward Snape, speaking earnestly. "We've discovered that Hogwarts has an arrangement for a bi-annual shipment of frozen blood. An arrangement put into place the year you, your mother, and Professor Vector started at the school."

"Which is one of the reasons we suspected Madam Pince," Harry added, nodding in the librarian's direction. "She was at the Shrieking Shack the day Hermione and I discovered you in your Animagus form, and she reacted negatively to Hermione's research into owls a few weeks ago. Once we eliminated Martin Edgecombe and my brother-in-law as suspects, and then combined what little we knew with the fact Madam Pince has an Incognito file .... She became our most likely suspect."

"Weasley's too blunt for such trickery. But Edgecombe?" Snape shook his head. "The boy's an agitator certainly, but I wouldn't have said he was a vandal."

"As I said, he's no longer on the list, although he dislikes Hermione quite intensely."

"I wish he didn't have reason." Hermione shifted uncomfortably, but confined her question to the matter at hand. "What can you tell us about the headmistress?"

Pince replied, "She's cordial, but she's always been quite reserved. I believe Charity was her only confidante, and to my knowledge, they weren't lovers. Although I suppose it's possible."

Snape traced his mouth with a finger, deep in thought. "For all that we've worked together for such a long time, I hardly know her. She can be funny and she's extremely competent."

"You did dance with her," Hermione commented.

"I did nothing of the sort."

"At last year's Valentine's dance." Hermione smirked. "I know because Minerva mentioned it in passing. Speaking etiologically, an obsession can be triggered by a seemingly insignificant gesture. Your dancing with her might have been the catalyst."

"You think she's responsible for the boar, and the rodents, and the flowers?" Stepping closer, Snape looked down his long nose at her.

"She could be," Hermione mused aloud. "As Headmistress she has access to all areas of the castle. I've always wondered why the portraits hadn't seen anything, but –"

Snape interrupted, "They are forbidden, on pain of burning, to reveal any information about the headmistress or headmaster."

"Part of their confidentiality clause?"

"And it supports your theory." He strode to the small, dark fireplace. "What about the blood?"

"We don't know." Harry shrugged. "Our most recent conjectures have been that you lied to us about how long you've been an Animagus or that Madam Pince discovered the secret and was tormenting you for some unknown reason."

Snape said stiffly, "What flimsy hypotheses."

"Perhaps, but as Harry mentioned before, it's important to examine all possibilities. Now that you've both been removed from the suspects' list..." Hermione nodded genially at Pince, "...we're left with Vector as the only possible link with the frozen blood. Unless, of course, you've been lying to us all along, and it's for you that Hogwarts imports its supply." Snape's face darkened in anger, and Hermione glanced at Harry, who, in turn, was watching Snape intently. "No?" she asked. "I didn't think so. Harry?"

"Agreed. It's not Snape, but that brings us back to Vector."

Hermione gestured with her hands to enhance her point. "If it is Vector that would explain the results of our revealing spells. We only identified staff members. We found no evidence of students in the South Tower at all, and none in your office, Severus – even though the spells were performed to long after the fact for accuracy."

"As Headmistress, Vector would have had access to my office, without triggering any of the wards. Additionally, she was in my rooms the day the boar was delivered, so any trace you might have found would have been accounted for." Snape rose and paced in counter-point to Harry. "Her visit was anomalous, and I should have mentioned to you that she'd never been there before, but I was distracted by a three-hundred-pound carcass draped across my threshold."

"She was covering her tracks," Hermione replied. "Is it possible she's a Sanguinarian? If so, it would account for her being able to move the boar without assistance."

"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Pince, aghast, her teacup halted between saucer and her mouth. "Who would be mad enough to hire a known parasite to teach small children?"

Snape shot his mother a scathing look. "The same man who hired Remus Lupin to teach those same small children. It wasn't at all beyond his arrogance to hire a Sanguinarian."

For a wonder, Harry didn't leap to Remus Lupin's defense as he would have done as a younger man. As a father, he had found himself questioning a number of Dumbledore's decisions.

Hermione shifted forward, poised on the edge of the divan. "Then I suppose Harry and I know what our next step is. We need to question Professor Vector. Shall we return to Hogwarts with you?"

"The headmistress isn't at the school." Snape stared at the naked grate, his mind spinning at the concept of Vector being his tormentor. "She went to London yesterday. I don't know when she plans to return, but there is a staff meeting Monday morning."

"Then I think we can safely wait until Monday to question her." Harry crossed the room to retrieve his cloak before speaking to the librarian. "I'm sorry to have distressed you, Madam Pince."

"It's understandable, Mr. Potter," she replied. "A little discomfort is negligible if the end result makes my son's life easier."

Snape flushed, and his sallow cheeks filled with color. "Shall we?" he asked his mother pointedly, but she merely patted his arm.

Harry was the first to leave after agreeing upon a time to meet Hermione Monday morning. When he was gone, Snape assisted his mother into her coat. "Why," he asked Hermione, "would she approach me now, and in such a way?"

Hermione answered him as if he had lost the plot. "The message of the flowers makes it quite clear. She's courting you."

Snape snorted.

"It's not inconceivable," she said staunchly, and then looked away when son and mother glanced at her with identically quizzical expressions.

Snape cleared his throat. "The question is not whether it's possible for me to attract that sort of attention, but why now? Why not when I first began teaching? Or when I returned two years ago?"

"If the blood being exchanged with Hogwarts is for her use, then I would suspect her active pursuit occurred after she discovered your dual nature."

"Not before? You mentioned the dance."

"Her interest was probably piqued at that time. Considering the way you move, I'm sure you're an excellent dancer." So involved in developing her theory, Hermione didn't notice Pince's sharpened assessment. "Vector wouldn't have done anything because of her circumstances, but she might have begun to pay close attention to you, which is how she discovered your Animagus form. You began to receive 'gifts' after the dance."

Snape whirled and stalked to the opposite end of the room, muttering to himself. His face was mottled, red and white, as his anger rose.

Pince said quietly, "He did that as a boy. Pace until his temper was under control."

"No wonder he spent so much time patrolling when I was at school, then."

Pince inclined her head, a small affectionate smile curving her thin lips. "It was a very difficult time for him." Hermione touched the older woman's arm in sympathy.

Snape strode up to them, and asked abruptly, "So you believe she's a Sanguinarian?"

"I think it's a real possibility given the situation and our knowledge of Albus Dumbledore's unpredictable nature. It wasn't beyond him to flout rules which hindered his purposes, nor to question the validity of his own actions." Condemnation colored her tone. "If it suited his goal, then what did the safety of three or four hundred children matter?"

He held Hermione's cloak for her, draping it about her shoulders. "I had no idea your opinion of the late headmaster was so ... caustic."

Hermione merely shrugged. "I'm surprised yours isn't."

"We can engage in Dumbledore bashing another time." Snape then retrieved his own cloak, the heavy material fanned outward as he spun it around his own shoulders. "For now, I think we've a working hypothesis, and we should return to the castle. Poor Argus has been left on his own long enough. He'll begin to pine."

Pince snorted, but passed through the door her son held open. "He's probably in our quarters, curled up in front of the fire with that cat of his, listening to the wizarding wireless."

"I thought he might be teaching her to play chess as abysmally as he's played this last year."

"He's been more tired than usual, Severus. This year's students are worse than the last."

Hermione wisely said nothing, but silently added Hogwarts' caretaker to the list of those who knew Snape's secrets, rounding out the five he'd admitted to quite neatly. It would explain why Filch had been so friendly to Snape all these years; Filch was his step-father.

The three descended into the busy main room, while Hermione chatted amiably about Australia and the year she'd spent there with her parents just after the war. The pub was crowded with students taking a break from the cold, staff members taking a break from herding students, and locals enjoying a pint or a late lunch.

Hermione spotted McGonagall, and so she bid mother and son a cordial farewell and crossed to chat with her friend. The post-war years had done much to render Hermione immune from her fame, but she heard her name spoken several times as she wound her way through the crowd, and she greeted several people she recognized as she went.

Regrettably, McGonagall was preparing to take her turn policing the main village, but she invited her young friend to join her. They stepped into the lane outside the Three Broomsticks, and the icy air proved how inadequate Hermione's choice of cloak was for protecting her against the cold.

"You are still considering taking the position, aren't you?" McGonagall asked as they walked past Honeydukes. Hermione noticed the shop was as popular as when she'd been a student.

"Once we solve this case, I plan to accept it if the position is offered."

"I was unaware you'd made a decision." McGonagall's brow creased in thought. "The headmistress mentioned you might no longer be interested."

Her shoes crunching through the dirty streets accompanied Hermione's reply. "I can't imagine where she got that impression."

"She also mentioned the Board of Directors might not approve your appointment."

Hermione stopped in the street, and McGonagall stopped with her. A small cluster of students parted around them, like so many lemmings around a boulder in their path to the sea. "As far as I know," Hermione said, "and Kingsley assured me of this himself, the job's mine if I want it."

McGonagall smiled. "If that's the case, I'll assume you'll be in residence in the autumn."

Hermione laughed. "You're such a Gryffindor, Minerva."

"Thank you, Hermione." McGonagall preened, and then joined her former student in laughter.

The two women toured the village for the next fifteen minutes, snickering at the reactions of students when they saw McGonagall coming. By then, however, Hermione was chilled to the bone. "Next time I'll wear my heavier cloak, although it was warm enough earlier. I've grown soft living in London."

"There's a trick my mother taught me when I was a young girl," McGonagall said primly, dusting an errant snowflake from the sleeve of her robe. "She had a Muggle-born friend who brought something called thermal underwear with her to the castle."

Hermione grinned. "Brilliant. I never even considered it."

"Teaching robes tend to be drafty in the winter, but I've always been quite comfortable," the older witch said.

"I know who I'll be asking for advice next winter. In the meantime, I'm headed back to my flat for a hot bath and some cocoa."

Their goodbyes were brief and affectionate, and within scant minutes Hermione had Disapparated.

Once again, Hermione didn't end up taking a bath when she returned to her flat. Her intentions were to wallow in the hot water, but her earlier Arithmantic projections were spread across her coffee table, and her brain itched to write down her notes from the surprising day. She had already factored Vector's name into several of her equations, but the Pince variable had always skewed her results. On paper, Pince had been the more logical candidate.

Instead of heading into her bathroom, Hermione entered her bedroom and changed her clothes. She ignored her reflection in the cheval mirror standing in the corner, and dropped her dirty clothes into the decorative basket next to her chest of drawers. Then she slipped her legs into a pair of Ron's cast-off track pants which were too long for her, but warm and comfortable, pulled on a pair of thick woolly socks, and then donned a long-sleeved cotton shirt before she slid her arms into her one and only Molly-made cardigan, knitted in a surprisingly becoming pale green yarn.

Five minutes later, Hermione had magically heated water and poured it on top of a pre-packaged mound of cocoa in her mug – she was still useless at cooking anything more than survival food – and was ensconced on her sofa, quill, ink, and fresh parchment ready to commit her thoughts into a semblance of order.

A knock at her door pulled her from her comfortable seat, and a quick glance at the Foe-glass in her entrance showed Septima Vector standing on the other side of her door.

"Fuck!" Hermione swore fervently and quietly, then frantically considered whether to open the door or not.

"Miss Granger?" Vector called through the door, accompanied by another spate of knocking. "Are you home? Minerva thought you should be home by now."

Deciding the risk was worth it – after all she didn't know the headmistress was Snape's stalker– Hermione called, "Just a minute. I'm not dressed."

Hastily she levitated her notes into the kitchen and onto her worktop, and then because she had lived through too much to be a complete fool, Hermione sent a Patronus to Harry.

"Coming!" She slid through the entrance and opened the door. "Professor Vector, what an unexpected pleasure. I hadn't realized you knew where I lived."

"I saw Minerva on my way back to school, and she gave me your address."

It seemed out of character for McGonagall to volunteer such information, and Hermione would her ask about it later. "Of course. Come in, please."

The elder witch entered, never noticing the Foe-glass Hermione had blocked with her body, and glided gracefully through the entry and into the flat proper. She was, as usual, dressed with understated elegance, her hair folded and tucked into a crown of shining black atop her head. "This is charming, Hermione."

"Thank you. I'm afraid you've caught me at a bit of a loss, Prof...er – Seven."

"Did you have plans tonight? I was under the impression you were in for the evening."

Hermione pointed to her mug of steaming cocoa. "My only plans were that, a good book, and a hot bath. I hadn't remembered how cold Hogsmeade could be."

Vector smiled in amusement. "Then you don't mind that I've come without notice?"

"Curious, perhaps, but that's not to say you aren't welcome."

"I saw the Minister today and he endorsed your appointment as Hogwarts' Arithmancy Professor."

"Did he?" Hermione smiled, and gestured for her guest to have a seat.

"Yes," Vector said as she looked about her with interest, her eyes glancing into the kitchen and lighting on the worktop for a brief moment, before she choose the squashy chair angled toward the sofa, the one with its back to the wall of bookcases.

Hermione perched on the edge of her sofa. "Have you changed your mind about offering me the position?"

Vector smoothed the skirt of her forest green robes. "I'd like to be honest with you."

"By all means." Hermione had never considered that the headmistress might dislike her, but if Vector was in her Foe-glass, then dislike was too pale a description. It was difficult to know if Vector's enmity was a result of the Snape situation or something else. While she waited for Vector's response, she palmed the butt of her wand where it was tucked between the sleeve of her cardigan and shirt.

"I have considered whether you'd be happy at Hogwarts. You would be the youngest member of the staff. And aside from the other children, there would be no one for you to interact with."

Ignoring the insult, Hermione answered cordially enough. "I already have friends there, and I would be a mere Apparition away from anyone else. I'm fascinated by the subject, and I have an ulterior motive as well."

Vector's spine, already straight, seemed to grow rigid. "Yes?"

"There isn't another Muggle-born on staff." Hermione's instincts prickled and she carefully shifted her feet for better leverage. "It occurred to me that I might be a role model."

"I remember your misguided efforts with S.P.E.W."

Recognizing Vector's comment as a gambit, Hermione bit her tongue on a reflexive retort and gave a more measured response. "If my introduction to wizarding culture had been less erratic, I suppose I might not have proceeded as I did. I can assure you, Headmistress, I don't have plans to pass out badges promoting equality for Muggle-borns."

"How reassuring," Vector replied, and her eyes glanced back toward the kitchen. "It occurs to me that your original impetus for exploring other career opportunities has been assuaged. Ron Weasley was recently quoted in The Daily Prophet regarding his interest in expanding the family business onto the continent. I see no further impediment to your remaining at the Ministry."

"Other than my own inclinations, you're quite correct. But, since I've spent some time at the castle recently, I'm leaning in that direction more and more."

"Is there some specific reason you're considering it over your other options?"

Vector's look was almost invasive, but there had been nothing in her file to suggest she was a Legilimens. Still, Hermione avoided looking directly at her, focusing instead on the woman's delicate earrings.

It was possible to read too much into Vector's obvious attempt at dissuading her from accepting the teaching position, which might account for her appearance in the Foe-glass. Distinguishing malicious intent was a knife-edged difficulty many Aurors faced, one of the reasons so many were paranoid. Mad-Eye Moody had once said, It's not paranoia if they really do want to kill you. But as a precaution, Hermione angled her forearm across her lap, pointing her wand directly at Hogwarts' headmistress, before answering her question. "Other than looking for a position in which I might make a meaningful contribution to our world, none."

Vector's eyes flicked back to the kitchen once again. "I would imagine your position at the Aurory would give you ample opportunity. The Minister gave me to understand he would support whatever decision you made."

"Kingsley is very good."

"Kingsley?" Vector's attention refocused on Hermione.

"We were in the Order of the Phoenix together. His step-son is Harry's godson, and we've all been friends for a long time."

"It had slipped my mind. Forgive me."

"Quite all right." As the woman looked back into the kitchen, Hermione's unease increased. Hurry up, Harry! She rose to her feet, remembering the second step in hostile interrogation: dampen the tension with mundane diversions. "I'm so sorry. I haven't offered you any refreshment. I do have things other than cocoa in the house."

Vector rose to her feet as well, her eyes never leaving a spot in the kitchen. "So I see. What are you doing with a vial of blood in your kitchen, Miss Granger?"

Every swear word Hermione knew vied for vocalization as she sought an appropriate response. "It's for work."

Regrettably, it was the wrong thing to say.

She knew it as soon as the words left her lips, and she shifted her wand further into her palm.

"For work?" Vector's voice was sharp.

Still maintaining the fallacy of a social conversation, Hermione said, "I'm attempting to combine Muggle science with wizarding forensic analysis, and I practice here at home."

"Then having two of my vials in your possession has nothing to do with your Special Assignment for the Minister of Magic?"

It took all of Hermione's training to remain superficially calm. "You have no idea how difficult it has been to ascertain the fact that they belong to you, Professor."

The second Hermione made the decision to Stupefy her uninvited guest, Vector acted. Faster than one could draw breath, Vector was suddenly there, holding Hermione's arms in place, in a grip strong enough to cut off the blood flow to her hands.

The young Auror had never seen anyone or anything move that fast. Vector's expression was as unyielding as a statue. "I hadn't intended for anyone other than Severus Snape to know."

"Headmistress," Hermione managed to say soothingly, "I'm sure you know Professor Snape is a very private man."

Vector's eyes narrowed then; they were black and pitiless, and Hermione wondered how she had never noticed before. She stifled a shudder and braced her inadequate Occlumency shields – for all her practice, she wasn't very good – but she was unable to drag her eyes away from her captor's. Hermione felt the brush of a preying, alien mind, and when Vector spoke, her voice carried the chill of dead things. "I know Severus Snape in ways you cannot imagine, witchling. We share a heritage you know nothing about."

Hermione tried to blink, to focus her defenses, but her thoughts were sluggish, disconnected, and her fingers were numb from blood-constriction. It was as if she'd been Imperio'd; it took considerable effort for her to speak, each word took supreme effort. "He doesn't ... like ... the harassment. There ... are ... laws which ... forbid ... it."

Vector laughed, and it was the most unpleasant sound Hermione had heard since she had writhed at Bellatrix Lestrange's feet. "Severus would never pursue that course of action. He would lose his position if there was any hint of scandal, and with his reputation, it is by no means certain that he would find a position anywhere else."

"My god," Hermione gritted out, despite the overwhelming urge to submit to the other woman's will. "You've ... planned ... this for ... a long ... time."

"You, witchling, aren't the only one to find Severus Snape attractive, but he is not for the likes of you." Her dark eyes bore into Hermione's, mesmerizing the younger woman as if Vector were a cobra fascinating its terrified prey. "It is time to leave now. I am not reckless enough to think you invited me into your home without taking precautions."

Hermione forced the words through unwilling lips. "All you ... have to do ... is leave ... the professor ... alone. We ... won't ... reveal ... your secret."

"He is my chosen mate!" Vector moved, carefully skirting the furniture while never losing eye contact with her victim. She released Hermione's arms then, and her mouth formed into a feral smile.

At that moment Hermione saw her fangs.

"Come!" Vector commanded.

Hermione's muscles obeyed the order even as she fought the compulsion. Sweat broke out on her brow and trickled down her spine as she tried to resist Vector's control. Able to throw off the Imperius Curse since she was eighteen, Hermione had never fully appreciated the power of a Sanguinarian's enticement before. Deep in the recesses of her mind, however, she thought, do not consider me a fool either, and as she followed her captor, Hermione managed to shake her wand from her sleeve.

Vector's reflection filled the entire Foe-glass, but neither woman noticed, one because she was controlling her victim, the other because she was resisting with every erg of her own power.

The CRACK of their dual Apparition was loud enough to echo in Hermione's bathroom.

~o0o~