Chapter 30

XXX.

Hermione didn't know if Ron went to the Headmistress' study to talk to Albus Dumbledore's portrait or not. She did know that, aside from a few tight-lipped looks around her for a couple of days, he did settle down and act his normal self again. Harry, thankfully, remained blissfully unaware of the truth behind the awkward undercurrents.

Grateful that her redheaded friend had developed enough maturity and tact to keep his mouth shut, Hermione continued working with Severus in his Russel guise as they brewed the Anima Te. When she had the time to spare in the late evenings, she visited Professor Flitwick to continue discussing a potential Charms apprenticeship with him. Of all of her future career options, that one was beginning to look more and more like the perfect match for her skills, and a career as a teacher a possible outlet for her desire to share what she learned with others.

Aside from the removal of her Velocitemplet, she didn't experience any further nausea. No morning-sickness whatsoever. Poppy's examinations, conducted late in the evenings as the weeks progressed, showed that Hermione was in the peak of her health, and having a near-perfect pregnancy. A fact which irked the mediwitch to no end, since her own pregnancies years ago--Poppy had borne two sons, long since grown and moved off into mediwizardry careers of their own--had been miserable affairs of nausea, bloating, crankiness, and general over-all misery.

It did make Hermione curious, though, as to whether or not she'd created a new Charm, the night she'd double-uncursed her husband. Lying in his bed after five and a half hours of gruelingly fast-paced preparation work for one of the potion's stages, she stared at the pages of the book in her hand. She didn't really see the text, nor the cramped writings scribbled in the margins by Severus' mother.

First, I used Fecundis Potentis, which I'd intended to create the 'most perfect' or 'most powerful' form of fertility. But that didn't seem to work, she admitted to herself. So I tried a variation, Fecundis Maximis, intended to bring the recipient to maximum fertility. That worked. Merlin, it worked to the point where he literally ripped off my jeans, Hermione thought, glancing briefly at the man reclining next to her, reading another of his mother's margin-scribbled books as he lay propped up on extra pillows conjured against the headboard. But what if the first version did work?

That was an intriguing idea. It was made even more noteworthy by the fact that her husband, in his irritation at being hexed, had snapped those two Charms right back onto her. Which means, if Fecundis Potentis affected me, I was brought to my own 'most perfect' form or fertility, as well as to my, erm, most aroused form, thanks to the latter spell... The implications being that, if both of us were hit with 'most perfect' fertility, then this would be a 'most perfect' pregnancy...

Another thought struck her. I unfortunately don't have the time to figure this out right now, but if I can experiment on lab-mice or something, if I'm right, then our progeny could very well be 'most perfect' as well--the most perfect selection of ovum and sperm available. A shiver ran through her. The Fecundis Maximis could be used to counteract infertility in couples, which could raise the birth-rate among the wizarding community. That birthrate, mostly among Purebloods, but somewhat among Half-Bloods as well, has been declining because of inbreeding. Fecundis Potentis, on the other hand, would take care of the increased likelihood I've noticed for Squibs to be born among the Pureblooded sector.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione winced. Oh, shite. I just created the perfect 'master-race' spell--and I'm about as far from racist as anyone could get! ...That is, if the spell works as I think it does. I really need to experiment with it a bit more, before I'll know for certain.

There were potential uses for both spells: women who suffered horrible pregnancies could benefit from Potentis, and those who suffered from impotence and infertility could benefit from Maximis. But Hermione didn't want to let control of either new Charm escape her grasp. First of all, I don't want anyone knowing how to create a 'most perfect' race of wizards and witches. Second, I don't want only one person to have Maximis cast on them at the time, and have them practically rape the other person, in their sexual haste. Not everyone has as much self-control as Severus and I do.

Maximis could be a potent fertility Charm, however, when applied mutually on a fully consenting couple. For a few moments, Hermione allowed herself to picture a future where she was the wizarding world's equivalent to Dr. Ruth. Her mouth curved in humour as she pictured herself poking her wand around the corner of a hotel room wherein a husband and wife stood naked and waiting, zapping them both with a silent version of the spell, and closing the door quickly as the two tore into each other lustily. But not just any couple, she decided silently.

Too many couples--not all by any means, but still, too many of them--leap into sex without thought for consequences. Too many couples get married because of those consequences. And too many people, both male and female, just aren't cut out to be parents. Not good ones, at any rate. Severus' own parents fought, and cheated on each other, and I get the impression his father probably drank, too, as well as womanized. Maybe even beat his wife and child, when he was drunk. I wouldn't go around demanding that people who do things like that can't have children...but I definitely wouldn't want to ensure they had children, with these spells...

Anyone I tell about my new Fertility Charms would have to undergo a rigorous screening for their own sense of caution, discretion, and ethics... Maybe I could develop a spell book that, like Lucrezia's, weeded out those who were worthy of reading its contents from those who were not...though my criteria would be a bit different than hers. And I'd definitely need to experiment on lab-mice or something, to make sure my suppositions are true, rather than just theorems.

But all of that would have to wait until after the war was over. A lot of things in her life would have to wait until the war was over, really. By the start of April, it should all be over--Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Dementors sucking the joy out of the wizarding and Muggle worlds alike. At least, she hoped and prayed it would all be over.

Returning her attention to the book in her hands, she turned the page. It was a volume of basic Charms. Not a textbook, per se, but a tome of relatively simple spells. Many, she knew already, but every once in a while, she'd caught the title of one that she didn't know, yet. So she was skimming the text along with Eileen's margin-written notes. On the right-hand page, she spotted a new spell, something called the Foxfire Charm. Intrigued, she read the description.

The Foxfire Charm is very helpful when it comes to locating several similar objects. The witch or wizard can use it to quickly locate objects in, say, a messy room. One simply needs to have in one's hands one of the objects to be located--say one sock, while looking for several socks--cast the incantation, and instantly all socks within the designated vicinity will begin to glow with a phosphorescent halo. The boundaries of the charm are line-of-sight; searching for socks in more than one room would require multiple castings, but searching for rare flowers in a meadow could span more than a hundred yards...

"YESSS!" Hermione jolted upright, disturbing the dark-haired man reading next to her. Before he could do more than lower his own note-riddled book, she had scrambled out of the bed and raced for the door. Bursting into his sitting room, she found the desk, threw herself into its chair, and scrabbled for paper, quill and ink, frantic to diagram her ideas. She didn't notice how cold the sitting room was until she felt a blanket being draped over her shoulders.

Thankfully, he didn't interrupt her scribblings, which would've interrupted her leaping trains of thought. Instead, he waited patiently as she muttered unintelligibly to herself, scratched out some ideas, marked down others, and finally synthesized what was in her mind. Setting down her quill, Hermione allowed herself a moment to relax, but only a moment.

"Now...to see if it will work." Craning her head, she looked up at Severus. Like her, he was clad in pyjamas, as it was too cold to lie in bed reading without them. But unlike her, he had taken the time to don a dressing gown over his nightshirt. "I need several similar objects that you wouldn't mind losing--small things, like inexpensive potions ingredients, or something."

Nodding, he lifted his wand, flicking open the glazed front of a cupboard hutch in the corner of the room. "Accio popcorn."

Hermione's brows rose as a jar sailed out of the cupboard and landed in his hand. She hadn't expected that. Opening the jar, he offered the dried kernels to her. Flashing him a smile, she scooped out a fistful, and nodded at the rest. "You'd better put the rest of those out of my line of sight."

Recapping the jar, he opened a drawer in the desk and hid the jar inside. Once it was shut, Hermione cast a Levitation Charm on the handful of popcorn, then cast it out into the room, scattering it through the air. Rising from the chair, she snagged the nearest kernel, held it in her palm, and began the two-part spell.

"Fosphignilocurum!"

The room gleamed with greenish pinpoints of light.

"Disspeculumbustio! "

The room exploded with multiple pops, like a string of firecrackers that had gone off. But rather than leaving behind fluffy white kernels, puffs of smoke hung in the air, before drifting downward as a faint, fine white ash. Grinning, Hermione dug into the desk, found another handful of popcorn kernels. Severus snapped his wrist, Transfiguring them into tiny metal washers in her palm.

Hermione, knowing he wanted the charm to work on metal, cast her own spells. Another Levitation Charm, another casting of the lot into mid-air--Severus caught and stayed her hand. Summoning a dragon-hide glove from his bedroom, he donned it, giving her a warning look. With his gloved left hand, he plucked one washer from midair, and tried it himself.

"Fosphignilocurum! ...Disspeculumbustio! " Again, a greenish scattering of lights, this time followed by blazing-white spots that slowly turned yellowish-orange, then dullish red, then cooled down into bits of silvery metal once more. A grin split his face, followed by a triumphant bark of a laugh. "Ha! "

"I take it this satisfies your need, regarding this spell?" Hermione asked, curious but trying not to show how badly she wanted to know what he intended to use it for.

Turning to her, he dropped the now cooled metal on his desk, stripped off the glove, and cupped her face in his palm. Triumph still glowed in his eyes as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "...Eminently."

Covering her mouth with his own, he didn't give her a chance to ask anything, let alone what he wanted to do with the new spell. Not that she was complaining at the way he let his tongue do the rest of his praising. Mysterious need or not, the man certainly knew how to express his appreciation for her gift.

...

It wasn't until later--much later--that he slumped his sweating body beside hers on the bed, and asked as soon as his breathing had calmed, "So...what set you on that path?"

Hermione looked around for the book. It wasn't in sight, so she dragged her pleasantly exhausted body out of the bed. Sure enough, it was still in the living area, on the desk. Her wand was on the floor, along with her pyjama top and his dressing gown. The bottoms had made it as far as the bedroom. Scooping up everything on her way back, she sorted the clothing onto a chair, her wand onto the nightstand, and climbed back into bed with him. He pulled her into a kiss, first, then released her, allowing her to explain.

Feeling her lips split with a silly grin, she showed him the book. "An Introduction to Helpful Household Charms, that's what."

"What made you pick up such an elementary text?" he asked her, taking the book from her fingers with a soft frown. "I thought we were going to be looking through the later books, not something she would've picked up in her first few years of school."

"It was slotted between a couple of seventh-year texts. I didn't realize it was full of basic spells until I'd started reading it. I kept reading it when I realized I didn't know one in every eight or nine of the spells they listed."

The corner of his mouth curved up as he opened the front cover. "Terminal student."

"Perennial bibliophile, too," she retorted--and was jolted by his elbow as he sat up abruptly, eyes widening enough to show the whites all the way around his black irises. Hermione sat up quickly, too. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Tilting the fly-leaf towards her, he pointed at the writing on the dark blue-grey paper lining the inside of the cover. It was neat, but small, and scribed along the edge. Libris ex Antonin.

"Antonin...Dolohov? " Hermione asked breathlessly, her hand going to her shoulder and upper chest. She no longer bore the scar, thanks to the skills of the Healers of St. Mungo's, but she remembered the searing agony of the violent spell he had struck her down with, back at the Ministry over a year and a half ago.

"Of course. He even looks a little like my father," he muttered. "He must've seemed attractive to her, because of it...and he has been known to seduce other men's wives--Antonin killed my mother!" His face twisted into a scowl of hatred she had only seen a few times before, when he'd been yelling at Harry.

Hermione quickly touched his arm. "Calm your mind, Severus! You cannot go back among them with hatred for him burning in your heart. Practice your Occlumency! Which is more important," she added as he glared at her for the reminder. "Your bringing down Dolohov for your mother's murder, or all of us bringing down the Dark Lord? Which must come first, Severus?"

He didn't say anything, though his scowl deepened. Fingers curling around the edges of the book, he finally growled and flung it across the room. Hermione winced internally as the defenceless book thwapped into the far wall and fell to the floor, its pages crumpled. She eyed her husband, who had dropped his elbows to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

Concerned, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Grateful he didn't shrug it off, she urged him onto his back after a few moments, pulling up the covers to keep his naked, still-damp chest warm. She draped her arm over his ribs, nestling her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he twisted to face her, pulling her close. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed deeply a couple of times, then sighed heavily, as if letting go of an internal burden.

"You're right. Bringing down the Dark Arse is far more important."

Surprised he would make such a joke of Voldemort's most commonly used sobriquet, Hermione bit back a giggle. Squeezing him back, she returned, "And I'm very proud of the choices you've been making, because of it."

He mumbled something, a string of epithets she was glad she hadn't heard very clearly. Nuzzling his face into her hair, he offered, "So. You treated me to my birthday. What would you like for Valentine's Day? It is less than a week away."

"You remembered Valentine's Day?"

"It would be out of character for Russel to forget," he allowed, "though as Snape, I would rather consign the entire holiday to an acid-soaked oblivion.

"I see. So...what does Severus think of the holiday?"

A heavy sigh warmed her ear and tickled its lobe with the shifting of her hair. "I have no bloody idea. I've had one happy Valentine's Day in my entire life, if that tells you anything."

"Oh?" Hermione enquired.

"Narcissa Black let me kiss her, that day. It was in exchange for the flowers I had given her. Snow crocuses, and very difficult to find at that time of year, since they normally bloom a month later. They were a part of my Seventh Year Herbology project," he reminisced.

Hermione wasn't so sure she wanted to hear about her rival for his affections, even if she hadn't been born back when Narcissa Black, now Malfoy, had held her husband's heart. She didn't show it, though. If he wanted to open himself up to her, she would listen without judgment...or at least strive to not judge.

"But then she received a huge bouquet of roses by owl-mail; it took three owls to carry them. They were from the man her parents had just selected for her to marry, once she left school. I've hated roses ever since," he muttered under his breath.

That explains a lot, Hermione thought, remembering Harry's comment about having seen Snape blasting roses from the bushes here at the school, at one point. "So what do you like?"

He stiffened slightly in her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you don't find roses romantic, and for good reason, I'd say," she offered reasonably into his shoulder, keeping him close with her arms. "You don't strike me as a chocolates sort of man, either, though I could always be wrong. What would you like for Valentine's Day? What would you find romantic?"

Severus pulled back just far enough to push her hair out of her face and frown at her. "Jane, even I know that romantic gestures on Valentine's Day are the obligation of the male!"

Her own brow furrowed. "It's not an obligation of either gender, but a gift of affection someone chooses to bestow upon another!"

Brow creasing further, he demanded, "--Are you saying that you want to show affection for me?"

"Yes," she drawled, with an obvious 'duhh' in her tone. "What, did you think I lied to Ron when I told him I was happy with my marriage?"

"You weren't happy when you found out who I was!" he retorted sharply.

"Of course I wasn't! I was in shock, and I didn't know at the time if I could trust you. Both of us made mistakes, over that whole mess," Hermione dared to remind him. "But since we've learned from our mistakes--or at least, I hope we've learned from them--things have settled down quite nicely between the two of us. Why shouldn't I be happy?" At his stunned expression, Hermione segued smoothly into her attack by lifting her hand and cupping his cheek. "You can be miserable in this marriage if you want to, Severus. I choose to be happy. Now, tell me what you want for Valentine's Day, and I'll see if I can procure it."

For a moment, she thought he would retreat. She really thought he would; after all, he'd done it before. But instead of rolling away, or even getting out of the bed, he inhaled, blinked, and rolled only onto his back, where he stared up at the ceiling for a moment. "...Dinner. At our hotel room, since it has a kitchen. You will provide that. I will provide the rest."

Biting back a smile of triumph, Hermione draped her arm over his chest, snuggling into his shoulder. "Deal."

...

Valentine's Day was ruined, thanks to the Basilisk Bastard. Severus--or rather, Russel--had gone out to a video rental store and picked up a stack of movies. Hermione had fixed a pot-roast in a crock-pot, something that could be allowed to sit while they worked on the Anima Te for a few hours. When they came back, they slotted the first movie into the machine attached to the television set. It was a Jackie Chan movie--all three of them were Jackie Chan movies--filled with badly dubbed lines in English, but plenty of action, humor, and even a bit of slapstick romance. Hermione would never have thought it of him, but it was good to see him laughing and relaxing and enjoying himself, even if he clung to his blond hair and grey eyes while he did so.

Unfortunately, near the climax of the first movie, he hissed and clutched at his forearm. She hadn't even had time to bring out dessert, a pear pie she'd made from scratch the previous night, after he had departed. Staying only long enough to give her a kiss, he departed. Hermione finished watching the movie, but didn't insert the other movies into the video player. It just wasn't the same. Instead, she paced, worried, and finally fell asleep in their bed.

He returned an unknown time later, waking her as he Apparated into the suite with a bang. Sleepily, she watched him strip out of his Severus clothes, and welcomed him into her arms when he slipped into bed with her. He didn't seek sex, though she half expected it. Instead, he seemed to need comfort a lot more. Much as she wanted to question him about where he'd gone, what he'd done, the things he'd seen, Hermione sensed that now was not the time to ask. What he needed from her was comfort, and that was what was he received.

When he finally settled into sleep, it was with her spooning against his back, instead of the usual other way around. Hermione was glad he didn't mind doing it this way; she couldn't quite cover his back the way he could hers, but she was about two months along, now. There wouldn't be many more opportunities in the near future for this particular position. She had to start sleeping on her side, anyway; her clothing was getting distinctly snug, as the weeks progressed.

Poppy had recommended taking things easy, insisting that Hermione remember to put her feet up for half an hour in the middle of each day--whether that was an actual daytime day, or one of her middle-of-the-night, brewing-the-Anima-Te 'days'. Molly had offered to show her waistline-expanding charms for her jeans, though she had recommended switching to dresses with stretchy shorts underneath to keep her thighs from chafing, in later months. Daphne Granger had even suggested making a girls' trip to Marks & Spencer for new things with her daughter. They'd have to arrange for an Order escort, but Hermione thought that might be nice, a girls' trip to the maternity department...

Hermione lay in bed, cuddling her sleeping husband, and wondered what he'd be like, if he let himself sink into his Russel disguise long enough to go shopping for maternity and baby things in a Muggle store. It was both amusing and disturbing to contemplate. Of course, she had no idea if he'd ever let himself do that as Severus. It definitely wasn't a Snape sort of thing to do, that much was certain. But until Voldemort was dead, truly and thoroughly, he couldn't ever completely abandon the Snape side of his life.

Assuming he would want to, once the war was gone.

And assuming they both lived, of course.

...It wasn't the best Valentine's Day of her life, but it wasn't the worst, really.

...

When Ron's birthday came, it caused a bit of a scrum in the undercurrents at 12 Grimmauld Place. Molly wanted to celebrate her son's eighteenth natal day at the Burrow, the first one she could celebrate with him since packing him off to Hogwarts. This would allow her to invite her other sons, Harry, Hermione...and Russel. Ron didn't want Russel to come. He had kept his mouth shut on the subject of Who Russel Really Was, but he did not want Russel--Snape--at the Burrow any more than absolutely necessary.

In fact, Hermione got the distinct impression that, if he could rescind her husband's Secret-Kept knowledge of the Burrow's location, he would. Harry just thought Ron was having a resurgence of jealousy, aggravated by the fact that, the weekend just before, Hermione had gone maternity shopping with her mother and Molly Weasley, and compounded by the way Mrs. Figg was tutting over her skeins of wool, trying to pick out the softest, prettiest yarn to make a 'wee baby blanket'. A brief discussion of the problem with her husband while they were grating yam skins, and Russel sent Molly his 'regrets' in a note, stating that he really couldn't spare the time away from his duties.

The party went fairly smoothly after that, save that Ron moped with a hint of glowering in her direction now and again. Hermione suspected he was back to being jealous and resentful that she wasn't his girl anymore. Harry at least had Ginny, sort of; they couldn't have an open relationship because of the war, but they could at least long for each other. She had Russel, who was Severus Snape, and that just twisted Ron's knickers, from the way his nose would wrinkle unhappily now and again. Ron had no one. In fact, with Tonks dating Remus, and even Mrs. Figg snogging Mad-Eye Moody, the only female who drifted through Headquarters on any regular basis was Violetta, the Auror...and she'd been outed as a fancier of fellow females, thanks to Sigurd.

Hermione could have almost wished for Lavender 'Won Won' Brown to be out of school and in the Order. Just to give them all a distraction, not merely Ron. As it was, she spent most of her time at the party in the kitchen, giving him his space and trying not to shove her marital status in his face. The distance between them was putting a strain on their friendship, but in one thing, Ron and Hermione were agreed: they left Harry out of their differences entirely. No forcing him to choose sides, no arguments in front of his face. No telling him who his brother-in-law really was. The prophecied saviour of the wizarding world didn't need that kind of stress.

...

Apparating into their hotel room, Hermione moved over to the nightstand, looking for one of the Eileen-written books she had left behind a few nights ago. With the reopening of Severus' quarters at the School, they had taken to staying there more frequently, but some nights were just too cold to sleep in a dungeon, even though it was nearing the Equinox and the start of Spring. She wanted to go over one of the Herbology books she'd been reading, and found it on the bedside table.

Straightening, she turned back to the rest of the room, rubbing at the small of her back. She wasn't big by any means--there was barely even a visible bump in her belly--but the shift in her center of gravity was beginning to make itself known. Glancing across the room idly, she started to focus her mind for Apparating back to Headquarters so she could Floo back to the school. Her idle gaze spotted an anomaly in the room.

Sitting on the table was a large bucket filled to the brim, and then some, with the ugly little lumps of bezoars. Tied to the handle with a red ribbon was a note. Curiosity drew her forward, but wariness drew her wand. There was no way that Old Abe should have known where their little Muggle suite was located. No way that he could have known...wasn't there?

But it was undeniably a gallon's worth of bezoars, and then some. Prodding the note with her wand, she made it untie and unfurl itself.

My Dear Boy,

Abe

This is a Muggle suite? At the Hogs Head Inn? But, it looked so real!

Hermione crossed to the windows, peering through a crack in the curtains. It looked like somewhere in Birmingham, or Leeds, somewhere on the verge between urban and suburban territory. She moved over to the door and peered through the spy hole. The fish-eye view looked like a modern hotel corridor, with soft lighting, carpeting, and non-moving paintings on the walls at intervals. Obviously, there were some very complex charms cast on the place to make it look and act utterly Muggle. Returning to the table, she stared at the bucket of bezoars, thinking hard.

Severus has been communicating with Albus, which means he's been sneaking into the Headmistress' study without my eye upon him...an eye I promised Minerva I'd keep on him.

A pop heralded her husband's arrival. He moved up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Then stilled, seeing the note over her shoulder.

"Reading my correspondence?"

"We're at the Hogs Head, aren't we?" Hermione returned quietly, in lieu of an answer.

"...Yes."

A connection made itself in her brain. "And Abe...is Aberforth Dumbledore, isn't he?"

"Yes." A pause, and Severus added, "I used to think you were little more than a parrot, spewing forth only what you'd read. A clever bird, but only a bird."

A soft laugh escaped her, and a scrap of melody from something her grandmother used to sing when she was a child. "'She's only a bird in a gilded cage...' Only in this case, it's a Muggle hotel suite, and I'm not locked inside. You've been helping Old Abe communicate with his brother's portrait, haven't you? Behind my back, no less, when I'd promised Minerva I'd keep an eye on you whenever you were at the School."

"Yes, but if it helps any...Minerva knows and has sanctioned my visits to his portrait on his brother's behalf." His arms, clad in black, fine-spun wool, squeezed around her. "I'm slowly getting used to seeing him like that."

Though it was subtle, and most everyone else might've missed it, Hermione heard the twinges of pain and remorse buried in his tone. Squirming around, she wrapped him in her arms, resting her head against his frock-coat clad shoulder. He was growing more accustomed to holding her, to letting her hold him. Hermione accepted it as a positive sign in their relationship. The war would be won or lost on something as simple as this, after all.

Something as simple as love.

I love him.

She accepted that fact, standing in his black-clad embrace next to a bucketful of bezoars. She honestly loved Severus Snape. It wasn't the sex, though that was undeniably fabulous, in her opinion. It was the little things, actually. Reading quietly, companionably in bed next to him. Eating a meal over a jigsaw puzzle. Working side-by-side to prepare ingredients. Exchanging comments, some serious, some snide or amused, over the marks written in the margins of his mother's books.

The way he felt in her arms when she held him, and the way she felt when she was held in his. When she was with him, it felt like she was home, in a way that had nothing to do with owning a house. Squeezing him a little harder, she stepped back out of the embrace. "...As lovely as it would be to stand here forever with you, I should probably head to Gringotts and get those fifty Galleons out of our vault."

"Don't go alone," Severus ordered her. "Take someone with you. Fifty Galleons is a lot to carry, and it's late."

"Harry should still be at the Hogwarts library. I'll take him," she promised. "Or Ron. I think he's over his sulks. I hope he's over his sulks," Hermione added wryly.

"We'll see. Jane...I do not want you in the Room of Requirement during the boiling-down process," Severus stated, studying her with a shuttered, almost Snape-like expression. "The Diary states that the steam is toxic. And though it does give a list of filtering and cleansing wards to use, you should not risk your health."

Suspecting he anticipated an argument, Hermione nodded. Her hand slipped over her lower abdomen, where the front of her jeans had been spell-expanded by an inch already. "I don't think I'll argue...but I will be on-hand."

That arched his brow. "Did you just contradict yourself?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'll just have the Room of Requirement conjure two rooms, one with a glass wall that you enter through, and the other with the cauldron and its wards. A room with two separate ventilation systems." She flashed him a smile. "I'm getting really good at directing the Room of Requirement to do what I want, these days."

"So I noticed." Hand lifting, he brushed the backs of his knuckles down the curve of her cheek to her jaw. "You are a very strong-willed woman, Jane. I do appreciate that, at times."

Her mouth curved wryly on one side. "You're a strong-willed man, Severus. The last thing you need in your life is a doormat."

Fingers under her chin, lifting her face a little, he dipped his head to hers, kissing her. It wasn't a heated kiss, just a brush of his lips over hers, a brief, firm press, and a slow withdrawal. Stepping back, he watched her wordlessly as she gathered her wits, made sure she had the book she came to collect, and Disapparated to Headquarters, still blushing.

That kiss was a very promising sign, following right on the heels of that conversation. Appearing in her bedroom, Hermione stared at the words she had written and pinned to her wall. Love is worth whatever pain you have to suffer, whatever risk you have to take, just to know even one gentle touch from your lover.

His hand and mouth had been gentle, touching her. Initially during her plan to, well...woo Severus Snape, for lack of a better term, Hermione had wanted to guide him into accepting gentle touches from her. To feel affection and caring from her, and possibly even love, in the beginning. Definitely love, now. But he had just managed to do the same for her, though she didn't know if it was inadvertent, deliberate, or instinctual on his part.

Love is worth the pain, she thought, lifting her hand to her cheek, tracing the flesh he had brushed with his own fingers, just to feel a gentle touch from your lover...

...

It was done. The Infusio di Anima Te was done. Brewed, reduced, scraped, boxed, and waiting to be made into tea. The cauldron used to make it was now piled with nearly all of the bezoars purchased through Old Abe, plus a few from less clandestine resources, the area scrubbed of all concerns, and an old teapot fetched clandestinely from Trelawney's classroom by a scowling but compliant Kreacher. It was now late, but not too late, around two in the morning, and everything but the cup was ready to go.

Leaving her husband to watch over the Room of Requirement and anchor its existence, Hermione Floo'd down to Madam Pince's office. She found Harry and Ron with their heads bent over the stacks of books around them, eyebrow deep in studying offensive magics. They knew tonight was the night. In two days, they would begin the wait for an induction ceremony among the Death Eaters...and the final confrontation with Voldemort.

Ron noticed her approach first, lifting his red-gold head from his labors. He paled a little, but gave her a nod. "Is it time, then?"

"Yes. Harry, you've got the cup?" Hermione asked him.

He nodded, patting his book-bag before closing the tome he'd been studying. A heavy sigh, and he shook his head. "As much as I know we should just pour the tea and come back down here to study...I don't think I'll be able to concentrate on anything else, out of sheer nerves."

"Quite," Hermione agreed. "Well, let's get the books put away. I've got an idea on what we can do to occupy our time while we wait--we don't dare let the Room of Requirement stand empty, over the next two days," she added. "Not when there's the slightest chance of someone else getting in there and accidentally drinking the thing."

"That's the one drawback to the room," Ron agreed, stacking his books in preparation for re-shelving them. "Anyone with a strong enough will can conjure whatever they desire, in there. Even inadvertently."

"Well, I've become rather good at doing that myself, over the last few months," Hermione allowed, picking up a short pile of books that sat next to her friend.

"...Hermione? I've been thinking. I think you should go back in front of the Mirror of Erised, again," Harry offered as they headed towards the stacks. "You know, to ask it if you can where all the remaining bits and pieces of Voldemort's soul might be. Just to make sure we know exactly where to go to get to them."

"A sound strategy," Ron agreed, using his greater height to shelve the books that were higher on the stacks, while Harry crouched and took the lower shelves, leaving Hermione with the stuff at middling height. They traded books accordingly as he continued. "Of course, we have to wait until we know there's going to be a Death Eater induction ritual or whatever, so that we know when we can get at the brand and destroy it in a way that affects all of the Death Eaters, though I do wish you'd seen what that effect was, 'Mione."

"Maybe she can ask the Mirror about it, this time around?" Harry offered. "We could all have a second shot at it."

Ron looked over at Hermione, his expression bordering on grim as he addressed their friend. "...I don't think that's such a good idea for either of us, mate. I know my mind isn't going to be on the task at hand, if I look into the Mirror of Erised again, and I don't think yours will be, either, Harry." He returned his attention to shelving. "Hermione has a certain stubbornness, that--blind or not--allows her to concentrate completely on whatever she wants to see."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the implied insult, that she was insisting on seeing things in her relationship with her disguised husband that Ron didn't think were actually there.

"I think that's what got her through all of those study-schedules," Harry joked, rising and moving into another section with a handful of books.

Catching Ron's eye, Hermione arched a brow at him and mouthed, "Are you going to behave around Russel, or not?"

He rolled his eyes, sighed, and shrugged, mouthing back, "If he behaves! I don't completely trust him!"

Hermione jerked a thumb at her chest. "Well, I do!"

He shook his head, but said nothing more on the subject, just continued to shelve books back into place.

As soon as they were done, Hermione led the way to Madam Pince's office. Flooing to the seventh floor, they crossed to the correct spot in the corridor, and let Hermione concentrate and pace. It only took a moment to open the door. Ron gestured for Hermione to enter first.

Nodding, she stepped inside. The Room was still in its reducing configuration: two chambers divided by a vast glass window, the first one with the lectern and a tall stool in it, the other set up like a potions lab, save that all of the spare ingredients had been removed from the chamber now that they were no longer needed. The far room had a table, empty shelves, a kettle steaming over a conjured fire, a teapot, tea-strainer, a bowl of powdered bezoar grit, and protective wards scribed all over everything.

Russel had changed the dimensions of the rooms, however; the front half had been small, the back half large. Now the front half was just as large as the back, and had a sofa and two overstuffed chairs, a bookcase filled with what looked like Defence Arts books, a table with four straight-backed chairs--he was working on a brand-new jigsaw puzzle on the table--and a door labeled 'lavatory' in the corner. She had told him that the tea brewed from the poison scraped out of the cauldron would have to steep for two days, then it could be neutralized with the bezoars. Grateful her husband had both a strong will and a definite level of thoughtfulness, Hermione approached him, letting the boys enter behind her.

"Is everything ready?" she asked the blond, kilted man at the table, stopping by his side. The picture on the jigsaw puzzle's box was one of a humpback whale swimming just under the surface of the sea, with cathedral-like rays of sunlight rippling around the sea-borne mammal, and occasional schools of colourful fish. It was typical of the puzzles he favoured, tranquil, serene, with nothing human or humanoid in sight.

"Yes. I'll need to go over the safety instructions, before I can leave."

"--You're leaving?" Ron asked sharply. "Where are you going?"

"Away from here," Russel replied, fitting together a section of border. "Jane hasn't told me what this is all about, so I figured you wouldn't want me to watch the conclusion of it, either. I do want to be on hand for the neutralizing, though."

A muscle worked in Ron's jaw for a moment. "...I want you to stay."

Hermione glanced sharply at him. Russel's grey-eyed look was more subtle, though no less penetrating. "Do you?"

"Yes. This is going to take two days," Ron stated as Harry peered at the puzzle pieces.

The Boy Who Lived sat down, sorted through the pieces in the box, and put together part of the whale's flukes. Hermione wanted to hiss at Harry, See? You have something in common with Snape! ...since she knew Harry liked jigsaw puzzles. He'd done enough of them as a boy, stuck in that closet under the stairs more often than not. But she refrained.

"We'll have to stay in here and anchor the room against intrusion, so no one accidentally wanders in and gets hurt," Ron pointed out. "And I want to pick your brain, about the Death Eaters. About what we can expect, when we..." He stumbled, his gaze sliding to the others. He stopped when he got to Hermione, giving her a wary, questioning look that said, Can we really trust him, or not? Hermione nodded, lifting her hand to her husband's shoulder. He didn't move, as Ron continued. "We need to know what to expect, when we go after Snake-Face."

Russel studied the freckled wizard across from him carefully before he spoke. "...I don't want to know your battle plans. I cannot know what you're planning."

Ron nodded. "I realize that. But we have to know what to expect, so that we can plan something that'll work. And...if it takes place at Death Eater Central, we'll need you to, uh, somehow trick their Secret-Keeper into writing us notes on where it is. So we can get inside, if we have to."

"Getting inside 'Death Eater Central' is tantamount to a suicide mission, if you're planning on it just being the three of you," Russel warned him. Hermione squeezed his shoulder, silently ordering him to cooperate. "...But it can be done, and more quietly than if you invoked the whole Order...unless you used the Order for an external diversion. Most of the activity takes place in late afternoon and around midnight, but things are usually quietest around dawn. Draw everyone outside, and you'll be able to get into the house, once you know where it is."

"But, we don't want to attack at dawn," Harry interjected, fitting together a quartet of puzzle pieces that occasionally had a flash of orange fish swimming across their surface.

Russel frowned. "You don't?"

"No. We want to attack during a Death Eater initiation." Green eyes looked up from the jigsaw pieces with a steely edge to them that bespoke a determined man on the edge of a battle, not a mere youth playing with a puzzle. Despite his seeming air of unconcern, he'd clearly been paying attention to the discussion. "It will be your task, as our only spy, to let us know when that will be. We'll need an hour's advanced warning, half an hour at the absolute least, though the more lead-time you can give us, the better. And we'll need to know before the next Death Eater is inducted, once the next two days are through.

"One step at a time, though," Harry added to Ron. "I want this part of it over and through, before we proceed to the next task." His hands pieced together a few more tiles with just a little bit of sorting through the box, revealing the whole school of fish. "This is not the time to go rushing forward without waiting to make sure that each and every step has been covered. Methodical, and thorough. We'll need numbers, and weaknesses, if you can get them." A wry smile cracked the grimness of Harry's face. "And if you can steal a gallon of Felix Felicis from Snape while you're at it..."

"Your one saving grace is that the bastard hasn't had the proper facilities to brew it, so far," Russel rejoined dryly in his Canadian accent, earning a sharp look from Ron. "There are certain ingredients and materials that are very rare and heavily restricted by the Ministry, and very costly. I suggest you try stealing from Professor Slughorn's cupboards. A Potions Master of his repute might still have some, somewhere."

"I'll ask him politely," Harry returned. Hermione, knowing what he had gone through last year to get the professor's knowledge of Horcruxes, didn't think Harry was being entirely facetious. Slughorn liked the Boy Who Lived...and if he knew that his complicity would ensure that the Dark Lord died for good, at the hands of famous Harry Potter, the current Potions professor might think lending his aid willingly to be very worth his while.

"...Then if I'm to stay, then I'll handle brewing the 'tea'," Russel stated, rising from his seat.

"No," Ron countered, startling the others. "You're not expendable. You're our spy, and we need you alive. Harry can't do it, either, and I won't let Hermione risk either herself or...or your child." He flushed as he admitted it, not quite able to hold Russel's gaze. "I'm the expendable one, here. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"You're not expendable, Ron!" Harry protested, frowning at the thought. "I'll do it."

"Harry...he's at least somewhat right," Hermione pointed out. "I'd do it myself, but that's putting two lives in danger. You can't do it, because we can't risk your life. Russel has been brewing the tea, since I couldn't risk it. He knows all of the necessary precautions to take. He'll do it."

Ron shook his head. "No. I will do it. If anything happens to me, he can still give it a try, but better for it to happen to me. I will be careful, I promise! Merlin, if it doesn't kill me quickly, you know Mum will finish the job..."

"I can't ask you to take the risk," Russel demurred.

"You're not asking, I'm telling. And I have steady hands. Not even Snape found anything to complain about my ability to pour liquids," Ron added pointedly, holding Russel's grey gaze with his blue one.

Russel sighed, though his mouth was twisted somewhere between amused, sardonic, and wry at the subtle jab. "...Then on your head, be it. I'll walk you through all of the safety precautions a dozen times, until it's ingrained. If anything happens to you, and Mrs. Weasley finds out, my life will be worth considerably less than if the Dark Lord finds out I'm not on his side after all--your mother is a very scary woman."

"Isn't she?" Ron grinned. Hermione struggled not to show the happiness welling inside of her at this positive interaction between the two males. It was a far cry better than the veiled antagonism of earlier, that was for certain.

"Jane, love, would you read what we need to do next, so that we have the necessary steps firmly in our minds?" her husband asked.

Hermione had no idea what had happened to make Ron change his mind, but she wasn't about to look this particular gift horse in its freckled mouth. The boys were all cooperating--even if Harry was doing so out of ignorance--and that was all that mattered to her. Moving over to the lectern, she wished wheels onto it, and turned it so that the Diary faced the corner, away from the men. Pulling the stool into place, she sat down, opened the volume to the bookmarked page, donned the translation amulet sitting next to the book, and read what the archaic witch had written.

"Once the residue has been scraped, keep it absolutely dry until used, but do not use any spells to keep it so. When it comes time to serve to your enemy, fix them a meal of good things to eat, and serve to each of your plates. Use two pots, sized each for one cup, and a chinoisserie. Make sure you know which drawer the Anima Te is kept within. Use pin-head chai for your cup, and Anima Te for theirs, as each looks alike, and brew each one individually; keep one next to the other in the middle drawers, so as to confuse the eye. Make a straight tea, so that it looks as if nothing else has been added.

Steep a chai-sized pinch of Anima Te in a pot of water that had been brought to a boil beforehand, for at least a slow count to one hundred and sixty. Strain the liquid with a sieve pressed to the spout, to keep the scrapings inside. It may be served with cream, with milk, with honey, or even the white sugar of Saracen lands, but not the brown sugar--honour your guest with offerings of yellow cream and white sugar, to let them know they are special enough to deserve such offerings. Serve only one cup of the Anima Te, then brew a fresh pot of the pin-head chai if your guest wishes more, and serve fresh pots with each new serving to keep their suspicions low. The..."

Hermione paused, skipped over the bit that her husband didn't need to know, about the victim's soul dying after two days, and cobbled together something other than what had been written there. "The full effects of the Anima Te will be felt two days later, averting all suspicion, as the effects will be subtle until then.

"Wear gloves when serving your guests, to keep the powder from touching and absorbing into the sweat of your skin. A thin lining of dragon-hide is good to have under supple doeskin. Scour the pot, the teacup, any spoons, and the cauldron in which it was made with powdered bezoar, and neutralize any excess brewed Anima Te by pouring it over bezoar stones. If ingested or spilled on the skin accidentally, a bezoar will neutralize the nature of the Animal Te, but will in turn cause a caustic acid that will devour the entrails or dissolve the flesh of the affected person."

"'Handle with extreme caution'," Ron quipped, eyes wide at the lengthy list of precautions as Hermione closed the Diary.

"You'll be wearing dragon-hide, with a Bubblehead Charm to allow you to breathe clean, untainted air," Russel instructed him, "and being mindful of all of the wards set up when you brew the tea. I'll show you how to get past them, and how to come out again with the proper cleansing spells. But...before I show you anything, I have to know why you're brewing this stuff. It's a poison, obviously, but...who are you using it on, and why?"

"Not who," Harry stated, digging into his book-bag. Hermione tensed, remembering her heart-pounding trip to the Clover Street Orphanage with Mrs. Figg. Russel glanced at her, then back at Harry. His eyes widened as he spotted the gilded, two-handled cup that Harry drew out of his satchel. "What. Here you go, Ron. And be extra careful. You might think you're expendable, because you're not a spy, or a mother-to-be, or the scar-bearing target of a prophecy, but you are my best mate. And I really, really don't want to have to explain to your mother why you dropped dead, if anything goes wrong."

"You and me both," Ron agreed, crossing to Harry and taking the cup. He paused, then moved to the other end of the table, setting it in front of Hermione. "Double-check and make sure it's still in there. I don't want to make any mistakes, either."

Nodding, Hermione drew her wand and silently cast the Soul-Scanning spell. The cup glowed sickly greens, yellows and browns, with little pulses of red. She cancelled it after a moment, nodding for Ron to take up the cup. Nodding back, he carried it towards the door into the other room.

"C'mon, then," he ordered Russel, tipping his head at the glass wall. "Let's get this set up, and walk through everything more than a dozen times, before we do the actual run."

"...Right." With one last, inscrutable look at his wife, Russel followed the slightly taller redhead into the other room.

Hermione sat down in his abandoned chair, watching her husband coaching Ron through the triggers for the wards erected around the teapot and simmering kettle. After a few moments, she turned to the jigsaw puzzle, needing to do something with her hands. Severus was a smart man. She'd done her best to hide which spell she'd cast on the cup, but he might be clever enough to figure it out.

If he did, and the Dark Lord learned that he knew what was happening, Severus' life would be in grave danger. Sneaking glances at the floor-to-ceiling window, she watched as the two men practiced over and over again, probably close to two dozen run-throughs, before Russel was satisfied enough to start assisting Ron into his dragon-hide gear. They were similar enough in height and build that nothing had to be altered, though Ron was almost an inch taller. For a moment, Hermione wondered if Ron would've gone out for that American sport, basketball, had he been born a Muggle instead of a wizard, and whether or not he would've been as basketball-mad as he was Quidditch-mad.

Finally, they were ready. Russel retreated behind the glass, sealing the door. Harry gave him a dark look for that, but didn't otherwise protest. Hermione resumed her seat at the lectern, repositioning it and waiting until the other two men were ahead of her, standing against the window, so that she could safely open the Diary at an angle where none of the three males could accidentally glance at the pages. Then she read the instructions again.

Her voice carried magically through the otherwise thick glass, directing Ron on what to do as he carefully measured out a pinch of the stuff in the little lock-box Russel had found to put the scrapings into. He poured in the boiling water from the kettle, and the moment he put the kettle back, Hermione began a slow count to one hundred sixty. When it was done, Ron lifted a small cloth-and-wood sieve, of the kind used in the Middle Ages, and strained the Anima Te into the Hufflepuff cup, filling it to the very brim. Setting the sieve into the bezoar-lined cauldron quickly but carefully, before it could drip onto anything, he jerked a little.

Even from their angle, they could see the yellowish foam hissing and bubbling from one of the stones at the top.

Returning the teapot to the table, he backed away from everything. Stepping through the first of the warding circles, Ron scrubbed his gloves with the bezoar powder, retreated through the second set of wards, removed the gloves carefully, then retreated again, drawing his wand to scour himself from head to toe. Retreating out of the last ward, he removed his outer wear and faced the window, pale but visibly relieved. Flashing a grin, he gave a thumbs-up to the others, his voice partly muffled by the thickness of the glass separating him from his audience. "...Not a drop spilled anywhere!"

Russel opened the door, letting him enter the waiting room. "Good job. So. We keep a vigil for the next two days, right? I presume in rotation?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm going to have a word with my wife. You two gentlemen can man the first watch. We'll be back shortly, never fear."

Catching Hermione by the arm, Russel pulled her gently but determinedly to the far end of the room, into the door marked 'Lavatory'. Ignoring the facilities, he frowned at the wall across from the sink until a hearth and a Floo pot appeared, and hauled her through the fire, spinning both of them out into his private chambers down in the dungeons. Releasing her arm, he stared at her, his tanned face tight with strain.

"That cup... That thing is a Horcrux, isn't it?"