Seven

The eighteenth of October was a Hogsmeade day. Hermione found Oliver waiting for her amidst all the students in the entry hall. His demeanor was child-like as he waited excitedly for the trip. It was a bit endearing, reminding her of Ron and Harry. She was bundled in a black pea coat and scarf to ward off the wind.

They followed the students through the gates and down the path. The autumn winds blew Hermione's hair in all directions. Leaves whipped past the young witches and wizards. Hermione saw that Snape led the group in the distance, his robes billowing ominously against the grey sky. Oliver reached out and held her hand. Her stomach fluttered in a desperate attempt to take flight. Oliver Wood was holding her hand! He was gorgeous and funny, and she felt like she was actually living a teenage fantasy.

After that, the day went by far too quickly for her liking. The couple had lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and Oliver played footsies. Then they casually walked down the streets hand-in-hand, window-shopping. He dragged her into a new Quidditch shop, pointing out gizmos and polishes he recommended or wished he could afford. When it was close to dinnertime, they met the Hogwarts students and walked them back up the long path to the school. Snape was trailing behind the group, but by the look on his face, Hermione didn't dare get near him.

In the distance, kites fought to stay up, performing daring dives and soaring high in the clouded sky. Some first- and second-year students, too young to go to Hogsmeade, must have spent the afternoon having simple Muggle-fun. Unexpectedly, Oliver pulled Hermione off the path and leaned her up against a tree. The bark pressed against her back. He put his hand on her neck, stroking her jaw with his thumb, his eyes intent upon her lips, and then he leaned in and kissed her. She let him this time, and it was hot and passionate. It had been so long since she'd kissed someone like this. Hermione felt wanted for the first time in months. With more than half of the Wizarding world against her, after Minerva's death and with her appearance as an incompetent professor to Snape, she was lonely. But Oliver stirred up emotions that had settled on the bottom long ago.

He pulled away and grinned. "Pretty good, huh?" he said smugly.

"Yes," she said dreamily, "I'm as high as a kite right now."

Oliver leaned in to kiss her again. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Snape walking down the path they'd just veered off of. He didn't appear to notice them.

Without warning, some unseen force suddenly grabbed the back of her coat at the base of her neck, dragging her from the tree they'd been kissing under. She careened into the windy sky, branches smacking her as she was forced through the treetops. She could only manage to scream and flail her arms, completely helpless. Oliver stood, staring after her, dumbfounded. The air was chilly, and Hermione was lightheaded from an adrenaline rush. She was still going up and up and up without slowing. Remembering she was a witch, Hermione pulled out her wand and tried every charm and spell she could think of in such a frantic situation. Nothing was working! Time was standing still but somehow speeding by. She didn't know how long she had been rising into the sky, but the trees were far below her. A large mass of students was entering in through the Hogwarts gates. She was higher than the castle. Colors...kites...soaring through the air blurred her vision, making her dizzy.

She felt a sudden jerk, and the mysterious force stopped pulling her. The jerk was just enough to jostle her wand from her fingertips, and the wind carried it off as she stretched to retrieve it. Momentarily, she floated there in the air...feeling weightless, before she dropped a few inches as if in slow motion. Her stomach lurched with the change in direction. Things skipped normal speed, and she suddenly raced down, plummeting. Now she really screamed. Wind ripped at her eyes, forcing them to water. There was no need to breathe at such a speed. The earth was growing closer every second. Her bushy hair whipped around her face as she fell feet first towards the ground. A gust of wind somersaulted her several times. She was going to die; there was nothing she could do. With effort, she spread her arms out, against the air resistance and leaned back. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her death approach. Her stomach flipped again as strong, warm arms suddenly wrapped around her, and she slowly ascended into the air.

She saw black billowing robes thrashing through the sky over her savior's shoulder. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the figure's neck, her legs around the body, holding on tightly. The arms released her once she was firm and secure, and then down they went in a controlled descent. Turning her head ever so slightly, she saw the profile of none other than Severus Snape. Snape! Flying! Without a broom! He had his arms out against the air, like rudders, to guide his direction. His face held no expression, and he did not speak; he wouldn't even look at her.

She buried her face into his robes and focused on breathing. She forced herself to forget she was flying through the air, clinging to Snape...she concentrated on his smell. The rough fabric rubbed against her nose as she pulled air into her lungs. He smelled of musky spices and clean linen. That became her lifeline, and she tried to decipher the individual spices, but she felt as if she were going to be sick. Snape kept flying, and the air around them gradually warmed. Would he ever land? She didn't want to vomit on him.

Snape stumbled with the landing, being off balance with her extra weight perched in front. She tried to let go but couldn't. Her hands were clenched in a death-like grip, and her legs were clamped around his body. Gently, he leaned her back against the castle wall and eased her thighs down his hips. Her hands were still around his neck, and he was bent over her as his warm hands massaged her fingers free of his fabric. There was a dark spot on his robes, and the breeze chilled the tears on her face. She shivered involuntarily as he brought her hands down.

There was definite concern on his face. He was standing up against her, pressing her against the wall until she was steady on her own. The moment was awkward and silent compared to the windy adventure that had just ended moments before.

"What happened?" she asked. Her voice was dry.

"I have no idea. You were the one bolting into the air of your own accord. What did you do right before?" he asked. The words could have held more malice but were somewhat reserved.

"Nothing . . . Oliver and I were, well . . . we, we only . . . and then we broke apart, and I soared into the sky."

Snape's smirk resembled a grimace, but he didn't say anything.

She didn't want to tell him about the kiss. It was none of his business. "How did we get into the school grounds through the air? What about the wards?"

"It's good to be Headmaster," was all he would say.

He opened a wooden door she hadn't noticed before. They were in a familiar corridor of the dungeons. Silently, Snape led her to her chambers. When they reached the door, she just stood there. She hadn't the slightest clue what to do.

"Granger, break down the wards," he said quietly.

"I . . . can't." She sniffed. "I lost my wand in the air." She pointed behind herself.

With an exaggerated sigh, he slowly brought down her wards, obviously irritated. He curtly opened the door and stood aside to let her in while a fire flicked to life. Snape called a house-elf to draw a bath and bring some warm food.

Hermione was in a daze. Shock, most likely, mild shock, she decided. It wasn't unwarranted. She plopped onto her sofa and stared at the fire. It was easiest to let her mind go numb at this point. She felt a weight settle next to her as Snape sat on the couch. He had a few vials on hand. Hermione vaguely recognized the potions but didn't try too hard to think. She turned back to the fire.

Gentle, nimble fingers brushed her lips, and a cool glass was pressed up to them. Instinctively, she swallowed the liquid, and it burned going down. Then, the same soft fingertips produced another vial and then another. She stared at the fire until her subconscious took over, and she was no longer awake.

It must have only been minutes, but a huge rush of energy rolled through her body, and she sat up, invigorated. She was alone; Snape was gone. A sudden crack startled her, and a house-elf appeared with a tray of potato soup and some crusty bread. Immediately ravenous, she devoured the food, and the elf appeared with more, which she finished as well.

Quite content, she stood and peeled off her clothes. She was in the middle of the room, pulling her shirt off, when the door opened. Her head was still inside the shirt, and her arms were raised. She finished pulling off the top and then hastily wrapped it around her bra. Hermione had a hard time looking Snape in the face, but when she did, she saw he had a tinge of pink in his cheeks. He looked at the floor but held out her wand.

"You went back for it?" she asked, surprised.

He looked at her then. "When I saw you dragged off, I dropped my shopping bags to rescue you. Naturally I had to retrieve them. And I decided to spare a moment to summon your wand." He thrust it into her hand and briskly left her chambers. She realized too late that she'd forgotten to thank him.

The bath water stung as she eased into it. Hermione mulled over her kiss with Oliver for a small moment. It had been unbelievably invigorating and exciting. But that also described her flight, fall and rescue. She couldn't stop thinking about Snape. He had saved her life today...though she'd been so sure he'd hated her. She toweled off and slipped into her nightgown. Why had she been dragged into the sky suddenly? Why had she been unable to use magic? Why had Snape saved her and then retrieved her wand? And why wasn't she thinking about Oliver and his kiss anymore?

Hermione awoke the next morning with a feeling of trepidation. Severus Snape had saved her life...exactly the same thing she had done for him. As badly as she didn't want to admit it, she was feeling awful. Now she was indebted to him in some respect. Hermione Granger was not one to be reliant upon others. She'd solved her own problems before, and she wasn't used to receiving help from those around her. It wasn't the way she worked. Now she understood how Snape must have felt when he had realized she'd been the one to save his life.

It was violating. He'd been so intimate with her life...her entire existence. He'd had no right to just swoop in and save her like some superhero. She would have figured out something eventually. Oh, who was she kidding? Nothing had worked when she had used her wand, and then after she'd lost it, she'd been as good as dead. But regardless of her actual need for help, she knew he'd crossed some unknown line. It wasn't that Hermione was ungrateful for her life; on the contrary, she was very glad to be alive and unharmed. But if her safety could have been secured through any other means, she would gladly have welcomed it. She was so uncomfortable with her savior being Snape. She didn't feel at ease viewing him in a way she never had before.

But that raised an important question...why he'd even bothered saving her? He'd killed people before and watched many die in his time, both good and bad. Yet he'd saved her, and not only that: he'd taken the time to see her back to her chambers, ensure she was taken care of and even retrieve her wand. Could he really be that desperate to have a full staff? There was no previous friendliness between the two of them. The only logical reason she could find was a possible responsibility to repay his life debt. He had saved her out of obligation and nothing more. Hermione didn't care whether Severus Snape liked her or not, but it was somewhat of an insult if his motivation was purely obligatory. As if she'd sold herself for a price, Hermione felt cheap and used without permission for someone else's personal needs. How dare he assume he needed to repay her? Snape had no right to presume she wanted anything in return for her hard work from years past. Yes, it had taken almost a whole year to save him, but she had never thought of, nor expected a reimbursement for her time and efforts.

Snape was Slytherin enough to have probably staged the whole thing so she would be grateful for her rescuer and profess that they were even. He could have at least bloody well asked first! She would have told him it had been an honor (at the time) to save his life, not a loan with interest. Recently, she'd regretted saving his life, and now, her feelings were only confirmed. He was going to pay in some way for his insults. First Snape was angry she saved his life, and then he thought she was the type of person to want reimbursement for her actions. And so, he had staged a moment when she would be in trouble, and he would appear the hero. Then Hermione "Gullible" Granger would call their life debts even and everything would be settled; and if he were really lucky, she would be docile and obey his every whim as Headmaster. Fat chance.

Oliver came by via Hermione's Floo late Sunday evening. He was glad to see she was okay, and he was profusely sorry he hadn't been the one to save her. Oliver explained he had simply frozen with shock when she had been whisked away. He'd never seen anything like it, and he was at a loss for words. Hermione assured him that she didn't hold him responsible for the incident, and she wasn't angry or upset with his lack of help. There was obviously nothing wand related that would have worked. But he just kept saying how grateful he was that Snape had been around and knew how to fly. Although, he did admit it was a bit creepy seeing his black robes billowing like a bat as he soared up to catch her.

Hermione was getting used to stares following her entrance into the Great Hall...word had obviously gotten around about the incident. It was unnerving to know everyone was watching...expecting her to fly up to the enchanted ceiling. Snape's deep eyes were also upon her as she seated herself next to Oliver, but only for the briefest of moments. Then he looked down at his eggs and bangers. Oliver squeezed her knee under the table, and she too looked at her plate of food. Did Snape know she'd figured out his plan? She was going to have to watch him to see how he acted. She'd noticed when she had first started teaching, he'd been observing her constantly; she'd thought it was out of curiosity. Now she knew he'd been contemplating a sort of retribution.

The week was slow moving. Hermione glanced at Snape as often as subtlety would permit, and most times, she found he was already watching her. Interesting. She was getting a little worried though. How long had he really been watching? And how far did it go? Would he only watch her when he happened to be around, or were there spies around the castle set out to watch her...certain portraits maybe?

By the next week, Hermione resented Severus Snape. She knew she should be more focused on the reasons behind her terrifying flight, rather than on his actions afterwards, but she couldn't get him out of her head. He was constantly in everyone's business...commanding everyone about, forcing staff and students alike to listen him. She couldn't believe he was so controlling. And to top it off, most of the staff complied. They were willing to help, smiling, though she knew they were already overworked.

The last Monday of October rolled around, and in the evening, Hermione found herself crammed in the tiny staff room for a mandatory meeting. She was standing next to Susan, discussing students' grades. Snape made his usual timely appearance, robes trailing behind him as he strode in and stood at the head of the table. At least he never dawdled in these meetings; she had a lot of work to do in her dungeons.

Evidently, the Board of Governors, for one reason or another was pressing him, and he had to spread out more of his responsibilities to the teachers. He had an assignment for each of them. Some of the requests were obviously Headmaster duties, but most of the staff appeared willing to help him.

Hermione leaned over to Susan and whispered, "All the staff are bending over backwards to help him. I can't believe it. He should have asked us if we could afford to help him with his workload before assigning it to us."

Susan gave a small snicker, opened her mouth to speak but was suddenly jerked back and downward. Hermione's own body gave a scary jerk. It happened so quickly that the pain was delayed. She was seeing everything upside-down before the pain shot through her back. She was arched into an unnatural position, and so was everyone one else. As a child, she'd been able to do this move at the park, but now there was magic suspending her like a human rainbow. Shocked cries filled the room, but someone was laughing hysterically above all the commotion. The staff room had been crowded before, but now it was a mass of arms and stumbling stomachs. Hagrid looked the most uncomfortable; thankfully he was in a corner, so he was able to steady himself against the walls. If he fell, he'd kill someone.

It took a moment for Hermione to turn in the right direction of the laughter. Snape had his head thrown back with tears streaming down his face as he laughed uncontrollably. There wasn't anything funny about the situation, as far as Hermione could tell. Oddly, several others joined in the laughter, but most of the staff grumbled. Hermione pulled out her wand, as several colleagues had. Snape was doing the same, but nothing anyone did worked. Everyone was complaining or asking what had happened, and the room was in chaos.

"There is no effect on this position with any spell we cast. I'm sorry to say, it looks as if you are all stuck until we can find a cure. I don't know what happened. Does anyone have any ideas?" Snape asked the room.

Sibyll Trelawney fell over, and like a row of dominoes, several others tumbled too. Snape was jostled and dropped his wand into the pile of teachers.

"Excuse me, Filius," Snape asked to the mass of bodies, "my wand, please?"

The Charms teacher complied, reaching for the wand with slight difficulty, but as he picked it up, he was able to stand up straight immediately. Well, that was interesting. Hermione was getting a little dizzy with all the blood pooling in her head, but she thought she saw Snape give a small smile...not a smirk, a real smile.

"Hagrid, clap your hands," Severus ordered.

The half-giant struggled to comply, but once he did, he popped up like a daisy. His beard, streaked with grey, was well above the mass of bent-over staff.

Others clapped their hands when they saw the result, but it didn't affect their position. Snape started asking individuals to do random things, and as they complied, they would snap back into a standing position. Everyone was back to normal; some were rubbing their backs while others tucking in the fronts of their shirts. But Snape had failed to ask her for help. She just stood there, arched over, looking stupid, and yet he stared at her with those fathomless black eyes. No one else noticed her, not even Susan who was right next to her. She called out, but everyone was chatting, discussing the odd situation, and her voice, so close to the floor, was lost. He dismissed the staff. They all left, only too grateful to get out of the stuffy room.

With the room empty except for the two of them, she realized how this was exactly like her flight into the sky. Nothing had worked when she had used her wand then, same as now. And in both incidences, Snape looked like her savior. Well, she wasn't going to buy it this time. She might not have any actual proof yet, but she was bound to find something against him sooner or later.

"Granger, I don't know what you did, but you need to stop with these antics. It's only a matter of time before someone is seriously hurt."

He was blaming her? How could he? She had no idea how these things were happening, but she was sure he was responsible. Hermione was going to have to watch her back; he was trying to put the blame on her, most likely so he could fire her at the end of the school year with a cause. She wasn't going to give him the enjoyment of a retort; a glare would suffice.

"Now, Granger, would you be so kind as to hand me that book?" he said, pointing to one next to him on the table.

Grudgingly, she picked it up and handed it to him. Her back straightened, and all her blood rushed back downward into her body. Stumbling a bit, she staggered towards the door. She lost her balance, and steady arms caught her around the waist. Hermione threw his hands off her and walked out the door in a manner she hoped was dignified.

It had to be Snape. The entire room had been cursed except for him. He'd laughed at them all, too. Then he'd cured everyone except her because he was out to get her. Nothing had worked to counter the curse except when he'd asked for favors before he'd freed everyone. Why had his requests broken the curse? It just didn't make sense. But then again, neither did Snape.

The last week of October brought wicked weather, the temperature dropped and ominous clouds rolled in to stay. On Halloween night, the Great Hall was fabulously decorated. Hagrid had outdone himself with giant pumpkins and live bats. All four houses were scheduled to have parties in their common rooms after dinner. And a few teachers were getting together for some drinks in the staff room. Hermione raised a fist to knock on Oliver's office door. Before she was able to do so, the door flew open, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team walked into her. She fell down, but they picked her up and apologized. Oliver had a crazed look in his eyes as he called after them.

"Remember, you lot, we have to win the Quidditch Trophy. I refuse to lose! I'm doing this for your own good. Now hurry, you only have a few hours before curfew." Turning to Hermione, he changed his attitude. "Evening, love, ready to go up to the party?"

"Oliver, you can't be forcing them to practice tonight? There's a party in their common room. Besides, it's raining cats and dogs out there!"

"Listen, Hermione, I wouldn't expect you to understand. But our team needs to practice harder than ever if we want to get the title back from Slytherin," he said.

"You sound like Ron. I can't believe you're forcing them out there. It's not even your team anymore. You don't play Quidditch, might I remind you."

Oliver looked somewhat hurt but tried to school his features. "When I played, we practiced in worse weather than this. Besides, it's not 'raining cats and dogs.'"

She looked out the darkened windows of his office. Sheets of water poured down the panes of glass. She looked back at the team as they sluggishly walked down the hallway, brooms trailing on the ground.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she called after them, "there will be no Quidditch practice tonight. And if I catch one of you out of doors tonight, I will deduct one hundred house points each. Now get to up to your common room and celebrate the holiday."

They all looked rather cheered up and took the next ascending staircase. Oliver looked livid. Realizing she'd stepped on his toes, she tried to change the subject. "So how about that party?"

"I'm not in the mood," he said with a strained voice. "Perhaps next time." And he shut the door in her face.

Halloween night found Severus mesmerized by the sheets of rain pouring down his study windows. The last few weeks had been a joke. All Severus could think about was Granger and her random accidents. He had plenty of work to keep him occupied, but he couldn't focus when Granger was causing problems right and left.

She was angry with him, and he knew exactly why: she was experiencing the other side of things. He had saved her life, and now she was filtering through all the emotions he'd experienced when he'd woken up in St. Mungo's. Her emotions had stopped on anger and resentment. But her feelings made sparring actually somewhat exciting...at least for him. Before he'd saved her, they'd had an unspoken agreement to tolerate each other for the sake of functionality. Now, Granger was downright hostile in her manners. But Severus would have to give her time; after all, it had taken quite a while before his vexation towards her had cooled.

No doubt Granger was upset with him being her rescuer, but that was the kind of twisted irony the world loved to throw out. Now they were even. He hadn't thought of it at the time when he'd flown off to catch her, but now that he thought about it, he was free from her debt. Actually, he could even consider himself to have gone above and beyond his debt. He had hired her, after all, when she'd been in need of employment (never mind the fact he'd been desperate to fill the post). The score was two to one in his favor.

"You know," Minerva's portrait interrupted his musing. "I think you should have a talk with Hermione, soon."

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he drawled. "What about Granger? I was calculating some figures." He shuffled some papers on his desk to look busy, but it was futile, and he knew it.

"Her conduct towards you as her superior is disgraceful. I've received some interesting news from several portraits throughout the school, and she's really getting a bit carried away," Minerva said with concern.

"How endearing, Minerva. You want me to bring her in here so the two of you can chatter again, like after your funeral. Ha! Three to one. I'd forgotten about that instance."

"What?" Minerva asked.

"Nothing, just something I suddenly remembered. No bother."

"Anyway, as I was saying," Minerva continued. "I think she feels you are framing her for these odd occurrences that have been taking place."

"You know about them?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"I'm dead, Severus. What else am I to do all day but gossip?"

Albus chuckled in the next portrait over; Severus pointedly ignored the old coot.

"It's not very becoming of you, Minerva," Severus said.

"Stop changing the subject. Summon her here this instant. I was down by my old Transfiguration study, and she's had a row with Oliver. She's just going to get drunk at the party if you don't pull her in here." Minerva was growing impatient.

"You want me to invite an emotional, hormone-ridden woman, whom might I add hates me, into my personal study to have a friendly chat? Great Merlin, woman, have you gone daft?"

Minerva stared at him in reply.

"Fine," he ground out. "Winky! Please find Professor Granger, and send her to my office immediately. Give her the password: Japanese Cherry Blossoms. And no funny business, elf."

Within five minutes, Granger was rapping on his door. Her robes were ruffled, and her hair was as unmanageable as ever. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was absentmindedly picking at her nails. She looked as if she'd been crying too.

"Granger, we need to speak regarding your recent behavior." She suddenly looked angry. But before she could go off on a tirade, he continued, "This has nothing to do with your personal record as an employee at Hogwarts. Minerva thought you might need someone to vent to. I know I am the last person you would like to speak with, but I assure you I am willing to listen, as long as you do not get accusatory towards myself. If you have any problems with me, I wish you to voice them, and I will try my best to answer you."

Why was he saying all this? Why didn't he just let the girl talk with Minerva, and then he could go to bed? By morning it would all be resolved. Granger didn't want to talk to him anyway. Looking at her face told him as much.

"Hermione," Minerva spoke softly, "I'm here for you, but I am not real. Severus is, though, and he's your employer. It is his duty as Headmaster to consult with you, to verify you are happy in all aspects of your life so you are able to perform to the best of your abilities. Severus cares for you as he does all his charges. Let it go. I know you, dear; you're bottling everything up. You don't need to carry it alone."

Well, that seemed to work. Granger plopped down in the chair opposite his desk with a heavy sigh. She dropped her head in her hands and mumbled unintelligibly for a few moments before bringing her face up. She was back in control of herself.

"Professor Snape, I'm sorry I ever saved your life. I had no right to push myself on your cause. I now know how violating it feels to have an unwanted redeemer. I am an independent person, and having to have depended on you to save my life was a rude awakening. I guess I'm just so angry you were right all those years ago. I had no idea, until now. But I'm angry too, sir." Her voice changed from passive to venomous. "I can't believe you would stoop so low. I know you're a Slytherin, but you've gone far enough, and I'd like you to stop."

"Stop what, Granger? Letting you vent? What is bothering you?"

"You set it up," she spat at him. "I know it was you. When we were coming back from Hogsmeade, you sent me into the sky and made my wand useless somehow. Then you acted the hero and saved me. The whole staff didn't need to be hurt the other day just so you'd look like a bloody hero to all of them as well. It's gone to your head, I think."

"Granger, I assure you I had nothing to do with either of those incidents. It's impossible to make a wand useless. And if there were such a spell, I would have done it to the Dark Lord years ago and finished him off. We wouldn't have needed the Chosen One. Something is affecting you, and it's spreading to those around you, as we saw in the staff room. You should review what you were doing right before each incident to find a pattern."

"I've told you already," she practically yelled, "I'm doing nothing! It's got to be you. You were near me when the staff room went crazy, and when I went flying off, and when my fingers stuck together. I don't know yet about the sleeping thing, but I'm sure you're behind it."

"What is this about your fingers sticking?" he asked, curious.

"Oh, it happened ages ago. After I had told you my plate hadn't been cleaned, I'd walked back to my seat and had found two of my fingers stuck together, and they'd remained that way for several hours. Nothing I'd done would make them come apart."

"When did they finally separate?"

"I don't know, sometime later in the evening. I had been doing nothing but reading at the time."

"Interesting . . . Sounds like a curse of sorts." He wondered if Winky had anything to do with it. He had been present every time something had happened. Hadn't Winky mentioned something along those lines? He was about to tell this to Granger, when Minerva spoke up. Severus swiveled in his chair so they were facing each other, creating a triangle.

Minerva said, "There must be a trigger causing these unexpected incidents. Who knows what the purpose of the curse was, but it could be serious. You need to fulfill the demands.

"And isn't it obvious that Severus has nothing to do with it? He didn't have to save you, but he did, and I doubt it had anything to do with his life debt. He is a Slytherin after all, and they tend to kill those who've helped them. Think of Voldemort and what he did to Pettigrew's hand. It killed him. Following this logic, Severus wouldn't have set himself up to look like a hero. He simply would have killed you if he were concerned about the debt being called upon. Furthermore, he doesn't need to act the part of a hero. He is one already. Was it not yourself who brought him his Order of Merlin, First Class, award?"

Hermione seemed to vacillate mentally for several minutes. Unexpectedly, Winky appeared with a tea tray. What was she doing here? Silently, the elf poured tea and handed him a cup, then one to Granger.

"Hermione," Minerva's portrait said...oddly with her own cup of tea too. "I was reading through Mythological India and Persuasive Potions the other day. Their chapter titled, Emerald Potions for Basic Emotions was quite interesting. Perhaps a potion exists that would break the curse? What do you think?"

Before Severus knew how, they were whisked away into an in-depth conversation about Potions. Granger was avid with her opinions, which he tore apart at every opportunity. But impressively, she never backed down. Minerva was well versed in the subject, but not even the two women together could persuade him to change his views on Emotion Potions.

The spirited debate lasted all night and into the wee hours of Saturday morning. He was surprised to note he was sad to see her slip out of his office; he hadn't had such an invigorating conversation in . . . well, years. But as he shuffled off to bed, he remembered they'd never fully settled their original purpose for meeting. She still believed he was behind all of her troubles. And they hadn't found a solution to keep her or others from getting hurt. Nothing truly catastrophic had happened yet, so maybe they had some time to solve it before disaster struck.