Part 6, Episodes 51-60

51. Muggle Mythology

Harry ignored Snape's comment – along with Hermione's astonished look, when he didn't rise to the bait – and went on, 'I assume the attacks on Muggle-born wizards and the destruction and desecration of Dumbledore's tomb are linked. Does anyone have any idea of what could be behind this? The Office and the SSS haven't come up with anything useful.'

Everyone looked at Harry. Then everyone looked away.

Silence spread. Lengthened. Grew heavy.

Finally Snape spoke again, 'Are you at all familiar with Muggle mythology, Potter? How about a random quote to test your proficiency? 'At the worst our Enemy knows that we have it not, and that it still is lost. But what was lost may yet be found ...' – does that ring a bell? Does anything about that situation sound ... vaguely ... familiar?'

Harry stared at Snape. The words of the quote did indeed sound eerily familiar. Oh, right. The Lord of the Rings. Hermione had given that book to him for Christmas. To his surprise he'd actually liked it. But what had that do to with ...

... how he'd barely managed to stand there ...

... how he'd just been able to stuff the Invisibility Cloak and his wand out of reach ...

... how the Resurrection Stone had slipped from between his numb fingers ...

... to lie on the ground of the Forbidden Forest for all eternity ...

... or until ...

'Oh SHIT!' he exclaimed.

Heads swivelled, eyes stared. If things had been different, the reaction of the other Order members would have been amusing. As it was, Harry merely felt tired; very, very tired. With everyone gaping at him, he realised he had to say something. He forced himself to meet Snape's gaze. But what was supposed to be a smile of acknowledgement slipped and turned into painful parody.

'Maybe we're going to get lucky, too,' Harry muttered, 'and a friendly Hobbit will find that damn stone?'

'Wit, Potter? When did that happen?'

oooOooo

'So you really believe that someone found the Resurrection Stone?' Hermione asked.

They had returned to Hogwarts right after the meeting. Hermione had barely managed to hurry down to the kitchen for a quick 'hello and goodbye' chat with Draco. She hadn't even had a chance to exclaim about how Teddy had grown since she'd seen him last, or at how happy the toddler looked in Draco's arms. She suppressed a sigh; she would have to Owl Draco later on.

Snape turned away from the window. The darkness of the night mercifully hid the site of the explosion. Just as it concealed his expression. The hearthfire had all but died down in the library, filling the room with flickering shadows.

'I don't believe in coincidence,' he admitted.

He sounded so unbearably weary. Hermione winced, then she rose to her feet and went to stand next to him, peering up at his face in the twilight.

'So someone has been helping the Death Eaters that are still on the loose? Or has even ... taken over the remains of V...Voldemort's organisation? And now ... they – whoever they are – may have the Elder Wand in their possession?'

He sighed and nodded. 'Of that, at least, I am fairly certain.'

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to follow his train of thoughts. 'And since Harry lost the Resurrection Stone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, it might ... resurface; it could be found again?'

Snape inhaled deeply. 'Unfortunately, that is a possibility. However, as you are probably aware, I do tend to think the worst, so maybe Minerva and the others are right, and my fears are merely the excrescences of an overwrought subconscious.' He sneered slightly.

Hermione sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip.

'I'm not so sure,' she said, her voice sounding rather small and scared. 'Evil things seem to have an awkward tendency to end up in just the wrong hands at just the wrong time.

'However, if I recall correctly what Harry told us about the stone, it was cracked. So maybe it wouldn't work anymore? And at the moment, Harry is still the rightful owner of the Elder Wand, so unless he lost to someone in a duel or something, the thief couldn't do much with it, right?'

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with two stiffened fingers. 'As I said before, I always think the worst.'

Carefully, Hermione stepped closer to her master.

'For good reason,' she said softly. 'And there are too many conditional clauses in the questions I asked for me to sleep well at night.

'Oh God,' she whispered, as a sudden chill made her shudder. 'Why can't it end?'

'I don't know, Hermione,' he murmured. 'I wish I did.'

Silence settled around them, only now and again the dying fire in the hearth snapped and popped. The waxing moon sent pale slivers of light into the room, just enough for Hermione to discern the bony contours of his face, his dark eyes, proud nose, thin, sensitive lips. Once more she grew aware of his personal scent. When she inhaled, she shivered again. The tiny hairs on her arms and neck rose up and her nipples prickled.

Black eyes bored into her. Then, barely discernible in the dim light, his stern expression seemed to soften. Somehow they stood even closer than before. His robes almost enfolded her, surrounding her with his fragrance and his warmth. She tilted her head back, mesmerized by his fathomless gaze. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse vibrated in her throat. Her stomach quivered with longing.

Suddenly his lips met hers.

They were soft, dry and warm. Somehow one hand slipped around her waist and the other to the back of her neck. She flowed against him and somehow her hands clung to him, drew him closer still.

Tentatively, she returned his kiss. His embrace tightened around her. At first very lightly, then more and more languidly, his lips caressed hers, until she became dizzy with the tenderness of the moment.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

52. Least of All My Life

Abruptly he drew away from her. In the darkness, the expression on his face was unreadable.

'Good night, Hermione,' he said softly. Then he spun on his heel and swept out of the room.

For a few minutes she stood there, rooted to the spot, her heart thundering, her head buzzing, her lips ... burning, she thought, with the memory of his touch.

At long last she staggered to her room, where she sank down in the armchair near the window. Her fingers strayed to her lips, as if they could conjure up the sensation of his kiss anew. His lips had been like velvet, warm and soft. But insistent. Soothing and thrilling at the same time.

Why had he kissed her?

Hermione never went to bed that night, but remained in that armchair. Now and again she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, where her fingertips lingered for a moment in a bemused gesture, before she dropped her hand again.

oooOooo

Hermione wasn't surprised when Professor Snape knocked on her door the next morning, asking her to meet him in the library. What did surprise her was the courteous tone in which he voiced his request.

With a pounding a heart and more than a little trepidation, she entered the room. To her amazement, she noted that Snape had elected to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace instead of choosing to pace and loom over her. He nodded for her to take the other seat.

Gratefully, she slid down on the edge of the chair, her knees unaccountably weak this morning. She cast an apprehensive glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked as if he hadn't had slept anymore than she had.

'What happened last night,' he said slowly. 'Must not happen again.'

Hermione didn't dare to look at him. Instead she stared at her hands, cold fingers twisted nervously. She had not expected him to open his heart to her after just one kiss, of course. In fact, she had anticipated that he would react badly this morning.

Overseeing the Third and Fourth Year study groups Hermione had not been in a position to escape all discussions about 'Professor Snape, the Tragic Hero of the War', including various comparisons of her master with prominent tragic heroes of Muggle and wizarding literature ('Heathcliff all the way' ... 'I just wish I could be the Tenar to his Ged ...') along with diverse dissections of his personality (some of which had actually been quite enlightening). Therefore it seemed quite in character for him to push her away.

It hurt nevertheless.

'But sir!' Now she did look at him, and wished at once that she hadn't. Just a quick glance at him gave her a jolt.

He sighed. 'You are my apprentice,' he started.

'But what about Perenelle and Nicolas Flamel? They...'

'That was in the bloody Middle Ages,' he ground out, his eyes glittering. 'Things have changed since then.'

'But what about the safeguards in the contract? You couldn't exploit your position even if you wanted to!'

Snape shook his head, the flare of temper extinguished as suddenly as it has blazed up. 'Just because there have been ... relationships of the intimate kind between masters and apprentices in the past, and just because apprenticeship contracts are bespelled to keep the apprentices safe from abuse does not mean that a relationship like that is appropriate, Miss Granger.

'And besides,' again that hint of unbearable sadness crept into his voice, 'not even I am so cruel as to ask my apprentice to kill me one day, only to turn around and begin an affair with her the next day.'

Hermione recoiled as if he'd struck her in the face.

'But sir,' she repeated, and wished her voice sounded steadier. 'What about the conditions of your...'

He held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

'Hermione.'

She didn't look up, but stared at her hands. She wondered if her face was as white as her hands. She certainly felt white. Drained of all colour.

'Hermione. Look at me. Now.'

She had no choice. She had to obey his order. Reluctantly she turned towards him. She stuck out her chin.

'A kiss is just a kiss,' Snape said softly. 'It is not a foundation for a marriage and a life together.'

'Not even to save your life?' she asked.

She felt as if she was falling into an abyss, when she met his black gaze.

'Least of all to save my life,' he replied, his voice hoarse. 'I am ...' He broke off.

Had he been about to say that he was sorry?

Instead he rose to his feet.

'We will not talk about this again. And now I suggest you get ready for those detentions. I believe the dunderheaded knights will invade the dungeons in approximately twenty minutes.'

Black robes swirling, he strode from the room.

oooOooo

Back in his room, Snape couldn't settle down in spite of his exhaustion. Although he was weary to his aching bones, he couldn't stop pacing.

Why had he kissed her?

What had come over him?

He wished he could forget how her lips felt. He wished he could forget how her heart fluttered against his chest.

He wished he'd had the guts to order her to kill him right away that damn day in December.

Snape sighed. Her despair at his – as he saw it, absolutely reasonable request – would no doubt haunt him until he gave that final order.

When that day arrived, he would make sure that she had means at her disposal that were less direct and ... devastating for the executor than Avada Kedavra. That was the least he could do. He was painfully aware that he owed her much more than that. Unfortunately, he felt that he was not in the position to pay his debts to her the way his honour and his heart demanded of him.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

53. The Art of Looking for Trouble

Minerva McGonagall had stayed at number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the night. For better or worse, Sirius' old home was the headquarters of the Order, and Harry, in spite of his youth, her second-in-command. That role should have fallen to Severus, but not even the public display of his memories at his trial had sufficed to dispel the distrust of the wizarding society towards him. She suppressed a sigh. Even some Order members still held on to their grudges where Snape was concerned.

There was much she had to discuss with Harry – at yet another breakfast meeting.

And when, Minerva wondered, had Harry turned into a morning person? More often than not he'd looked like something the cat just dragged in at the breakfast table during his student days.

But in the kitchen an astonishingly bright-eyed, if not exactly bushy-tailed Harry awaited her at a table laden with an even more lavish breakfast than she was accustomed to from Hogwarts. Noticing her frown, Harry shrugged helplessly.

'Kreacher thinks I need to eat more,' he explained and proceeded to heap bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast on his plate. Minerva glanced at the young man's lean figure. A good thing Harry had inherited James' active metabolism.

'Well, Harry,' Minerva said finally, eyeing him over the rim of her tea cup.

How a nice cup of Darjeeling never failed to improve her outlook on the world of a morning! And thankfully, as opposed to whisky, tea was a truly universal panacea to be enjoyed at any hour of the day or night.

Harry lifted an eyebrow at her. 'Well, Minerva,' he mimicked her, almost as disrespectfully as Albus (God rest his soul) had done.

She sniffed slightly and put her cup down. 'You offered to give me an appraisal of the situation at the Ministry. Now would be a good opportunity to do so. I suggest you do not waste our time.'

That got his attention. 'Channelling our dear Potions Master this morning, are you?'

But he put down his cup, as well, his expression serious. 'The situation is getting out of control, Minerva. You have no idea. We've been able to keep some of the incidents from the press so far, but with the likes of Rita Skeeter breathing down our necks, you can imagine just how long that will last. When everything gets out, we'll have an all-out panic on our hands.

'We don't have enough manpower to put watch-wizards with each family that has Muggle-born members. And the Aurors are always too late on the scene. Merlin's bollocks, sometimes we arrive when the air is still glowing green with that damn curse, Minerva! They know we're coming almost before we've left the Ministry.

'You know what that means.'

'An informant,' Minerva said at once, the cold weight of dread settling into the pit of her stomach. 'Someone – or several someones – at the Ministry is collaborating with the Enemy.'

'Maybe even within the Office of Aurors,' Harry added. Brandishing a fork with a piece of bacon at her, Harry continued, 'Unfortunately there is also a very clear pattern to the killings. It all comes down to blood. They kill families. And only families with one or both parents of Muggle origins. Singles and unmarried couples or couples without children they are leaving alone so far. Apart from Voldemort's followers, that fits the agenda of quite a number of pureblood hate-groups.

'Though what is really the most disconcerting about the whole thing is how methodical and cold-blooded they are. They only want to kill. They don't torture, they don't bother with destruction of property. They go in to kill, and only to kill.

'The Ministry is at the end of their wits ... and so am I, for that matter.'

For a while the kitchen was completely silent save for the sound of Harry making short work of his breakfast.

There is really not much that could diminish a young wizard's appetite, Minerva mused. For her part, the older witch was reduced to nervously stirring her tea. The bowl of porridge in front of her remained untouched.

'I hear that a faction of the Wizengamot is already clamouring for a Muggle-borns protection act,' Minerva said.

Harry nodded. His first forays into the murky waters of magical politics had been incredibly frustrating. Politicians seemed to distrust heroes about as much as traitors, and contrary to Dumbledore, Minerva's voice carried little to no political clout in the Wizengamot. Additionally, in a society where one hundred fifty was regarded as really too young to die, the voice of anyone below the age of fifty simply wasn't taken quite seriously.

'They want to re-open the Muggle-born Registration Commission. This time to protect all Muggle-born witches and wizards. You can imagine the toad's glee.' Harry shuddered.

Umbridge's background of a well-respected pureblood family and along with her excellent connections at the Ministry and the Wizengamot had once again saved her neck, much to his chagrin. 'The mere thought that she can get at Hermione because of her apprenticeship makes my blood run cold! And I can assure you that the very idea of Snape at her mercy causes me nightmares.

'Though I would appreciate it if you do not share that particular detail with him,' he added at his driest. Then he sighed. 'No offence, Minerva, but Shacklebolt is too good a man for his office. As is Arthur.'

'I am sure that both of them would be the first to agree with you.'

'Ha!' Harry cried, amused. 'Unfortunately that doesn't help us right now.'

Energetically he pushed the empty plate away. 'At least I've already managed to make the Wizengamot deeply regret their decision to give me a seat in the aftermath of the victory. We must be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.

'Andromeda and Draco have been a lot of help. However, if you don't mind, I should like to accompany you to Hogwarts today. I urgently need to consult Dumbledore's portrait about the upcoming session.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

54. The Most Stupid Thing That People Do

At noon Snape found himself in front of McGonagall's office. He had just finished a round through the castle, which had yielded a satisfying total of one hundred forty four and one-fourth House Points. It irked him somewhat that the one-fourth point impaired the beauty of the Fibonacci number. It irked him more that he had been forced to take that one-fourth point from his own House.

The gargoyle slid aside, and Harry Potter appeared.

Snape jerked back. What is that boy doing here?

Potter glanced at him and nodded politely, 'Professor. Is Hermione in her room? I thought I might pop in for a moment, if she's not too busy.'

'What?' Snape stared at Potter in disbelief. 'Is that you, Potter? Or is it your evil twin ... or rather, your "good" twin? Which is rather more shocking.'

Harry Potter stopped dead and really looked at Snape. The careful scrutiny of those brilliant green eyes was quite discomfiting. A lesser wizard would have squirmed under the young Auror's probing stare. Snape merely scowled.

'I have reason to believe that you ... may find her in her room.' A pause. 'It's good of you to come and ... see her, Potter.'

Potter frowned, and opened his mouth, but at the last moment he seemed to reconsider. He ended up shaking his head instead. 'You look like shit, Snape.'

Snape's eyebrows shot up.

'Does that convince you that I am myself?' The young man grinned impudently. 'And I think Minerva wants to see you. Something about House points, I think.'

He nodded again, and strode off towards the staircase, leaving Snape to gape after him.

'You know,' Minerva remarked. 'He's right. You do look like shit.'

oooOooo

If there had been any doubt about how much worse for wear he looked, that was dispelled when Minerva poured him a generous dram of Ardbeg the moment they entered her office.

Snape slumped down in one of the armchairs before the fireplace and raised his glass to her. 'Cheers.'

Minerva took the seat on his right. 'What happened, Severus?'

'What happened? What didn't happen?' He contemplated downing the whisky in one gulp. As the Ardbeg was one of Minerva's favourites, he stood a good chance not to survive such a sacrilege. He sipped the whisky then he put the glass on the table between the armchairs.

'I can't do this, Minerva,' he muttered. 'The way she looked at me, as if I had broken her heart ...'

Now it was Minerva's turn to put her glass aside.

'Severus,' she asked carefully. 'What have you done to Hermione?'

Snape laughed bitterly. 'You gave her to me. You forced me to train up my own successor, and yet you ask that question?'

'Your successor? Severus...'

'But I can't, Minerva. I'm so tired. For a while I thought I might enjoy my last three years ... but now ... people are being killed left, right, centre.' He shook his head. 'I'm so tired,' he whispered. 'Even if she had to take over next week, I am sure that Hermione would ... would do a good job. Probably a better job than I ever did.'

He cupped his face with his hands. 'I promised not to ask this of her ... yet ... but I ... I don't think I can wait much longer, Minerva. Umbridge wants my head; she wants me in Azkaban even before my probation is over. And I will not go back there.'

'Ask what of her?'

He sighed wearily and raised his head to face Minerva. 'To kill me, of course.'

'Severus ... please tell me that I just misheard what you said. You asked Hermione to kill you?'

He shook his head irritably. 'No, I did not – I wanted to, on Christmas day. But she stopped me, she...she seems to suffer from some ill-conceived Gryffindor notion that there may yet be a way to "save" me. Foolish girl.'

The headmistress stared at him, aghast. 'You promised Hermione on Christmas day that you would not order her to kill you yet?'

'Yes, that's what I said, didn't I?' He glared at her.

'What happened to change your mind?' Minerva's voice was shaking, but he barely noticed that.

He picked up his glass again. For a moment he stared at the amber liquid. Then he thought, What the hell? And downed the Ardbeg in one gulp.

'I kissed her.'

oooOooo

'Ha...Ha...Harry!' Hermione took one look at him and flung herself into his arms, sobbing desperately.

Awkwardly he patted his friend's back. 'Hermione, what's wrong? What happened?'

'The plan, The Plan, it, it has fai– failed. I...I...failed.'

He hugged her close then pulled her back into the dark corridor beyond the dungeons and into her room. Once inside, he led his friend to her bed and sat down next to her, his arms around her. Hermione cried in great heaving sobs, as if her heart was shattered, and her tears the broken shards.

'Hermione, calm down. Please. Or I will have to Floo Madam Pomfrey. What happened?'

'I...he...I...he kissed me.'

'Did he hurt you?' There was no question who 'he' was.

'Harry,' she gasped, trying to suppress another sob and failing miserably. 'I am so stupid. I am so horribly, horribly stupid.'

'Hermione, if you don't tell me what happened right now, I will call Minerva!'

Hermione buried her face at his shoulder. 'Iwuvim.'

'You what?'

She lifted her face. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, her lips trembled badly.

'I love him,' she repeated.

'You what?!'

Harry bit down on his tongue, hard. Then he counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then he took a deep breath.

'But ... Hermione, please don't take this wrong, but ... I admit this is quite a surprising ... development ... However ... as far as The Plan is concerned, what is so bad about ... uh ... being in ... uh... love with him? Especially if he – if he kissed you?'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

55. To Live Before You Die

(Sunday night at Hogwarts in the dungeons)

Hermione couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept for two days, and she still couldn't sleep. At last she gave up. Pulling on her apprentice robes, she blindly grabbed a book from the shelf and picked up her wand. With a whispered Lumos she slipped out of her room. She preferred to read in the library. Somehow the presence of many old books made the company of the thoughts that kept her awake at night easier to bear.

But when she opened the door, she found the room already occupied. A fire was burning, and floating candles provided a warm, comfortable reading light. Severus was seated in one of the armchairs, a book in his hands and a mug on the small table next to him.

He raised his head. Their eyes met. So dark. Her skin tingled and her stomach tightened with longing. At the same time a horrible feeling squeezed her insides together, almost like Devil's Snare. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe.

'I'm sorry, sir – I didn't want to disturb you.' She made to draw back, but he held up his hand.

'There's no need for you to leave, He...' He shook his head a little. 'Miss Granger.'

She swallowed dryly and stepped into the room, noiselessly closing the door behind her. Fixing her gaze on the door handle, she gathered all her Gryffindor courage. 'I wouldn't mind if you were to call me Hermione, sir.'

For a moment he was silent. Then she heard his familiar sigh. It didn't sound exasperated or contemptuous anymore. Merely tired. 'I don't think that would be a very good idea, Miss Granger. Now, if you want to sit down and read, feel free to do so. Otherwise, you are equally free to leave.'

She gripped the book so hard that her knuckles stood out whitely. But she ignored the hot flush suffusing her cheeks, and moved to the other armchair. Somehow she managed to curl up in her chair. Somehow she was able to open her book.

She began to leaf through the pages.

oooOooo

And the magic that lives in words and rhymes took pity on her.

oooOooo

Snape watched her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help himself. He wasn't surprised when she stayed. After more than twenty years of practice, he recognised Gryffindor courage when he saw it.

Curled up in the chair, her feet tugged underneath her, she reminded him of a cat, so limber her movements were almost liquid. His potions had kept the after-effects of the Cruciatus at bay throughout the winter, and now the days were lengthening again. The way she leafed through her book – also like a cat, like the restless movements of an agitated cat's tail. And not at all like her usual reading habits.

'What are you reading?' The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 'If you don't mind my question, Miss Granger,' he added.

She looked up and smiled at him, but it wasn't a happy smile. Her brown eyes were huge in her pale face. In the firelight they glowed with the colour of sherry, rich and warm.

'Not at all,' Hermione said. 'It's a book that belonged to my mother. Muggle poetry. By an American woman-poet of the 20th century. Edna St. Vincent Millay.'

She inhaled deeply, frowning at the book resting on the soft curves of her thigh. 'I normally don't read poetry. But my mother loved these poems very much. I guess I was trying to learn what my mother found in them.'

'And have you discovered what you were looking for?'

'I am not sure. I have neither very much experience with reading poetry nor with most of the subjects the poems deal with.'

'What are they about?'

'Many are about love. Others about a variety of topics – gardens, mythology, religion. A fair number are about death.' Her expression grew bleak. 'I know about that, at least.'

For a long moment he stared at the fire. Then, as if from far away, he heard his voice answer her, 'As do we all, who have survived that final battle.' The practice of the press to call the battle at Hogwarts the 'final' battle still irritated him. If only it had been. 'Is there one you like?' he asked.

'What?'

'A poem. Is there one you – is there one that speaks to you?'

She thought about his question. At last she nodded. 'I am not sure if I understand it, but ... I thought I could ... maybe ... feel like it somehow.'

'Will you read it to me?'

oooOooo

Small Hands, Relinquish All

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The mind, at length bereft

Of thinking, and its pain,

Will soon disperse again,

And nothing will remain:

No, not a thought be left.

Exhort the closing eye,

Urge the resisting ear,

To say, 'The thrush is here',

To say, 'His song is clear';

To live, before it die.

oooOooo

'What are you reading, sir?'

He blinked, slowly pulling himself out of his reverie about that long-dead Muggle-woman's words. Snape smirked at Hermione, as he held up the book he had put aside while he was listening to her.

'The Lord of the Rings?' Hermione laughed softly. 'I'm sorry, sir.'

He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'You may not believe it, but I've read it before. As a boy, long ago – one of my Muggle relatives gave it to me for Christmas.'

'Why are you reading it again now?'

He gave her a wry smile. 'For two reasons. Maybe three. One, for some reason I did not desire to read about Dark Lords in my spare time during the last twenty years. Two, if my Slytherins are getting into trouble because of a book, I should at least be familiar with the story. Three ... it's not all that bad, for Muggle mythology.

'And I think Tolkien was right, at least partly. There are wounds that cannot be healed. And after some experiences you cannot ever be whole again.'

'But what about Sam?' she asked at once.

He looked at her in silence. Her bright young face, filled with fierce hope and something he couldn't quite pinpoint. And for a moment, for a very short moment, he wondered what it would feel like to be able to share that hope.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

56. With A Little Help from Your Friends

(Sunday evening at Hogwarts, office of the Headmistress)

'In other words, they're behaving like idiots,' Harry stated bluntly.

'That is a concise and accurate description,' Minerva commended him. 'Young man, I must say the Auror training seems to agree with you.'

Harry snorted.

'Hermione says she loves him. I believe she knows her mind. And you think that he is feeling bad about asking her to kill him and about kissing her because he loves her, too,' Harry continued. 'Are you sure about that? I mean, he ought to feel bad about even thinking of ordering her to do that. But why feel bad about kissing her? Not that I ever wanted to kiss Hermione, but even I can see that she is kind of pretty, in a hairy sort of way.'

Minerva choked on her whisky. 'Yes, Harry,' she wheezed. 'I am quite sure about that. And you should be very grateful that Ginevra Weasley is such a tolerant, practical girl. Very grateful.'

To her surprise, Harry laughed.

'I am,' he said simply. 'Every day of my life. Those two –' He rolled his eyes. '– that's too complicated for me. There's more than one reason why I didn't end up a Slytherin.

'Now, what are we going to do about those two idiots down in the dungeons?'

oooOooo

'... therefore I think it's best if you accompany her,' McGonagall concluded.

'You want me to do what?' His voice, all but healed, cracked under the pressure of disbelief.

Patiently, as if she were talking to a three-year-old, Minerva repeated, 'Hermione, Harry and their friends are planning to attend a concert in London on Friday night. Muggle music. You might even know the artist. 'Sting' or something like that.' The headmistress sniffed contemplatively. 'Muggles have really no better taste than wizards in their stage names. 'Weird Sisters', 'Stings' ... birds of a feather.

'Given the current situation, I believe that Hermione should not go on her own.'

'But she won't be on her own! Neville, Weasley, Potter – he's a damn Auror-in-training, Minerva! They're adults now, the lot of them. Surely they are capable of going to a rock concert without a babysitter!'

The headmistress fixed him with a piercing look. 'Neville isn't going. He's busy in the greenhouses. And while Harry may be an Auror-in-training, the others are not. Watch-wizards would attract too much attention. Can you imagine any of the other Order members at ... what did you call it? A stoned concert?'

'Not 'stoned',' he muttered, 'though I might as well get some ... 'rock', Minerva. That particular style of music is called 'rock'.' He frowned. 'Though I do believe his latest album is rather on the softer side.'

'Album?' Minerva shook her head bemusedly. 'Well, it seems you are well-acquainted with that aspect of Muggle culture, Severus. I'm sure it won't be too arduous. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.'

oooOooo

The Muggle clothing was a shock. The tight jeans and tighter t-shirt left almost nothing to his imagination.

She was beautiful.

And too thin. Fragile. Suddenly he recalled an almost banished glimpse of white skin, soft curves. The taste of her lips.

... the pain-filled darkness in her eyes hit him like a slap in the face.

'You're going to a concert, not to a funeral, Miss Granger,' he sneered. 'Or would you rather stay here tonight, after all?'

oooOooo

Of course he'd wear black. She hadn't expected anything else.

But the way the tight leather trousers hugged his legs and his long black dress-shirt swirled around him made her stomach tingle and tighten ...

'I'm sorry, sir. Ready when you are.'

oooOooo

It was hard to let her go.

What the hell was wrong with him?

oooOooo

She wanted to cling to him.

Instead Hermione turned and glanced around for the others. A crack sounded and out of thin air, a blonde young woman appeared, wrapped around a dark-haired wizard.

'Hey, Hermione!' Disentangling herself from the embrace, a poncho-clad Luna Lovegood meandered over to give her a quick hug. Luna's necklace of bottle caps had been exchanged for one with exotic shells. Apart from that, the witch appeared unchanged. The wizard at her side sported a poncho, too, green and black chevrons as opposed to Luna's blue and silver swirls. 'This is Rolf. We work together in Peru. Hello, Professor!'

Snape scowled, but nodded. 'Lovegood. Scamander.'

'Professor Snape! That...that...'

'Oh, Rolf – did I forget to tell you? Hermione's his apprentice.'

'Of course you forgot, Luna. It's good to see you again, sir.'

'Here they are!' Harry's voice filtered through the bushes that surrounded the secluded public Apparition spot in Hyde Park. Ginny at his side, he shoved through the shrubs. He met Hermione's eyes with a concerned look. Her tremulous attempt at a smile prompted Harry to look at Snape. His expression hardened, but he merely gave the Potions master a curt nod, before greeting the others.

'Hello Luna. Rolf, great you could get away. George, Lee and Draco are going to meet us there. Ron and Lois should be here any minute.'

'Draco?'

Harry turned back to Snape, his green eyes glittering. 'Yes, Draco. Draco Malfoy. I'm sure you remember him?'

'Harry,' Ginny put her hand on his arm. 'Stop it. And look, I think that's Ron and Lois getting lost in the bushes. Hey, Ron! We're over here.'

Moments later, Ron broke through the underbrush. 'Blimey, do they want people to get lost in this damn jungle?' He grinned happily at his friends. 'Oi, 'Mione! Hey, Looney. Rolf, old man.' His smile faltered. 'Uh... Hello, sir.'

Lois, on the other hand, simply went straight to Professor Snape and offered her hand. 'Thank you for accompanying Hermione, Severus. I must say, you look great in Muggle clothes. Doesn't he, Hermione? Almost like a musician himself, all dark and dangerous.'

Lois winked at Hermione.

But Hermione was staring at Severus, frozen, unable to speak.

After a moment of awkward silence, Lois reached for Hermione's arm. 'Well, guys, let's get going before the concert is over!'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

57. Gravitation

'Who knows, you might even enjoy it.' Just remembering Minerva's words made him scowl at the young witches and wizards walking ahead of him towards the Royal Albert Hall.

George Weasley had kept a place in the queue for their friends. Unfortunately this awkward Muggle procedure couldn't be eased with magic. They needed to get inside the ordinary way.

'Hey, ickle Ronnie,' George teased his brother. 'Who dressed you up? You look like a Mu– like a monster.'

Lois grinned smugly. 'At least your brother knows when to listen to a woman.'

'When did he learn that?' Hermione asked incredulously.

Draco greeted him politely, 'Good evening, sir.'

'Hello, Professor Snape.' George Weasley gave a respectful nod.

'Sir.' Lee Jordan attempted a polite smile.

Snape frowned. Were they trying to taunt him? But no – their eyes showed only a kind of distant politeness mixed with slight apprehension.

When did they grow up?

oooOooo

Once inside, Snape narrowed his eyes at the scrap of paper in his hand. Cautiously he moved along the rows of seats, intent on finding the appropriate row. A noise like a dying lawn-mower, which was probably supposed to be a well-mannered cough stopped him.

He turned and glared at Potter. 'What's the matter?'

Potter gulped quite gratifyingly. 'Uh... just that we're not going to sit down ... sir.'

Snape scowled. 'Why not, Potter? If I am not mistaken, these silly slips of paper indicate we paid good money for those seats.'

He did a few mental calculations, and his frown deepened. Merlin. He had paid twenty four Galleons, ten Sickles and five Knuts in order to accompany his apprentice to a Muggle rock concert?!

'Well,' Harry said. The young man's smirk definitely needed practice. 'That's what Don't Notice Me Charms are there for, aren't they? And besides, after the first three songs no one in the arena will stay seated anyway. Don't worry, Professor. No one will realise that we're there.'

Lois smiled at him reassuringly. 'It will be a lot of fun, trust me. Just don't try to shout. A bit of judicious singing or humming, however, might do your voice a world of good. Remember that silly exercise?'

Why were they treating him as if ...

He shook his head. He did not belong with them. He was only here because Minerva had forced him to. She really wasn't any better than Albus.

Except, he thought, I rather prefer her honest, piercing gaze.

oooOooo

Potter had been right. After the first two songs, people jumped from their seats, churned into the aisles, pressed towards the stage.

The music was good. Even better than the reviews had promised. The voice of the singer was mellow, slightly hoarse, unrefined and intense all at once. The Muggle version of an amplification spell enhanced the volume of the music to the point that it was almost too loud. But it caused the beat to pulse in his blood.

The next song started. The rhythm throbbed in the people around him. A wave of movement pushed him forwards, until he was suddenly drowning in a cloud of curls.

A flowery scent drifted up to him, ensnaring his sense. Hibiscus and honey?

Then he was pressed against Hermione. She swayed against him. The curves of her body bewitched his mind. His breath caught in his throat, and he grew uncomfortably aware of the thudding of his own heart, out of sync with the rhythm that had gripped the revellers around him.

He tried to keep his attention on the stage, on the blond man gyrating with his guitar and smiling as he sang.

As from afar, the words reached his ears and crept into his heart like a spell of longing. A deep ache built up inside his chest, an almost unbearable thirst that matched the desert mentioned in the current song. The feeling intensified whenever the young witch in front of him moved against him.

He couldn't get her smile out of his head. She had smiled at him when he'd woken in St Mungo's and when he'd accepted her as his apprentice. And the other night, when they had talked in the library; but that was a sad smile. She didn't smile very often anymore, he realised. He wished he could forget the agony in her eyes as she'd looked at him only a week ago.

Again she was pressed against him. Again he was pushed forwards. It wouldn't do to stumble, he tried to step back, raised his hands – But again the masses around him surged forwards, pulled at him, a sea of bodies, the melodies of Muggle music their tide.

He lost his footing. Clumsily his hands reached out, searching for something to hold on to.

Oh Gods, she felt good in his arms.

For a moment she stiffened. Then Hermione relaxed against him, leant against him even, as if she were pulled back to his body by an inexorable force. Instinctively, his hands slipped around her waist.

Lost to the gravitational forces of rhythm and melody, they moved together.

oooOooo

The music washed over her like waves on the shore. She didn't hear the words. She barely noticed the singer on the stage.

What she did notice was the man behind her.

Even in the crowd of concert-goers, she could still taste his scent. And when the masses surged towards the stage, she could sense him, as well. He was pushed against her: the warmth of his body, the tense muscles, the unexpected strength of his lean figure.

Another wave of bodies flowed against them. She felt him falter, his breath against her neck.

Suddenly, his hands on her body.

Curling around her sides, sliding around her waist, drawing her against him, closer, closer, until she could feel him pressed against her. Her heart pounding, her breath ragged, she closed her eyes and leant back against him.

The music and his embrace enfolded her, his personal fragrance (vetyver, cypress, bergamot, rosemary, nutmeg ... ahhh...) went straight to her head.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

58. ... and a Little Assistance from Your Foes

'I'll be right with you,' she called, 'Just need to use the loo.'

'Sure, 'Mione.' Ron raised the hand that was not holding onto Lois. 'Don't get lost with all those Muggles everywhere. Or we'll come looking for you.'

Severus' scowl was impressive, but all it did was cause Hermione's stomach to flutter. She shivered, recalling the touch of his hands on her hips, and decisively turned around. They needed to get to the Apparition point before midnight when Hyde Park was closed.

The crowd swept her away.

His body behind her ... his hands at her sides ... the one time when the sides of his thumbs had brushed against her breasts ... and the shocking realisation that he was quite unmistakably aroused by their proximity ... as he pressed against her back ...

Hermione shuddered, gasped for breath – and blinked. Distracted by desire, she'd completely lost her bearings. Around her, the crowd was thinning out quickly, as Muggles hurried to tube stations and parking lots. The night was very dark, and somehow the electrical lights were not as bright as she remembered them. Oppressive shadows of tall buildings loomed around her. Suddenly she felt distinctly uncomfortable. As if someone was watching her.

She needed to get back to the hall. The pressure of her bladder was quite uncomfortable now. Mentally shaking her head at herself, she turned around.

Head in the clouds ... daft idiot ... keeping the others waiting because you get lost in dreams ... in the middle of the night in London of all places ...

Rough voices slurred with drink got her attention. She frowned. Where had all the people disappeared to? She really didn't want to encounter a group of drunkards on her own. Nervously she felt for her wands, securely stashed away in holsters sewn to the sides of her jeans. But they wouldn't help her. Not against inebriated Muggles. Self-defence was one thing. Awkward situations of everyday life a completely different matter. Getting away from some sots wasn't a reason to hex Muggles. Nervously she bit down on her lower lip.

'Look what I found!'

Oh no. They'd seen her.

'A GAL.'

'Whaddas aluvvely younglady alone here atnight?'

Urgh. There were five of them, and they were approaching quickly.

'Ah you lonely, dahlin'?'

He was tall and heavy, beer gut drooping over sleazy jeans.

'Lookin' for company?'

She caught a hint of a cruel smile in the dim beam of the street-lamp.

Just a few drunks. Nothing to worry about. Just keep your head down and keep going. You're just a few hundred yards from the RAH. Just a few more from your friends.

'Looks like it, she's all flushed up.' Raucous laughter roared up.

'Hey, chicky, why won't you talk to us?'

She quickened her pace. She'd almost reached the hall. Surely there would be more people around in a second.

'Don't run away, we only want to talk.'

She ducked and hurried on, uncomfortably aware that they were coming closer. She could smell the drink on them. Her stomach constricted with fear.

'Will you look at that tart? No manners at all.'

'Needs to be taught.'

Suddenly one of them stepped in front of her, bringing her up short, while the other four closed in on her from the sides and from behind.

Oh God.

I'm in trouble. Really bad trouble.

Her heart was racing. Her whole body was shaking with terror. Now was the time to pull the wands. Her trembling hands slid down to her holsters.

But the men were faster.

oooOooo

Hermione struck out wildly. Panic constricted her throat. Scream. You need to scream. Hard hands pulled at her hair. Iron fists held her arms. Someone reached for her legs. Nails scratched her skin as they fumbled for her jeans.

Suddenly she could scream.

She screamed as she had only once before.

Startled, they dropped her. Her head struck the edge of the kerbstone. For a moment the world went fuzzy around the edges. Then a boot kicked her side, and the pain cleared the haze before her eyes. Another foot came down on her left wrist, pinning her to the ground. She could hear the bones break with a horrible crunch. A wave of sickness uncurled so quickly from her stomach that all she could do was open her mouth and vomit right at the man kneeling over her. He recoiled, and that was when Hermione saw the sixth man.

The man was standing behind her attackers, in the shadow beyond the street-lamp. He was dressed in robes. He had lifted one arm, a thin stick of wood grasped in his hand, pointed at her. His sleeve had slipped back, revealing his forearm.

On the pale skin the lines of a tattoo burned with black fire.

Hermione screamed and screamed and screamed, but her shrieks were fading from her ears as if she were moving away from her body. Darkness was gathering around her field of vision.

Then everything went black.

oooOooo

Snape's head shot up as the Bond called upon him. The blood drained from his head as the chill of shock washed through his veins.

Hermione was in danger.

'What's wrong?' Potter's voice cut through the fog of fear rolling towards him from his apprentice.

'Hermione – She's being attacked.'

Pain and panic flooded him. He balled his fists, concentrating hard. Helpless struggling. He needed to find her. Nails shredding skin, a choking grip. He needed to trace her feelings back to their source. Screams that cut through heart and mind. He needed to Apparate to her at once. Agony. Sudden nausea. He needed to know where she was.

There! A sense of a location. A dark street corner behind the hall. How in hell had she ended up there?

Potter frowned. 'How do you know? How do we get to her?'

'She's my apprentice. I'm Bound to protect her. Get your wand out and hold on – Side-along Apparition.'

TERROR! Mindless, all-consuming terror.

And then: nothing.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

59. Legilimens!

Idiot girl. What had she been thinking? Had she been thinking at all?

Snape stood at the foot of her bed in the hospital wing and stared down at her still figure.

So fragile. Too thin. She didn't eat enough. Those dark smudges underneath her eyes – they were not due to the attack. He couldn't remember when he'd seen her without them. Did she ever get a good night's sleep? And the lines on her face. There shouldn't be any. Hermione was only twenty years old. There shouldn't be any lines. But there were. Faint, at the bridge of her nose, on her forehead.

And, oh God, her injuries. Her broken jaw was healed, of course. But even with salves and magic, it would take days until the contusions and bruises receded. Right now her mouth was barely visible, swollen and discoloured. The healed wrist was still wrapped in thick bandages, to give bones, muscles and tendons a chance to recuperate.

He sat down.

'Miss Granger,' he said. 'You have been asleep for two days. It is time for you to wake up.'

Snape didn't expect her to listen to him. She hadn't reacted to Harry's voice or Ron's. Not to Minerva's nor Molly's or Lois'. He had failed her. He had failed her as her master. He had failed her on account of the life-debts he owed her. And DAMN IT ALL TO HELL, he had failed her as the one whose arms had embraced her last.

'Miss Granger,' he repeated. 'You are safe. Please, wake up. We need to know what happened. Please. Hermione.'

Snape didn't expect her to react. If he had believed in prayer, he would have prayed, begging not to turn Hermione into his bitterest failure. But as he was the man he was, he did nothing of the sort.

She woke all the same.

With a high, keening noise of pain and fear, she tried to clutch at him, but failed, weakened by her injuries.

'Miss Granger? Can you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying? You are safe. You don't need to be afraid. You are at Hogwarts. Nothing can happen to you here.'

But he knew, just as she knew, that not even Hogwarts was safe. It hadn't been before. There were no safe places left in the world, even with Voldemort dead and gone.

Brown eyes glittered huge and panicked in her pale face. But she nodded slightly.

Gryffindor all the way.

'We need to know what happened.'

It was cruel to ask this of her. But he had no choice. Either he got the information out of her, or an Auror, or worse, an Unspeakable would do the job.

'Your jaw was broken. That is the reason why you cannot speak. Don't try. It will take a few days until the swelling goes down.

'I am very sorry to ask this of you now, but it is necessary. The Aurors need to know what happened, even if you cannot speak. You have two options. Either I can extract your memories and put them into a Pensieve, or I can perform Legilimency'

For a moment she lay utterly still.

She should be allowed to sleep. To heal. It was not right to question her now. Whatever traces were left, were probably covered up already. But the Ministry was impatient.

Hermione widened her eyes at him. He frowned. What did she want to convey to him?

She lifted her right hand. Her hand trembled, but she managed to move it. She touched her fingertips just below her eyes.

Legilimency.

Foolish, foolish girl.

'Are you sure, Hermione?

'Legilimens!'

oooOooo

Fury surged through him at the attack. Five grown men turning on one young woman!

What kind of world is this?

Each blow struck him along with her, her pain and panic became a part of him.

I should have been there to protect her.

Then he was lying on the ground with her and looking up into the dim light of the street-lamp. And saw the sixth man, wand pointed, the Dark Mark burning black on white skin.

oooOooo

Snape had seen enough. As gently as he could, he began to draw back – and found himself pulled deeper into Hermione's mind instead.

She was the brightest witch of her generation; mentally she was a power to be reckoned with. Hermione was too weak to reach for him physically. So she clung to him with the most desperate strength of her mind.

If he did not want to hurt her by forcibly withdrawing from her mind, he had no choice.

He allowed himself to be pulled into her mental embrace. Her mind-touch was delicate – like her body – but strong as steel underneath, quite unlike her physical form; with a hint of a scent (lemon verbena?). Snape concentrated on the idea of safety and security, hoping that she would eventually relax sufficiently to let him go.

oooOooo

Breathe in.

He tasted the fragrance of his shower soap and his after-shave lotion. Why did the scent of vetyver mixed with herbs make her heart beat faster?

Breathe out.

He remembered holding her, just as she recalled being held. She associated the first feelings of warmth, safety and contentment in months with him? Had this been a conversation, he would have laughed. But an untrained mind like hers could not lie to him.

Breathe in.

It was disconcerting to see himself with her eyes, and to observe himself as he slept. Snape was – just like Hermione – well aware of the imperfections of his appearance (hair lank from years of exposure to cauldron-fumes, skin sallow from bad eating and sleeping habits, face lined, teeth crooked). But for some reason his looks did not only not bother the young witch, she found them appealing. He gave a mental frown. How could anyone in their right mind be obsessed with the form of his hands, the darkness of his eyes? Love his beak of a nose?

Breathe out.

... love?

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

60. Of All The Hare-Brained And Idiotic Things

... love?

But there it was.

The strangest feeling of complete acceptance.

Of respect. Admiration. For his cunning mind, his magnificent skills. For his courage and integrity? Had she developed amnesia? He'd been a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. He was a murderer. He had killed a man she adored and liked!

Appreciation. For his wry wit and caustic humour. For the way he was bold enough to express his anger and frustration, when she always ended up biting her tongue. Was the woman crazy? Jumping in the face of people who only wanted to help you was not a good trait of character!

Concern. There was almost nothing about him that she wasn't concerned about. Did he eat enough? Sleep enough? Did his injury still cause him pain?

Happiness at a fleeting smile.

Exasperation. He was being stubborn? Wasn't that the pot calling the kettle black?

Tenderness. How in hell could she look at him as if he were some kind of precious miracle?

And underneath it all the calm conviction that he would never reciprocate any of these sentiments. That she wasn't deserving of his respect, either for her skills as his apprentice or as a person.

But –

Her thoughts flashed back to the kiss, and he was sucked into a vortex of turmoil. Embroiled by raging desire, his mind was assaulted by two-fold echoes of sensations of such intensity that he gasped aloud.

Need. Desire. Lust.

Then his heart was breaking.

The cliché did not do the experience justice. An overwhelming feeling of despair, a mind-numbing experience of helplessness, of defeat, resulting from her inability to make his life better, worth living. Followed by quiet acceptance. If she couldn't save his life, she would at least provide him with a gentle death. He deserved so much more, but if that was all he would accept from her, if that was truly what he needed, then she would give it to him. Even though she would much rather give her heart to him, her love, her life.

oooOooo

Then she was in Potter's arms – of course, that boy and all he stood for had to be present to torture him even here in Hermione's mind – crying and shaking.

'I love him.'

'You what?!'

'But – Hermione, please don't take this wrong, but – I admit this is quite a surprising development – However, as far as The Plan is concerned, what is so bad about being in love with him? Especially if he – if he kissed you?'

The Plan?

Suddenly he was in the garden of the Burrow, looking at Luna Lovegood's serene smile.

'Simple,' the eccentric Ravenclaw was saying in her most infuriatingly patient tone . 'We have to find him a wife. '

oooOooo

A sense of apprehension, and again that feeling of quiet, unquestioning acceptance, as he heard and felt the memory of Hermione's voice: 'It's quite simple, really. I have to go and pretend that I want to marry him. Then they will have to do their tests and give me the results ... no one will doubt me ... They already think I'm completely barmy, it can't get any worse.'

oooOooo

She hadn't even thought twice? She had simply, without hesitation, given up a comfortable future with the Weasley boy and her career of choice with the Ministry?

... just because she respected and admired him as a teacher, as an Order member and as a...as a fellow human being? Because he deserved a life?

oooOooo

OF ALL THE HARE-BRAINED AND IDIOTIC THINGS THIS PLAN MUST BE THE MOST ... absurd, fantastic, bizarre, ludicrous, preposterous, outrageous, quixotic, impracticable, misguided, ridiculous ... he was running out of adjectives... endeavour he had EVER encountered in his whole life.

... and MINERVA was in on the plan?

... how positively ...

... Slytherin.

oooOooo

Suddenly he was back at the evening of the concert, and Hermione was being swept along with the crowd after the show. She had intended only a quick trip to the loo. But with her mind in turmoil, her feelings in an uproar, her body burning for him (for him??) ... the young witch had been so distracted by the effects his embrace had on her (Oh Merlin, his embrace!) that she never noticed the insidious mind-touch that slipped past the natural barriers of her mind. A vile and subtle lure that had increased her confusion and steered her steps away from the crowd and down a dark alley, until no one would hear her screams in time ...

oooOooo

Only then did Hermione release him.

Snape slid out of her mind and came to sitting next to Hermione's bed, holding her hand and shaking all over.

She loved him.

He stared into her brown eyes. Hermione looked very weary, wrung-out, but also incredibly relieved.

Keeping such a ... Slytherin ... plan secret would have been hard on her, honest Gryffindor that she was. Foolish, foolish girl.

Woman.

She had given up on the future she had envisioned for herself because she was convinced that he deserved a life. Foolish, foolish woman.

She loved him.

She had been prepared to do everything for him. Literally everything. Never mind the consequences. How typically, annoyingly Gryffindor of her.

She loved him.

She liked his goddamn nose.

She wanted him.

She wanted him so much that whenever he merely looked at her, her stomach tightened with need.

She needed him.

His (his!) embrace made her feel safe. Safe and secure. Warm and happy. At peace with herself and the world.

Foolish, foolish woman.

oooOooo

Snape exhaled deeply. Hermione lay in her bed, staring up at him. His black eyes blazed. She was glad that she was no Legilimens. His mind was bound to be a very scary place now. She should probably be frightened out of her wits, since he had discovered not only her ... inappropriate feelings for him, but also The Plan.

But all she could feel was boundless, grateful relief.

Her hand still in his, her lids fluttered shut and Hermione fell asleep.

oooOooo

---

---

NOTES

Banner

The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

---

Chapter: Muggle Mythology

Textual allusions in this chapter:

# the quote is what Gandalf said that Saruman said in 'The Fellowship of the Ring', 'The Council of Elrond'

# the flashback in italics is almost directly from 'Deathly Hallows', 'The Forest Again'

---

Chapter: The Art of Looking for Trouble

The title of this chapter refers to the quote 'Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it, misdiagnosing it, and misapplying the wrong remedies.' from Groucho Marx.

---

Chapter: The Most Stupid Thing That People Do

The title of this chapter refers to the first part of the quote 'Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do – but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it.' by Albert Einstein.

---

Chapter: With A Little Help From Your Friends ...

There really was a concert by Sting on April 1, 2000 in the Royal Albert Hall. If wizards or witches attended I'm not in a position to say, as they would have been wearing Muggle clothes and used 'Do-Not-Notice' Charms to hide their presence.

---

Chapter: Gravitation

The title of this chapter refers again to the quote 'Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do – but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it.' from Albert Einstein. Gravitation may not be responsible for the not at all stupid action of falling in love. However, certain kinds of gravitational forces may speed things along.

The conversion of Muggle money into Galleons & co is care of the Currency Converter at the HP Lexicon.

---

Chapter: ... and a Little Assistance From Your Foes

The Bond is the bond between master and apprentice. The master is sworn to protect the apprentice, so he/she needs to know when the apprentice is in trouble. In a less powerful wizard, that would be an indistinct feeling of worry/alarm. Snape gets details because he's powerful, an excellent Legilimens and in love with Hermione.