The Book of Nimuë – part 1

A/N's

* Selected from: Deus omnipotens, a morte resurgens

Track 13 on Universi populi – Chants sacrés á Prague du XIIc au XVc siécle (Zig-Zag Territoires, © 2006)

French

Je suis désolé – I am sorry

Les souris – mice

Merci – Thank you

Petit – Small/little

S'il vous plait – If you please

Un hibou – an owl

Canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from them.

Thanks and appreciations to TeaOli for beta-reading!

---

"Da per bonitatem, Christe Eleison, fidea unitatem..."*

Sister Clarise's rich alto voice resonated beneath the layers of higher notes provided by the rest of the priory's inhabitants, setting the foundations upon which the other voices merged and soared: marking the time, dictating the measure...

"...Alleluja, ave Maria,"*

The devotional chant rang sublimely as twelve women offered their breath and their hearts to creating a sound that was beautiful in its complexity... and pure in its simplicity.

The massive stone walls caught the notes and passed them on to the cavernous heights of the vaulted roof, where they regaled the painted images of saints and angels as they had done since the priory's completion in the late eleventh century.

"Alleluja, ave Maria."*

Sister Clarise waited until the last echoes vanished into the silence from which they came. Observing this silence, the Sisters filed into the waiting pews.

She struggled to maintain her concentration. For once, the evening prayers seemed to last an eternity. She concentrated on her unspoken recitations. Usually, they brought solace and relief to the deep, dark pain in her soul – but tonight was different. That which she had tried to repress and banish was stirring, and it would not be ignored.

The evening's duties completed, she followed the high-walled passages leading from the chapel to the dormitories. Her small lantern was enough to illuminate her tiny room, which contained a narrow cot, a closet, a writing desk, and a hard, wooden chair. Using the flame from her lantern, she lit a single candle and placed it on her desk. She sat before it and took a moment to steady her racing heart. She stared into the steady glow of the flame. "Show me," she whispered.

---

"Mum! Mum, please, help!"

In spite of her burden of confused hurt at her daughter's actions, it did not cross Jean Granger's mind to ignore Hermione's frantic entreaties. At once, she hurried to the lounge room, nearly colliding with her equally concerned husband as he exited the study at a run.

"Hermione..." Jean's words momentarily froze in her throat as she took in Hermione's appearance. Beneath a generous dusting of ash from the Floo connection – which Jean had crisply specified should only be used in emergencies – she could see that her daughter was not only distraught, but her clothes were torn, singed, and smeared with blood.

The freeze did not last more than a split-second. Few people knew that Dr Jean Granger had once worked night-shifts as a nurse in the Accident and Emergency department of Whittington Hospital. Not having the advantage of a wealthy family to help smooth her way into her chosen profession, Jean had taken an extended, alternative route to achieve her ambitions. She had worked and studied her way into a scholarship program. Years of determined, hard slog had paid off when she won a coveted annual grant to study Dentistry at the University College London – the methodical practicality of her hospital training and hands-on experience had ensured a truly outstanding score on her entrance exams.

"Is that blood yours?" Jean's training took over, its rhythm as natural as instinct.

Hermione wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "No. No, it isn't." She lurched forward and seized her mother in a clumsy embrace. "Please, come with me and help us – he's not a wizard, but we can't take him to a Muggle hospital – he was hit with a curse. We have a curse-breaker working on him now, but Hogwarts' Hospital Wing isn't set up for Muggles. He's lost a lot of blood..." Hermione's voice trailed into a thin whisper.

"What about St Mungo's? I thought they had a Muggle ward for special emergencies?"

Hermione nodded. "They do, but it isn't as well-staffed as it was before the war, and... this is... complicated."

Familiar with his wife's sharp-eyed expression, Andrew Granger knew that she would assist as a matter of principle. "I'll get our coats and your lab-shoes, Jeannie. And a clean shirt for you, Hermione – great heaven, you're a mess, girl!"

Hermione managed a hopeful smile. She had missed her father's good-natured bullyragging.

Jean pushed her daughter towards the Floo, firing questions regarding the patient's name, age, vital signs, and the details of his injuries.

---

On the open roof of Pripyat's gymnasium, Arawn quietly cursed as he bound the wound on his thigh. Physical injury was something he had not anticipated, and for now, several layers of healing charms would have to do. The wound burned and ached mercilessly. He was in for a very long night.

He picked up the bloodied arrow and examined it closely. It was definitely not of Muggle origin, but he was at a loss to tell where it had been made. The finely worked metal of its head suggested it was the work of a goblin armourer. However, goblins had never, to his knowledge, made arrow-heads in the style of the missile in his hands. The tapering point with its gracefully backswept barbs was very different to the broad, serrated heads favoured by goblin-kind.

Wherever the arrow had been made, Arawn was certain that a Muggle could not have obtained it without some form of magical assistance. The phoenix burned brightly in his memory. So, Snape has a phoenix flying interference, does he? Thwarted and furious, he flung the arrow aside. But what use would he, a wizard and turn-coat Death Eater, have for a Muggle? His wound gave an almost spiteful stab, and Arawn conceded that – for Snape – the Muggle had proved very useful indeed.

---

Amid the organised hubbub of the Hospital Wing, Jean spotted the injured man immediately. Unconscious and grey-pale, Toby lay on his stomach while a young man with red hair and a scarred face held a wand over a gaping wound which extended diagonally across his right shoulder blade. The wound was clean-edged – as though he had been slashed with a machete, and it was deep; Jean suspected it went right to the bone.

A black-clad wizard with raven hair and intense black eyes stood by the other side of the bed, softly chanting in a language which sounded like Latin. He looked vaguely familiar.

A grey-haired witch in a long, plain dress and white starched apron approached them. Jean could recognise authority on sight. This was the Hospital Wing's Matron.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," the witch nodded to both Granger parents. "It seems that everywhere we turn, these days, we find we are short of helping hands with the necessary expertise. I am Poppy Pomfrey. I must ask you to stand back for a little longer until Bill has extracted the curse. Curses of that particular class can be quite unpredictable and have been known to jump to nearby bodies. As you can see, our patient will need his blood levels boosted. Because we use a replenishing potion to address blood loss – and it will not work for Muggles – we are unsure of how to proceed."

"That's Bill Weasley, isn't it?" Andrew asked. "One of Ron's five brothers?"

Poppy nodded, her expression grave as her next words hinted at stoic grief. "Four brothers now. Fred lost his life in the Battle of Hogwarts. Even in death, he never lost his smile."

Andrew and Jean looked at each other. In spite of Minerva's testimonies, Hermione's tearful and broken descriptions, and the reports sometimes gaudily trumpeted in various editions of the Daily Prophet, the reality of the insidious war that had culminated in a desperate battle within the castle walls had seemed like something distant. Something kept at arm's length – as though it needed to be shelved for a time before it could be properly examined and comprehended. Something that took second place to the unsolicited magical alteration of their lives, their personalities, and even their names.

Everything they had read and been told came flooding back to both of them, demanding immediate acknowledgement. Jean could do no less as she looked around the Hospital Wing. There was a quiet, sombre undercurrent to the place which brought an ache to the soul and tears to the eyes. She knew that it had recently been a place where young lives were both saved and, inevitably, lost. She took her husband's hand. By the worried, sorrowful look he gave her, he was thinking the same thing.

Bill Weasley gave a gasp of effort, sweat breaking out on his forehead as his action indicated he was removing something particularly intractable. "Come on, you stubborn spawn of a psychopathic succubus! Severus, shields up... Got it!" He flicked his wand over a waiting canister and slammed the lid into place. "Right, it's safe to attend to that wound now – Merlin knows, he's lost enough claret as it is." He stood up and shook the canister. "By Hecate, that was a nasty one! Madam Pomfrey, I'll be back in a tick. This thing should be stored under lock and ward."

Jean blinked as she thought she saw something like fluorescent green smoke writhing inside the canister in search of a way out. Dismissing the observation as irrelevant, she consulted the latest blood pressure, pulse, and respiration readings and swept into action. "At least he is still breathing on his own – just. By the look of him, I doubt we have time for a haemoglobin assay. I estimate two pints straight up and a top-up later on. Do we know his blood type?"

A small chorus of negatives had her rummaging through the unconscious man's trouser pockets with little regard for physical sanctity. She ignored an outraged glare from the wizard Bill had addressed as 'Severus'. Good name for him, too, she thought. "I need alcohol swabs, an intravenous kit, and isotonic saline." She pulled a worn and battered wallet out of a front pocket and tossed it to her husband. "See what you can find in there," she ordered, not questioning how the requested items had materialised on a metal trolley conveniently positioned at her elbow.

Andrew quickly sorted through the contents of Toby's wallet. A red and white card caught his eye and he fished it out triumphantly. "Aha! A regular blood donor! He's O-negative."

"Do you have any contacts in a blood bank?" Jean called out to Madam Pomfrey, deftly inserting a cannula into an accessible vein.

Severus was thankful he had covered every aspect of his own blood chemistry while exploring the mechanisms of Nagini's venom. He cut off Poppy's reply with an almost territorial growl: "Tobias and I share the same blood group and Rhesus factor."

Jean cleared the intravenous lines of air. Making sure the saline was flowing as it should, she turned to find that Severus was watching her suspiciously. She glanced at Toby, then at Severus again.

"You are a relative?"

Severus nodded.

"Tobias is his father," Hermione supplied meekly.

"Any notifiable diseases?"

Severus' posture stiffened with a hint of indignation. "None. And I am able to provide the necessary volume."

"Taking any medications?"

"No."

Hermione tugged on her mother's sleeve as Jean calculatingly cast her eyes over Severus. "Mum, there's no need to estimate how much he can give. We have Blood Replenishing Potion on hand, so he won't be at risk."

Jean nodded. "Good. That's one potential obstacle dealt with. For the sake of urgency, we'll dispense with a full cross-match. There is a small risk in going ahead without it, but as Severus is an immediate relative with the same type, I shall call the risk negligible." She addressed Severus. "Take your coat off and roll up your sleeves; both arms, please. I'll need to find a suitable vein."

She studied Toby's breathing for a moment. "Deep breaths, slightly stronger exhalation, but not too rapid. Madam Pomfrey, we'll need to monitor that – if his respiration rate increases, he'll be over-breathing, and we'll have a whole new set of problems. Do you have the means to separate red blood cells from plasma?"

Poppy motioned Severus onto a nearby cot. "We can adapt a charm to do it: I have an expert on selective extractions from heterogeneous substances right here!" She took Severus' coat. "You might as well be comfortable," she told him, arranging pillows so he could sit up enough to keep an eye on what was going on around him. "Our contact in St Mungo's advised us to follow standard Muggle procedures... Oh, for Merlin's sake!"

Severus looked down to find that his white shirt was liberally stained with Tobias' blood where it had soaked through his outer layers. He scowled and muttered an oath.

Casting one of her own specialised cleansing charms, Poppy wondered if Severus had chosen black as his signature colour for the simple fact that blood – his own or anyone else's – would not easily be seen. "Why is it, Severus, that whenever I spend any time with you, I have to clean you up in some way?"

Severus answered with a sulky shrug. He slyly glanced at his coat and waistcoat. He gave a half-smile when Poppy tutted, rolled her eyes, and applied the same charm to his discarded clothing.

A house-elf in immaculate blue-and-white linen tea-towels trotted into the Hospital Wing. "Bitsy is arriving in Madam Pomfrey's office," the house-elf announced to Poppy. "Bitsy is not wanting to alarm patients with loud popping noise. Bitsy is noticed, it is scaring some peoples, sometimes. Especially after wars." The house-elf craned her neck to have a proper look at Tobias, backing away nervously when the Granger Muggles turned and looked at her in open-mouthed surprise. "Tocky is telling Bitsy he is most upset," she explained hurriedly, hiding behind Poppy's skirts. "Tocky is saying master Tobias is good to him. Tocky is not wanting to lose a good master."

"You may tell Tocky that help has arrived, and I shall give him an update when I have a spare moment." Poppy ushered Bitsy into full view. "We have a Squib contact working for a Muggle medical supplies company in Edinburgh," Poppy told the astonished dentists. "Bitsy is his house-elf, so if you need anything, Dr Granger, just tell her what it is, and Evan will send her back with the necessary items." She nodded towards Tobias. "I'll make a start on getting the wound sutured while you're busy with Severus."

Jean was thankful she was in her own particular mental zone, where no sight or sound would shake her from attending to the task at hand. It was a skill she had developed during the Friday and Saturday night shifts at Whittington, and it had proved indispensible during the inexplicable mayhem coincident with a full moon. She could indulge in utter disbelief – and a very stiff drink – later. Right now, she had things to do.

She methodically listed the items she would need while the house-elf listened attentively. Bitsy scooted back into Madam Pomfrey's office. Mere moments later, Jean accepted the requested blood-collection equipment from the house-elf with a quietly professional "Thank you" and carried it to the cot where the ever-scowling Severus waited with obvious impatience.

Severus eyed Jean Granger impassively as she examined his right arm, pressing her thumb into his median cubital vein. She repeated the procedure on his left arm.

"Are you left-handed?" she asked.

"No."

Loquacious gentleman, aren't you? "Ambidextrous?"

"When it is necessary." Severus knitted his brows, trying to keep a treacherous thought-stream safely at bay. By the way, I made love to your daughter last night. He ground his teeth and told his mind to shut up and go away before it could regale him with images of Hermione at the exact moment she...

Positively effusive... "Hm. Your left forearm has a more prominent vascular structure than your right." She looked at him questioningly.

Out of habit, Severus retreated behind a wall of Occlumency. He kept his eyes on Poppy, who was using triple-skein spider silk for Tobias' internal sutures. Severus felt his leg twinge where Fluffy had inflicted a particularly deep laceration – he knew all about having muscles sewn back together. For the more severe injuries, healing charms and potions needed a bit of physical help to perform their functions quickly and effectively. He frowned. There was nothing he knew of that would do the same for a Muggle. Unless... He sat up abruptly, chasing an elusive idea.

"Secret wizard business, I assume." Jean diplomatically let Severus off the hook with a rhetorical question and firmly pushed him back onto the pile of pillows.

Severus nodded, noting that Jean had evidently decided to draw blood from his left arm. He glumly considered that she would not so much let him off the hook, as drive a hook into him – possibly into a very specific part of his anatomy – if she knew of his history and his connection with Hermione. The treacherous part of his mind spoke up again with libidinous cheer: Connection, alright! He sighed resignedly, just as Jean released the tourniquet and allowed his blood to flow into a collection pouch. Crookshanks... Animated with inspiration, he sat up again.

Jean placed her hand squarely in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down. "Keep still! Honestly, you're like a bag of eels! I'll draw a pint from you, then give you a rest before I collect the second. Let me know if you feel dizzy, faint, or otherwise uncomfortable."

Severus looked her in the eyes. "Believe me, Madam Granger: I've lost copious quantities of blood in situations that were far less comfortable. This procedure is something of a novelty, given that it is voluntary."

Apparently, Jean was not sure how to interpret his statement. She frowned for a moment; then her expression softened as Hermione approached, bearing a wooden rack filled with glass phials and a goblet of water.

Andrew stood at the foot of Tobias' bed, with an extremely interested curse-breaker by his side, reading from a scroll over which a white quill hovered. He announced that the patient's blood pressure was slowly rising in response to the saline.

"I would prefer wine," Severus grumbled as Hermione placed the goblet within his reach.

"And you don't need me to tell you that the alcohol in wine will impede the sequestration of copper from the Vesuvian basil, leading to incomplete binding of iron with newly-generated globin proteins, which will result in the Blood Replenishing Potion having a less than optimal effect." Hermione stated in her best know-it-all manner.

Something in Hermione's slightly mischievous tone caused Jean to have a small moment of insight. There was a note of intimate familiarity there – and, judging by the fleeting smile which flickered in his eyes, Severus was not about to repulse it. Jean sent the observation to join the other interesting scenes she had witnessed and filed for later reference. Leaving her daughter to keep Severus company, she went to assist Poppy with the correct placement of a drainage tube.

---

While Arawn tended his wound and pondered his failure, a Dementor hovered uneasily in a nearby doorway. It did not like the arrow. Through its senses, it could feel the echo of the songs that had been sung during the arrow's making – songs of light and freedom, valour and strength, songs which told of Dark powers vanquished and souls redeemed.

The Dementor stirred as Arawn threw the arrow to a distant corner of the roof. It approached the human and established the mind-link which would allow communication:

The power we seek is not beyond us.

Arawn slowly got to his feet. "We need another plan, another strategy. It will be much harder this time."

We have the means. We are many. We must feed.

Arawn frowned. "What means?"

The Dementor extended its hand and pointed, then drifted towards the edge of the roof.

Limping, Arawn followed. Looking down, he drew a silent breath of anticipation. "How did you do this?"

The creature beside him seemed to swell. Use the others as you will...

Arawn nodded as his instructions to the Dementors were repeated back to him. He almost laughed. He had thought that the hungry creatures would have consumed the remaining Death Eaters. It seemed they had learned the benefits of strategic restraint. The square in front of the gymnasium was populated with partially-eaten wizards and witches. At a quick head-count, perhaps one hundred and fifty waited in empty-eyed, slack-jawed obedience.

They will do as you command...

"They should be easier to control than the average Inferius," Arawn mused, a strategy already beginning to take shape in his mind.

The Dementor turned to face him. As will these.

Arawn listened as the frigid streets echoed to the sounds of shuffling feet. What...? Muggles silently poured into the square, swelling the ranks of Death Eaters until the huge space was filled to capacity. Apart from displaying the signs of partial consumption, they all seemed to be Muggles of a particular dispensation. Using his mind-link with the Dementor, Arawn could sense them: thieves, street-thugs, desperate addicts, murderers, and many others who openly enjoyed inflicting acts of savage cruelty and brutal degradation upon any creature, living or dead.

This is our city, now.

"The City of the Dementors," Arawn agreed, looking beyond the square. Hovering above decaying streets and crumbling buildings, a cold, brooding throng had assembled. We are many, the Dementor had informed him. It had not lied. The Dementors in Pripyat easily numbered in their thousands.

---

Severus sat forward, rested his elbows on the edge of the bed, and watched his father attentively. Tobias' breathing had evened out, and he appeared to be in nothing more than a very deep sleep. His colour was markedly better.

Severus pondered the fact that his blood was responsible for the favourable change. It was a very strange feeling.

Hermione came to his side and draped his coat over his shoulders, her hands lingering to rub his tense muscles. "Mum and Dad are with Bill in Madam Pomfrey's office, drinking night-duty-strength cocoa while they wait for Headmistress McGonagall to come back from St Mungo's. She took Petrus there to see Oriens."

Severus raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Bill took a Floo call from Minerva about an hour ago. Oriens will be out of action for a while until his leg heals, but he will make a full recovery. Auror Tyburn and Auror Savage have been released back to the Ministry." Hermione hesitated and bit her lip. "There's nothing they can do for Auror Derwent."

Severus took her hand. "And your parents?"

"Both of them are taking things in their stride, with a bit of help from Bill," Hermione answered, brightening a little. "I think the walls may be coming down – I can tell they want to talk with me." She squeezed Severus' fingers. "I asked Sir Nicholas if he would be kind enough to find Crooks and direct him here," she said softly. "But what Madam Pomfrey will say, I really can't imagine."

"I will argue a case for research purposes," Severus replied stiffly. He met Hermione's eyes and felt his mask of detachment falter. "I don't know what to do..." he whispered.

Hermione wrapped an arm around his shoulders, sensing that his statement went beyond Tobias' immediate requirements. "You will think of something. You always do."

Deeply moved by the comfort her simple statements and gestures brought, Severus could only hold her close and press several kisses to her fingers. He glanced up as Poppy approached them, wiping her hands on a towel. He saw her hesitate as surprise arrested her intention to speak. He felt heat creep up from his collar when the usually serious witch bestowed a beaming smile on them both.

About time, too, Poppy thought. Merlin knows, he deserves some light in his life – but I would never have guessed that Hermione would be the one to provide it. Ah, well, Minerva did warn me. So I was right about young Ronald being a flash in the cauldron! Oh, gods! Do her parents know? "Don't you go fretting, Severus. He'll be sore and sorry when he wakes up, but he'll be right as good Scottish rain in no time."

Severus wanted to remain silent, but Poppy's reassurance thawed his resolve. He quietly voiced his concerns: "He is a Muggle. And he is not a young man."

Poppy cast a few diagnostics. She smiled openly at the results. "True on both counts – but he is quite healthy, and I've seen wizards half his age who are not as fit. Thanks to your prompt recitation of a containment chant, the curse he was hit with didn't go far at all. Bill managed to extract every skerrick of it, so the injuries are purely physical. I also suspect your father has a remarkably robust constitution – which he has passed on to you, it would seem." She waited for Severus to respond with an incredulous scowl. "There had to be some explanation as to how you managed to take mere days to recover from things that would have incapacitated anyone else for weeks on end!"

Severus rolled his eyes. "A partial explanation – that much I will concede," he muttered. Noting Hermione's knowing smile, he curled an arm around her waist and dragged her into his lap, intending to lightly chastise her for impudence.

Poppy gave a slight cough, alerting them to the presence of Hermione's parents. They stood in the doorway, wearing twin expressions of carefully crafted reserve.

Hermione's breath hitched. "Oops."

Feeling suddenly defensive, Severus made no move to separate himself from his witch. After all, her parents had been keeping Hermione at a distance – albeit with reasons that were somehow important to them. To Severus' increasingly protective mind, they had no right to question what Hermione did or with whom. His thoughts jolted to a stop. Would they try to take her away from him? Before he could entertain the question, Hermione's lips covered his in an unmistakeably possessive kiss. He could not help but respond in kind, all the while wondering if he really had been sorted into the wrong House. "I think we have effectively removed ourselves from the frying pan – and launched headlong into the fire," he observed.

Hermione rested her forehead against his. "I know. Terribly Gryffindor, don't you think? Mum, Dad, I can explain everything!" she whispered.

Severus acknowledged her effort to lighten the situation with a slight smile. "Are you likely to require my presence?"

"I shouldn't think so. Besides, you wouldn't be waiting here if you didn't want to be around when Tobias wakes up. Don't worry about us," she continued. "They are my parents, but I don't intend to spend the rest of my life with them."

Severus blinked in disbelief as she left to engage in what would no doubt be a detailed information session on a broad range of topics. 'I don't intend to spend the rest of my life with them.' He played the words over and over again, a ball of trepidatious warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Did her words mean that she would be willing to spend the rest of her life with him? He exhaled slowly. One step at a time, he reminded himself. He glared defiantly at Poppy, who had been regarding him with amused indulgence.

"You don't do anything by halves, do you, Severus?" Poppy hid a smile. "I shall be in the students' ward, if you need me. You've been in the Hospital Wing often enough to know how the summoning system works. Let me know when Tobias wakes up." Sighing, she levitated a tray heavily burdened with salves and potions. "The First-Years' Flying class had a very eventful lesson today."

"Evidently." Severus watched Poppy leave. He leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling.

A faint, determined scratching reached his ears. Tracking the sound, Severus approached the closed door of the staff ward, which was now empty except for himself and Tobias. A ginger paw slid through the space between the timber door and the flagstones. Pink pads turned upwards. Claws curled and searched, eventually finding purchase in the scuffed and pitted wood.

"Crookshanks."

The paw withdrew and was replaced by a symmetrical array of whisker-tips.

Having no desire to witness any more injuries, Severus opened the door with excessive care. Crookshanks flowed into the Hospital Wing and wound himself around Severus' legs.

"Severus? Is that you?"

"I would say so, Sir Nicholas, with a very high degree of confidence."

The ghost emerged from a wall and gave his shoulders a quick hitch, thereby settling his head in a less precarious position. "Miss Granger asked me to lead her familiar here. I found him down by the lake, cadging fresh trout from the merpeople." The ghost peered past Severus into the Hospital Wing. "I shan't loiter: I heard there were Muggles about and I don't want to frighten them."

Severus briefly wondered if it were possible for Sir Nicholas to frighten anyone. Before he could think of anything to say, the nearly headless ghost faded from sight.

Crookshanks sat in front of him, looking up with rounded eyes, pricked ears, and whiskers curved attentively forward.

"Cadging trout from merpeople, were you?"

The half-Kneazle seemed to shrug. He carefully washed a front paw.

Severus gathered the animal into his arms. "I do have a specific reason for requesting your presence," he began, slightly alarmed at the fact that talking to Crookshanks seemed to be an entirely normal thing to do. "Really, it is more a matter of asking you for a favour." Shall I sign myself into in the Janus Thickey ward now, or wait for the nice mediwizards in white robes to make an appearance?

Crookshanks stared at him, angling an ear quizzically.

Without knowing what response to expect – or even how to begin to explain what he wanted Crookshanks to do – Severus placed the increasingly curious creature on the end of Tobias' bed and stood back to see what would happen next.

Crookshanks' nose twitched as he examined this most unusual perch. His whiskers leading the way, he tentatively crept up beside the injured human, pausing every few steps to watch and listen. Almost a minute passed. With a slow sweep of his tail and a careful placing of paws, the half-Kneazle climbed onto Tobias' lower back. Settling himself in sphinx-posture, he closed his eyes – and began to purr.

Severus cautiously resumed his seat, not wanting to do anything that might disturb Crookshanks' focus. The rhythm of the half-Kneazle's purr changed: it grew deeper and stronger, coming in long, steady oscillations. Severus wondered if the animal was using a cyclical breathing technique to sustain such a concentrated effort. He let his eyes drift closed and crossed his forearms on the bed. He could feel the vibrations through the mattress. With a soothing ripple, his nerves and muscles relaxed. Severus shifted forward a little more... and rested his head on his arms...

---

In Madam Pomfrey's office, Hermione watched her mother's face carefully. Her father paced the floor, thoughtfully wandering between crammed scroll-shelves and a locked cabinet containing the most frequently used healing potions and pastes. While the Granger family's discussions had been far from easy, the sense of cold distrust was nowhere to be felt. Hermione was emotionally exhausted. The desperate longing to fling herself into her parents' arms and beg forgiveness had melted away. The three of them had agreed that re-establishing themselves as a family would be a journey over ground that had been irrevocably changed – and in places it would be difficult – but there was a lot of new ground, too, to make the journey worthwhile and rewarding.

Bill Weasley had taken his leave almost two hours before. Hermione vowed to send him a letter expressing her gratitude for extracting a curse at short notice, the good-humoured support he had given to her parents as they encountered a barrage of novel magical experiences, and his warm smile as he took her aside and assured her that there were no hard feelings from the Weasley clan. Molly and Arthur, he had said, had seen their boys through the trials-of-love-and-woe many a time. All of the brothers had survived the experience to their betterment – with a spoonful of common sense and a bigger spoonful of home-cooked comfort food – and Ron was proving that he would be no different.

When Hermione finally got around to explaining her rather forward interaction with Severus, she had experienced an unexpected surge of uplifting energy, and she had wondered if he was with her in some subtle way. While being peppered with parental questions, she had realised that he was with her – in her heart. The strength and significance of the connection nearly made her dizzy.

Andrew Granger continued pacing. Her former teacher, an ex-Death Eater, a spy, and... He stopped short of labelling Severus as an exonerated killer. One of his own patients, an infantryman who had served on the Western Front in the first World War, had once told him how he had sent a bullet through his best mate's head. In a voice weakened with age and sorrow, the old man had told of a bitter, desperate act. Cut off by winter snows, stranded in a dank fox-hole, shot at by day and frost-bitten at night, his mate's wound had turned gangrenous. By turns lucid and confused, feverish and shivering, the wounded soldier's abdomen had begun to swell with tormenting gas. They were days away from the nearest field hospital. Death was certain. And then there were the rats: corpse-fattened and bold, unwilling to wait for a man to die before they began to feed. A minute of ashen-faced clarity. A whispered plea to end the agony quickly. A final trusting handshake between lifelong friends. The muffled crack of a rifle had echoed over cratered fields treacherous with ice, shrapnel, and unexploded ordnance. Another soldier's name had joined the growing list of the fallen.

"Almost like a mercy killing, but what a horrific thing to have to do..." Andrew murmured, more to himself than his wife and daughter. He considered what Hermione had done to, or for, himself and Jean. An act of mercy. Erasing them from the landscape to keep them safe. Erasing herself from their memory in case she died, so they would not have to grieve her loss. What a horrific thing to have to do.

Hermione crossed the room to the fireplace and stared into the flames. "Professor Dumbledore made Severus promise. He was going to die from the curse – Severus said there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do." Her eyes flashed angrily. Tiny orange sparks danced at her fingertips. "It tore Severus apart, agreeing to kill him..."

"If I correctly recall what I read in the Prophet, those Death Eaters would have tortured Dumbledore," Andrew stated, unable to remove the sudden image of human-sized, robe-clad, silver-masked, corpse-fattened rats from his mind. "Not that the knowledge would have made it any easier for... Severus. It probably never will," he added, remembering the rawness of his elderly patient's grief. "But still, Hermione, he sounds like an extremely dangerous wizard."

"He can be," Hermione answered honestly. "But during the war, all of us who fought proved to be dangerous. Anybody can be dangerous when they are fighting for their lives, with their backs to the wall." She consciously relaxed her hands – they had bunched into fists as soon as her magic began to spark. "Even before the fighting, Harry and Ron both told me that I am 'way too scary'."

Andrew gathered his daughter into a hug as tears brimmed in her eyes. She had fought in a war. He had not. She carried the painful burden of direct experience where death was always watching... waiting. He did not. He shook his head.

"Dad?"

"Such a lot to try to understand, and I don't think we shall ever truly comprehend it all."

"But we'll do the best we can," Jean proclaimed stoutly, earning a fervent nod of agreement from her husband. She braced herself as Hermione seized her in a delighted embrace. "I swear, you have grown stronger," she gasped. "Now, about this new wizard of yours – he looks a little younger than the photographs in the Prophet, now that I remember where I have seen him before. Oh, good grief! There I was: giving him orders, pushing him around, and likening him to eels."

Hermione could not hold back the grin which spread across her face. "Under the circumstances, I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Jean shrugged, her concerns taking a different tack. "He doesn't say much, does he? But I can see there is a prodigious intellect at work behind his silence. Mind you, he could do with a few sessions in my surgery. Does he treat you well?"

"We treat each other well. I don't think I could ever call Severus a chatterbox." Hermione paused, suddenly thoughtful. "I've been learning that not all communication depends on spoken words. Sometimes, we can spend hours together and not say anything – and it's not at all awkward or uncomfortable. Quite the opposite." She smiled. "I think I know the photograph you mean – and yes, he did look terrible! He isn't so heavily burdened now. Less stressed, in a nut-shell." Definitely less stressed. Especially after... Whoa! Don't go there!

While Andrew had one more question to ask, he could not think of a way to ask it without being blunt. He tried an indirect approach. "Was Severus the reason you had second thoughts about young Ron?"

Hermione sighed and bit her lower lip. "No," she said after a moment. "I suppose you could say I had some... insight... into what road I might have been heading down. If I had stayed with Ron, and things had started to... I would have stuck with it until... I would have compromised to the point where...

"Oh, you know – if I start on something, I like to see it through to the end, no matter what. I... I think... I would have descended into a whopping great mid-life crisis by my late thirties." She surprised her father by revealing that she had successfully read his disguised question. "Severus and I didn't get together until after he came back to Hogwarts. After the war..." Hermione hesitated. Her memory supplied an image of Severus as he was when she went back to the Shrieking Shack to find him. Thank the gods, he was not dead. Thank them again and again, he did not die.

"I could always see you with an older man," Jean stated in an attempt to clear the sudden glaze of haunted devastation from Hermione's face. "When you were little, you consistently preferred adult company to children of your own age. Ron seemed very nice, and I know you had your heart set on him for a long time. But in a lot of ways, he was also very much younger than you. A good friend, certainly, but I could never see him as a permanent prospect for anything more. In intellect, empathy, and maturity, you were leagues ahead of him. And he never wrote to you during the holidays."

Andrew gave a quiet sigh. "How much older?"

Hermione barely had time to draw a breath before her mother presented a reasonable answer.

"Andrew, I don't think that is any of our business. Hermione is old enough – and wise enough – to make her own choices. Besides, what will age matter when Severus is one hundred and ten, and our Hermione is, let's see, around ninety?"

Hermione turned crimson. Had her mother really intuited her newest, innermost, and deeply secret hope? "Mum!"

---

Severus leapt out of his chair when a hesitant touch startled him awake.

Without taking the trouble to raise his head from his paws, an off-duty Crookshanks half-opened one eye and glared at him for daring to interrupt the sacred rites of sleep.

"Sorry. Weren't sure... I might be seein' things," Toby mumbled unsteadily.

Taking a deep breath and willing his heart rate to return to normal, Severus sleeved his wand. "I am not a figment of imagination – yours or anyone else's."

Toby shifted restlessly. "Where's the Llygad?"

"I have it." Severus felt in his pocket and drew the object out for Tobias to see. His fingers touched the smooth, warm surface of the enamelled brooch he had taken from the crystal cave. A royal cipher... He placed the Llygad in the top drawer of a cabinet beside the bed. "You are still in quarantine and must have access to it until you are formally cleared." He warded the drawer so that only he or Tobias could open it.

"Quarantine, my arse! What's sittin' on me?"

Welcoming any distraction from recalling the events in the cave, Severus was almost inclined to be conversational. "A very large, very hairy, ginger feline. He appears to be asleep, but Hermione assures me that when Crookshanks adopts that particular posture, he is meditating."

"She's okay, then? Yer lass, I mean."

"Yes. She is unharmed." Severus closed his eyes. "Thanks to your proficiency with the bow and arrow."

Toby tried to shrug. His eyes widened in pain. "Oww, bugger! Soddin' bastard son of a fly-blown bush-pig..."

"I do hope you're referring to Arawn or one of his acquaintances," Severus commented, surreptitiously summoning Poppy from wherever she might be.

"I weren't referrin' to you, that's for sure. Or you," he added as the reportedly very large ginger feline stood up, turned around in a clockwise circle, sat down in what felt like a sphinx-posture, and produced an engine-like purr. "Least I gave 'im somethin' to think about."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You did?"

"Mongrel stopped laughin' when an arrow bit 'is thigh." Toby scowled. "If 'e 'adn't got me first..." He paused as realisation dawned. "God's Teeth... I never took a man's life before. Now there's three..."

"Under extenuating circumstances. Arawn wanted me alive for a specific purpose. As you may have gathered, he would not have experienced any regret over killing you, or anyone else in our party." Severus drew a breath as his eyes glittered dangerously. "They would have done much worse to Hermione."

Toby shivered, prompting another painful spasm and a reproving tail-swat from the purring sphinx. "Yeah. When you put it like that... I couldn't 'ave done anythin' else." He sighed. "Always in t'muck; only t' depth changes."

Severus folded his arms, momentarily lost in recollection. I couldn't have done anything else... He could hear Charity Burbage's near-delirious pleading – while he maintained a mask of disinterested stone. For the greater good. He could see Albus, frail and brittle against the unyielding stones of the Astronomy Tower, damn near commanding him to deliver death while Mad Bella's demented cackle raked painfully across his senses. Again, for the greater-bloody-good. Could I have done anything else?

"Fair dinkum, Sev'rus, if you get any paler, you'll vanish."

Severus rubbed his eyes. He picked up the bow from where it lay next to his father's jacket and a bloodstained, empty quiver. From a leather arm-guard, an engraved red dragon ceased its pacing to look up at him.

"A bird brought it," Toby muttered. "A bird with feathers like fire."

"That would be Fawkes – a phoenix," Severus said distantly. "I saw him, too."

"And that would be Crookshanks. In my Hospital Wing, sitting on a patient under my care." Poppy set her much-lighter tray down with a prim clatter. She placed her hands on her hips. "Well, Severus?"

"Yes, I'm quite well, thank you. It is most kind of you to ask. However, Tobias is the one in need of attention, and Crookshanks is giving all the assistance he can."

Poppy shook her head and pursed her lips in irritation. At least I don't have a fight on my hands, she thought. She smoothed her apron as Crookshanks turned a pair of kitten-innocent eyes on her and tilted his head appealingly. "Tobias, now that Severus has graciously reminded me of my duty, are you in a great deal of pain?"

"Only when I breathe."

May the gods help us. There are two of them.

"It's better when the... when Crookshanks purrs," Toby added, taking the opportunity to shift his position as much as bandages and supporting pillows would allow. He examined his left arm and scowled.

"Dr Granger said we should leave the cannula in place, in case we needed to get some more blood into you." Poppy waved her wand over him. "I doubt that will be necessary. Your wound is stabilising ahead of schedule. You've already had a dose of antibiotics, on Dr Granger's orders."

"I needed blood?"

"You certainly did. We found your donor's card: I suppose we could say, 'what goes around, comes around'? Fortunately, you and Severus are the same blood type. He offered to play nicely and share." Poppy smiled at Tobias' expression of utter disbelief and Severus' sneer at the suggestion of playing nicely. "It would appear that his blood is worth bottling."

"I would rather keep it in my body," Severus muttered. "But it seems that the Fates consistently have other ideas." He nodded towards Crookshanks, who had settled into the same penetrative purring as the wizard had witnessed previously – before being lulled into an unintended nap. "I cannot take all of the credit. I believe the half-Kneazle is administering a healing technique."

Poppy looked at Crookshanks with kindled interest. "There are plenty of anecdotal accounts telling of animals' instinctive attempts to heal the injured and sick. Personally, I've never seen it happen... But that purr certainly is not a means of simply passing the time!" With practised silence, Poppy approached the bed. Crookshanks did not twitch a single hair. "Tobias?" she whispered.

"Don' talk. Feels good. Pain's tol'rable." Toby murmured, well on the way to dozing off.

Poppy gave Severus a sidelong glance. "Remarkable. Is there a physiological aspect to what is going on?"

Severus looked a little smug. "There is potential to obtain quantitative information. The healing purr covers a range of sound frequencies known to be beneficial to the healing of bones, muscles, tendons, and joint mobility. From what I can assemble out of literature, the harmonics of the healing purr cause a densification of tissue – possibly localised in the case of transmission between bodies – and I've read enough to speculate on positive correlations between purring harmonics, tissue density, and anabolic activity." He began to pace, his hands locked behind his back. "But even if such correlations exist, they do not imply causality. This would have to be a full-scale research project."

"If Tobias continues to recover ahead of schedule, and Crookshanks continues doing what he is doing, it may give you enough to put in a proposal. I will certainly back you on it for three reasons: that animal is acting intentionally, the last diagnostic I cast showed a rapid and significant improvement, and we both heard Tobias say that the pain had subsided. Are you intending to conduct the research yourself?"

Severus overwhelmed Poppy with a full smile. "No. I have enough to occupy my time at present. Kingsley has been at me relentlessly about the importance of delegation. I believe such a project could be given to a graduate Healer in St Mungo's Cooperative Research Facility. You are my witness, Poppy: you heard me use the word 'delegation'."

---

Leaving Tobias under Poppy's vigilant eye and Crookshanks' powerful purr, Severus hesitated outside Poppy's office. He could hear the three Grangers talking, but could not make out what was being said. At least there were no tones indicating blame or reproach. Not wanting to intrude, either physically or by the indirect route of eavesdropping, he made his way back to his rooms, knowing that Hermione would join him there in due course. He gave a rueful scowl. Eavesdropping had landed him in trouble before.

He halted on his way past the Great Hall when he heard Minerva's distinctive brogue in conversation with Petrus. Deciding to achieve two small tasks with one appearance, he strode into the Hall and made his presence known.

"Minerva, Petrus," he intoned, nodding to each of them. "I trust Oriens is in good hands?"

Minerva could not help her open astonishment. The number of times she had heard Severus ask after someone could be counted on one hand. "He is doing very well, but will need to stay in St Mungo's for at least a week, the Healers said. A Bone Shattering Hex did most of the damage. Not something that can be mended in a heartbeat, unfortunately. Oriens wouldn't say what caused his other, relatively minor, injuries – other than that they were 'the usual things'."

Severus folded his arms. His expression darkened. "I have a fair idea of what 'things' he referred to. With the proper attention they will not result in permanent damage."

Minerva took a step back. "Yes. I suppose you would be in a position to know... How is Tobias faring?"

"Well enough. Poppy says he is recovering ahead of schedule."

Minerva prodded him for more information. "Has he woken up?"

"For a short time, yes."

Minerva had to struggle not to seize Severus by the shoulders and shake him. "Did he say anything?"

"He made several brief statements, asked one or two questions, threw a reasonably colourful insult, and went back to sleep."

Minerva gave up. Severus was not going to talk. "Oh, this is hopeless..."

Severus feigned confusion. "Poppy seemed pleased with his progress."

"You really are impossible!"

She turned to the assistant librarian. "Petrus, as I was saying, I shall make arrangements for an owl to be assigned to you. That way, you and Oriens may stay in touch as and when you like. If you feel the need for another visit, do not hesitate to discuss it with Madam Pince. I'll make sure I'm available to escort you."

"Merci, Madame la Headmistress," Petrus responded with a courteous bow. "Un hibou would be most appreciated."

"It's the least we can do, Petrus," Minerva insisted, patting his arm lightly. "I hear the lycanthropy section is better behaved these days."

"Ah, oui, Madame la Headmistress. It is little wonder the reference books were slipping the clasps, shedding the pages, and chasing the unwary student! I found, inside each volume, en petit piece of parchment inscribed with the Arithmantic equations – in nitrate of silver. Monsieur le Professor Flitwick told to me that the equations form a charm, designed to respond to the phases of the moon, and to produce a silver disc when the moon is full!"

"Fascinating," Severus murmured, immediately suspecting a senior Ravenclaw boy. "Any idea as to who might have put it there?"

Petrus angled his ears back and flexed his wings. "I shall keep watch, Monsieur Severus. It may be that the books themselves will tell me who is this most cunning culprit. The books concerning the werewolves do not forget a pair of mistreating hands."

Severus imparted advice with something approaching glee. "Position the books, out of sight, near the reading tables when Seventh Year Arithmancy have a library reference period. Watch the Ravenclaw boys – and be ready for action."

"Setting an ambush? With books? Severus, are you sure that's wise?" Minerva gasped, suddenly wanting to reach for her hip flask.

"Of course it's wise. I suggested it. And why not let the lycanthropy tomes have their moment?" Severus smirked contentedly at Minerva's flustered frustration.

Petrus looked the other way to hide the fact that he thought it was a wonderful idea.

"Take no notice of him, Petrus. He can be a corruptive influence, at times," Minerva huffed, signalling her intention to depart the scene by adjusting her shawl.

"Non, Madame la Headmistress," Petrus concurred. "I shall be most careful." He waited until the Headmistress was out of sight before unfolding his arms to display crossed fingers to Severus.

Severus acknowledged the covert allegiance with a smirk and a nod. "Was that 'Non' for 'No, I shall not listen to him', or 'Non' 'I shall not listen to you'?"

Petrus gave a classically Gallic shrug and dismissed the question with a wave of one hand.

Severus folded his arms. "Would you care to join Hermione and myself in a meeting with Professor Binns tomorrow at ten o'clock? It concerns a remnant of an ancient document. We are hoping that Cuthbert may be able to shed some light on its origin."

Petrus' ears swivelled forward, indicating his interest. "I would be honoured, Monsieur Severus."

"I thought you would be." Severus produced the remnant and handed it to Petrus. "Just so you know of the subject of our discussion. It is written on the hide of a Graphorn foetus. For that reason, we believe that it is more than seven hundred years old."

Petrus read the words twice. "S'il vous plait, who is Myrddin?"

"In Wales, Myrddin. In England, Merlin."

The stone being's jaw dropped open. Handing the remnant back to Severus, he signalled the wizard to follow him. Petrus led the way across empty halls, up one flight of stairs, through a secret passage which Severus had often used to head off fleeing curfew-breakers, down a corridor, and into the library.

Intrigued at how quietly Petrus could move, Severus passed by looming shelves and empty tables, his senses prickling. It was a strange thing about the library: it could feel slumberous by day, drowsy with study – and warily alert at night, when no-one was there. Before he could wonder if the books themselves had something to do with it, Petrus opened a glass-paned door and ushered him inside.

Severus looked around with approval. The disused reading annex was a balanced mix of work-room, snug retreat, and study. A low fire burned in a pot-bellied, iron furnace. Several well-aged books, smelling of leather dressing and polish, lay within warming distance.

"A heat that is gentle helps the dressing to penetrate and nourish the leather," Petrus whispered in explanation, touching the heavy bindings as though checking on sleeping children.

Severus nodded and turned his attention to a high table which held a tidy arrangement of book-binding equipment, more leather polish, and a box containing sheets of gold leaf. Being careful not to touch anything – as a Potions master, he was acutely respectful of any craft requiring the methodical arrangement of materials – he admired a partially restored copy of Neolithic Scotland: a Magical Bestiary still held securely in its padded clamps.

"The Merlin?" Petrus asked in awe.

Severus nodded. "The very same." He stood before the double doors which gave access to a small balcony. Closed and shuttered, they quivered in their frames as great gusts of wind slewed down from the mountains and battled their way around immovable stone.

Petrus stood beside him. "There is one record of an availability enquiry sent from Hogwarts to another library, six hundred and fifty years ago. The parchment, it was mostly eaten by les souris, so alas, I cannot tell you which library held the subject of the enquiry, or who had written it. It most definitely concerned a book. A single volume. Only two words remained of the description: Myrddin. And Nimuë. Were they mentioned in the same sentence? Je suis désolé, it is impossible to tell. But the restricted materials section had been filled in – the book, it was written on the hide of an un-born Graphorn."

---

Hermione stepped back in surprise when Severus' door opened before she had even produced her key. Caddy stood on the other side, beckoning her inside with gestured instructions to be quiet.

"Master Severus is sleeping. Caddy is been clearing away the supper things. Is Miss Hermione needing anything?"

"No, thank you Caddy. I had something to eat down in the kitchens," she said, noting the empty bowl on Caddy's tray. It was a good sign, she decided, knowing that Severus would have asked for one of his favourites – a hearty soup made with beef and barley, and seasoned with wild herbs. No doubt, she thought, consumed with inch-thick slices of bread slathered right to the crusts with butter. A good sign that things had gone well between him and Tobias.

Bidding Caddy good-night, she transfigured her shoes into slippers and crept into the bedroom. Severus lay on his right side with his knees drawn up to the level of his hips, one hand tucked under the pillow. Hermione smiled as she recalled the nights they had spent together.

As Severus had grown accustomed to her presence beside him, his sleep-movements had become much less constrained, acquiring an almost loose-limbed abandon. It was a usual thing, now, for Hermione to wake with an arm draped across her chest, or a leg casually tangled between hers, or – even better – his lean body spooned behind her, holding her close, with his hand cupping one breast.

Hermione would never have guessed that sleep had its own form of sensuality. Sometimes, when she woke during the night, she would charm a candle to give silver light and look at him while he slumbered on, a finely chiselled study in black and white. Looking led to touching, and she would allow her hand to lightly roam over him. His sleep-warm skin had a different texture to when he was awake – a velvety depth, firm, supple, and smooth. She found it impossibly arousing, but only gave in to her desires if his body responded and drew him out of sleep in a way that, he had said, was 'A delightful way to wake up'.

As though sensing her presence, Severus stirred and rolled over, one arm reaching out to her side of the bed. He mumbled her name. Hermione quickly positioned herself where his questing hand would find her.

"I'm right here," she whispered fondly, curling her body against his.