Strange Brew

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Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

A/N: Many thanks as ever to Septentrion for her prompt beta.

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For the briefest of moments, Hermione wondered if she had, in fact, survived her crash-landing in the forest. Right now, it seemed more likely that she'd died and was having an out of body experience or maybe she was still lying, concussed, where she'd fallen and this was some kind of wild hallucination. Women she'd first known as teachers, then friends and colleagues, were standing in a huddle before her: women like Irma Pince, whose normally immaculate, tight bun of greying hair was now loose and falling to her waist. Hermione did a quick head count; with the exception of Rolanda Hooch and Sybill Trelawney, every female member of staff was present. What were they all doing out here at this ungodly hour?

'Found? What do you mean, found?' she said at last. 'Minerva, what the hell is going on?' Hermione searched her companions' faces, desperate for answers. They had the grace to look embarrassed. 'Pomona... Septima? Haven't you got anything to say?' She sighed resignedly when they all glanced furtively at Minerva but said nothing. 'This is some sort of... coven, isn't it?'

The women laughed at that, and the tension eased. 'Well...' Minerva replied. 'That's how outsiders usually refer to us. However, we generally call our... gatherings, the Circle.'

Hermione opened her mouth to let out a volley of questions, but Minerva hushed her. 'All in good time. Now that the young ones have left, we can begin.'

A cheer went up as a loud boom and a spectacular explosion of sparks erupted from the cauldron. The shimmering mist rising from its depths turned a deep indigo blue.

'It's ready!' Rosmerta yelled.

'Ah, right on cue.' Minerva clapped her hands in delight. 'Excellent! Come, Hermione, ladies. Rosmerta's Special Brew waits for no witch.'

'Special Brew?' Hermione asked. 'You're going to drink that?'

'Just wait until you taste it,' Pomona replied, linking arms with her and winking conspiratorially. 'Nothing staves off a nippy night in the Highlands quite like it. Only... Rosmerta prefers us to call it her "Mabon Blue Moon", just so you know.'

They followed closely behind Minerva as she led the way to the centre of the clearing. Pomona wasn't giving anything away, and so Hermione stopped talking, trying instead to pick up on the conversations around her as everyone moved towards the cauldron.

'Have you ever known...?'

'... must give you a pot of my bramble jelly...'

'She's Muggle-born...'

'... bought it in Gladrags...'

'Not since my grandmother's time...'

There was some amicable jostling to get to the front as Rosmerta began ladling out her celebrated concoction. Each witch had brought their own small cup or goblet, and Hermione, not wanting to appear any different, quickly pulled a grip from her hair and Transfigured it. The landlady of the 'Three Broomsticks' was all smiles when Hermione presented her cup in turn.

'Tell me what you think,' said Rosmerta.

Hermione took a cautious sip, smacked her lips and let out an 'Ooh' of delight. 'Rosmerta, this is... delicious. What's in it?'

Rosmerta tapped her nose. 'Family secret.'

'Well, it's fantastic.' Smiling, Hermione took another, bigger, sip. It was warming, all right, tasting of fruit...apples and blackberries, perhaps...with some winter spices? Just the ticket, anyway, after her nightmare broom ride. Somewhat fortified, Hermione began to relax. It was worth staying just for this, she decided, although naturally she was curious as to what was going to happen next.

'Is everyone accounted for?' Minerva called out, peering around her. 'Where's Rolanda? She's late. Again.'

Aurora Sinistra pointed above the treetops. 'Here she comes.'

Hermione followed Aurora's outstretched hand in time to see Madam Hooch making a heart-stoppingly fast descent into the clearing. At the last moment, the flying instructor pulled up sharply a few feet from the ground and neatly dismounted. Hermione gasped in spite of herself. Although she'd never been particularly bothered by her lack of prowess on a broom, Hermione still couldn't help feeling a twang of envy at Rolanda's skill; she made it look so effortless.

Minerva nodded curtly at the latecomer and drew her wand. Turning to face north, she drew a large arc across the clearing until she faced south. She repeated the procedure in an east/west orientation.

'The Circle is closed,' Minerva announced. The others took this as a sign to conjure up some chairs, cast warming charms and settle down expectantly. 'But before we start, as you can all see, we have a guest.' Minerva gestured for Hermione to come closer. 'Sisters, it is a rare occurrence, indeed, when a Muggle-born witch stumbles upon us.' The women muttered their agreement. 'In fact, I cannot recall it happening in our Circle in my lifetime. Now, I'm sure she needs no introduction...' The witches laughed. 'But it is my pleasure to present Hermione Granger.'

Hermione blushed as the witches applauded. Minerva held her hand up for silence. 'You are very welcome to join us tonight, Hermione, if you so choose. But whatever you decide, I must now formally ask you to swear on your wand never to reveal to outsiders anything you see or hear while the Circle is closed.'

'What? B-but, I can't do that,' Hermione stuttered. 'Severus...my husband...and I don't keep secrets from each other.'

Minerva pursed her lips as a buzz went around the gathering at Hermione's response. 'Everyone here is under a similar oath,' she explained. 'We may not even speak of the existence of the Circle to anyone other than to a daughter or, in exceptional circumstances, a granddaughter. Should you join us, the same rule will be extended to you. Otherwise...'

'Otherwise, what?' Hermione asked, horrified. 'You'd Obliviate me?'

Shrugging her shoulders, Minerva replied, 'If necessary, yes.' At Hermione's stricken face, she sighed and continued, 'My dear, I realise this may sound harsh to you, but it is how it has been for generations; our very survival has depended upon it.'

'I see,' Hermione said flatly. 'And I appreciate your position, but...'

Pomona took a step closer and murmured so quietly, Hermione barely caught it, 'It is said that a Muggle-born will find her way to us in a time of great need...'

'Pomona!'

'I think she has the right to know,' Pomona said, firmly. 'I don't believe it's a coincidence that she spotted us...or that a 'Point Me' spell led her here.'

Hermione frowned as her two friends argued. She had to admit that a strange series of events had brought her to the clearing, but even so... 'I don't understand. Whose need? Mine or yours?'

'There is no way of telling,' Minerva replied, glaring at Pomona.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Hermione's mind, a tiny voice whispered, Do it. She nibbled her bottom lip, still unsure, but... urgh. To be Obliviated? Hermione really didn't like the idea of someone tampering with her memory. 'Okay,' she said finally, drawing her wand. 'I agree to your terms. I swear not to divulge anything I see or hear tonight to anyone outside the Circle or...'

Minerva touched the tip of her wand to Hermione's. 'Or your words will sound, or appear, as complete gibberish.' She smiled, obviously pleased. 'Now that's out of the way, we can start. Does everyone have a drink? Good. I hereby call the Mabon gathering of the Hogsmeade and Grampian Sisterhood to order...'

* * *

An hour later, and Hermione was beginning to regret her decision to stay. She had been intrigued at the beginning when some of the women had set up a table (or maybe it was some sort of altar. She wasn't too sure), and everyone had placed their contribution to the festivities upon it. Following a small prayer of thanksgiving to Mother Earth for the summer's bounty and a plea that the oncoming winter would not be too hard on Her children or the creatures of the Forest, Minerva had blessed the food and distributed it amongst the assembled witches. It had been a rather charming way of marking the passing of the season.

Unfortunately, after that, things started to go downhill. Hermione had chosen to sit close to the back to best observe the proceedings, but the group of teenage witches sitting directly in front of her weren't paying any heed to Minerva and hadn't stopped going on about their boyfriends, the latest fashions and who was the most shaggable player in the Cannons. It took every last ounce of her restraint not to yell at them to shut up and pay attention.

In spite of the irritating running commentary, however, Hermione had soon ascertained that the Circle was an organisation like any other. There was obviously a committee: Minerva had called upon the Secretary (Pomona) to read the minutes of the last meeting, and the Treasurer (Irma Pince) had given account of the Circle's finances. A heated debate had then followed about where they should go for their Christmas outing; it wasn't too early to be thinking about it, apparently. Hermione had started to fidget; Severus had to be back by now and was no doubt wondering where she'd got to.

After much argument, they put the Christmas issue to the vote, and Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. Soon, hopefully, she would be able to go home.

'And now Rolanda wishes to say a few words about broom safety...'

Oh, God.

'Thank you, Guardian. I'm sure many of you have heard me lecture on this topic before, but with each new batch of first years, I encounter the same problems...'

Hermione was sure it must all be terribly interesting, but she had to lean forward in her seat and strain to catch what Rolanda was saying.

'...important not to foster bad habits, which I'll end up having to break...'

Good grief, this is like that Muggle society, the Women's Institute, Hermione thought, remembering her mother's brief involvement and disastrous attempts at jam making...and from what she'd seen of it so far, it seemed equally unlikely that the Circle could hold any attraction for her. But, Hermione's curiosity had been piqued, nevertheless, and she still had lots of unanswered questions. Why all the secrecy, for one thing? How many of these circles were there countrywide, and did they communicate with each other? Worrying her bottom lip, Hermione tried to remember if she'd ever read about such gatherings in any of her books on wizarding history and drew a blank. But then again, it had never occurred to her to look. And what about the men? She couldn't believe that wizards were totally ignorant, either...where did the married witches tell their husbands they were going in the middle of the night, for Merlin's sake? Maybe there was some sort of understanding... In which case... did Severus know? What about his mother...What about Molly and Ginny and every other pureblood witch of her acquaintance? And then there was Minerva...their leader, obviously, but why did they address her as 'Guardian'. Guardian of what? Hermione yawned, wondering if she'd get an explanation before the night was over.

A polite round of applause made Hermione jerk to attention, and she quickly joined in. Rolanda had finished her talk and was heading her way.

'Hullo, Hermione,' said Rolanda, conjuring a chair with a flourish. 'Thank Circe, that's over.' Rummaging through her voluminous cloak, she produced a small hip-flask from one of the pockets before flopping into her seat. 'How's it going?'

'Um... Okay, thanks.'

Minerva was addressing them again: 'Thank you, Rolanda. Now, Irma, I think this would be a good time to collect the subs...'

Subs? 'Rolanda, how much is it?' Hermione whispered. 'I don't have any money on me. Could I borrow...'

'Relax.' Rolanda unscrewed the cap off her flask and took a swig. 'It's only a Sickle...enough to cover the cost of the incense and the booze. And anyway, you're our guest.' She thrust the flask in Hermione's direction. 'Want some firewhisky? You look like you need it.'

Hermione hesitated a moment before accepting the flask and gingerly taking a sip. The liquid was true to its name, burning a fiery trail down her throat and making her eyes water. 'Thanks,' she spluttered, handing it back. 'Tell me. Are these events always so... so...?'

'Boring?'

'Er, well...' It didn't seem polite to agree, but Rolanda's hawk-like eyes were sparkling with amusement. Hermione shrugged. 'In a word... yes.'

Rolanda chuckled. 'Don't write us off, just yet. Something's been brewing with one of our sisters for a good few months, now; it may well come to a head tonight.' She glanced down at Hermione's side, noticing Severus' broom for the first time. 'You flew that?'

Hermione nodded sheepishly. 'Well, it flew me, to be more precise.'

'I'm not surprised.' Rolanda let out a low whistle. 'Those old Cleansweeps were keyed in to their owner and don't like being flown by anyone else. I'm amazed you made it as far as the lake.' She grinned. 'You're obviously better at flying than you've been letting on.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, although she was secretly pleased at the compliment. 'It was pure luck,' she insisted. 'Now. What do you think might happen to liven things up? A demonstration of household charms, perhaps?''

'Not... exactly.' Rolanda smirked and pointed. 'See that lady over there...the one staring into space?'

'Y-es.'

'That's Briony.' Rolanda shuffled her chair closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. 'She's originally from Hogsmeade but now lives near the north coast. Her husband's been giving her a dog's life for years.'

'Oh?' Hermione glanced at the witch in question again, noticing how her hands were twisting the fabric of her robe. 'Poor woman. She looks distraught.'

Taking a generous swig of firewhisky, Rolanda grimaced and nodded. 'Hardly surprising. Personally, I'd have thrown him out on his ear a long time ago. All that drinking and gambling...'

'Oh, dear.' Hermione shook her head and sneaked a glance at the subject of their discussion, feeling pity for her situation. 'Don't tell me. She puts up with it because of her children?'

'That and because she's terrified of him.' Rolanda offered Hermione the flask again, which she declined. 'He's a big chap...ex-Auror. But to add insult to injury, Briony found out recently he's been playing away from home. With a Muggle. In Inverness, of all places.'

'Awful.' Hermione shuddered. 'How can she condone that sort of behaviour?'

'She can't,' Rolanda replied. 'Not anymore, anyway. She's had enough, but she's still scared, and the bastard won't give her a divorce.'

A bit mystified, Hermione frowned, pondering why Briony even needed to ask if she had proof of her husband's adultery. Although, come to think of it, she could only recall a couple of people of her acquaintance...girls she'd been in school with...who were divorced, and those marriages had ended fairly amicably. Divorce was rare, she knew, but Hermione had always assumed that an injured party could petition the Wizengamot without the other's consent...as in the Muggle world. Maybe she'd been wrong in that assumption? Not wishing to show her ignorance, Hermione merely asked, 'So what's she going to do about it?'

'You'll soon find out. Ah, here we go.' Rolanda tucked her flask back in her cloak. 'Watch and learn, my Muggle-born friend. Watch and learn...'

An expectant hush descended on the gathering as Pomona got to her feet. Even the girls in front of them stopped their incessant chattering.

'That concludes our agenda for this evening,' the Secretary announced. 'Is there any other business?'

All eyes fell on Briony, who stood up, somewhat shakily, and declared, 'Yes. I, Briony, daughter of Catriona, request justice as is my birthright.'

'Have you pursued all other avenues, Sister?' Minerva asked gently.

Briony nodded, looking close to tears. 'Yes, Guardian. I asked my husband again if he would release me from our binding, but he will not. Neither will he leave our home, although he says I am welcome to do so...' Her voice cracked as she pulled a hanky from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. 'Without my children.'

A lot of sympathetic muttering greeted her statement, which seemed to give Briony the strength to continue. 'I only want what is mine,' she said more firmly. 'Nothing more.'

Minerva's outstretched hand silenced the witches. 'Do you declare before your sisters that there is no desire for retribution, only justice, in your claim?'

'I do.'

'And,' Minerva continued, 'do you understand that any action taken by whatever is Summoned is your responsibility? And that should I awaken a Fury, the consequences may be dire?'

'A Fury?' Hermione whispered. 'She's not serious.'

'Elementals aren't predictable,' Rolanda whispered back, 'or easily controlled. Let's hope her intentions are reasonably good.'

Briony looked frightened but did not waver. 'Yes, I understand and am willing to take the risk.'

'Then, I shall proceed.' Minerva turned to face the table on which the Mabon offerings had been blessed earlier and began to make preparations. Feeling increasingly uneasy, Hermione followed Rolanda's lead as everyone else stood and moved to encircle Minerva and Briony.

'We must link up, now,' Rolanda said, reaching for her hand. 'Whatever happens, don't let go.'

'Rolanda... Isn't this a bit...you know, Dark?'

'Depends...' Rolanda regarded Hermione keenly. 'Do you draw a... definite line between light and dark, or do you think there are... shades of grey in between the two?'

'I-I...um...' Flushing, Hermione cringed, remembering the times she'd smudged that line when it had suited her. 'Shades of grey, I suppose.'

'Then don't look so worried.' Rolanda gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 'Trust me. There is nothing to fear. This is our way; it has been our way for centuries. We were looking after our own long before anyone thought of a Wizengamot.'

'Well... if you say so...'

Hermione let Rolanda's words sink in while her attention focused on the two women beside the makeshift altar. Though still uncertain, Hermione's in-built thirst for knowledge was overriding her reservations. And anyway, the protective circle around Minerva and Briony was sealed; she didn't know what would happen if she broke it.

Minerva, in the meantime, was busy assembling an intricate pile of twigs and moss. Appearing satisfied with her efforts, she conjured a small jug and splashed a few drops of the contents over it.

'Just water,' Rolanda said before Hermione had a chance to ask. 'And now for the tricky part...'

'Setting fire to damp wood?' Hermione whispered, grinning at the look of surprise Rolanda gave her. 'Lucky guess. I was at the Battle of Hogwarts, remember. Elemental magic requires the four elements be combined in some way; I know that much.'

'Of course,' Rolanda whispered back. 'How could I ever forget? Now, watch.'

Silence fell on the Circle as Minerva lifted both arms high above her head and cast Incendio. The wand light danced around the twigs, almost fading away to nothing before coaxing a fire out of the tinder. With a bit of gentle fanning, the miniature pyre was soon burning away nicely. Minerva wiped her brow before glancing around the group and raising her wand once more.

What little breeze there was died, and the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood on end. It was unnatural, this total absence of sound. The forest was never completely quiet, and yet she could hear no rustling leaves, no snuffling animals nor even the occasional hoot in the distance of a hunting owl. Hermione's ears searched in vain for something to latch onto, but everything was still, almost as if time itself had stopped...

Minerva's voice cut through the silence like a knife. 'By tree and leaf, and rock and stone...,'

Hermione jumped at the sound of the others' voices ringing out beside her as they took up the chant: 'By Circe's blood and Hecate's bone...,'

Minerva's wand arm was raised again, her face pinched with concentration. Hermione stamped her boots on the hard ground as her toes began to tingle, the earth coming alive under her feet. Whatever force Minerva was commanding began to spiral up from the ground, around Hermione's legs, settling as a ball of energy at the base of her spine. Needing reassurance that this peculiar feeling was quite normal, she glanced at Rolanda, but her friend had closed her eyes. Hermione grasped her hand, and that of the witch on her left, even more tightly.

'By mighty flood, by gentle rain...,'

A pulse, like a strong heartbeat, rose up and passed down her right arm. Then, a split second later, it returned from the hand of the witch on her left, having made a complete circuit. It happened again, more quickly this time. The energy was growing stronger, travelling around the circle at an ever increasing rate, growing faster and more powerful as it went. Hermione struggled to keep her eyes open, riveted by the scene: the hair of the witches opposite writhing and twisting under and around their hats as, no doubt, was hers, Minerva at their centre, the conduit, holding it all together, looking like a goddess.

'By Zephyr's breath and Vesta's flame...,'

Hermione sucked in a lungful of air as a static charge thrummed through her veins, igniting something deep within. She moaned then blushed with embarrassment, but no one noticed.

'Out of the earth, we cry as one...,'

Joy. A sense of connection, of peace... The world was spinning... Glimpses of lives that were not hers, whispering voices piercing the veils of time, seemingly familiar and yet unknown...

'Oh... Oh...' The grip on her hands tightened as Hermione's feet left the ground, pulling her down, anchoring her to the Earth.

'For my sister's sake, I bid thee, "Come".'

Groaning, Hermione's head slumped to her chest as the energy peaked and then dissipated abruptly. Her knees felt wobbly, and she would have collapsed had it not been for the women on either side holding her up. With one last supreme effort, Hermione raised her eyes only to behold a mesmerisingly beautiful and completely naked woman sitting on the altar.

Languorously, the creature stretched, casting heavily lidded eyes around the assembly before settling on Hermione. She licked her lips. 'This had better be good.'

That was the last thing Hermione remembered before the world faded to black.

* * *

'Drink, Hermione.'

Something sticky, honey tasting... 'Wha...where?'

'It's a restorative draught, nothing more.'

Minerva? Hermione's eyes shot open. 'I broke the circle!' she wailed. 'Sorry... so sorry...'

'Hush, now, no harm was done. Do you think you can sit up?'

Hermione blinked up at the concerned faces hovering over her and pushed herself up on her elbows. 'Was-was that a Fury?'

Minerva chuckled softly. 'No, Briony got a Succubus. She was lucky.'

'What happened?'

'You passed out.' Rolanda helped Hermione to her feet. 'It happens sometimes.'

'That was your first time in the Circle,' Minerva added. 'And you weren't properly grounded. We should have prepared you.'

Rubbing her temples, Hermione noticed that their number had greatly diminished. 'Where is everyone?'

'On their way home,' Rolanda replied, offering her a hand up. 'It's just the Hogwarts' contingent left. We could hardly leave you here, now, could we?'

'Thanks.' Hermione found she was still a little woolly-headed, but her legs seemed to be holding her up okay. She brushed the grass off her robe. 'That was pretty impressive, Minerva.'

'It comes with practice,' Minerva said, her lips twitching. 'I take it you no longer think our Circle is boring?'

'Er, no,' Hermione replied sheepishly, glancing at Rolanda. 'Sorry about that.'

'We'll have a chat about it again. Soon. But it's high time we got you home.' Minerva nodded to the others, who immediately claimed their brooms and got ready for the off.

Hermione's stomach clenched in fear as Madam Pince placed Severus' broom at her side. 'I don't think I can...'

'Nonsense,' Rolanda said briskly. 'You'll be flying with us. I'll keep that old Cleansweep of yours under control, don't you fret. Now, mount up.'

Rather reluctantly, Hermione held her hand over the broom. 'Up!' she commanded. The broom didn't budge.

Rolanda sighed. 'UP!'

This time, the broom responded, rocketing off the ground. Hermione snatched it out of the air and nervously mounted, dreading what was to come. She looked around at her colleagues hovering close by: Minerva, riding side-saddle, looked concerned, Pomona, plump and ungainly, not the most sporty of witches but still looking at home on her Nimbus, and the others bobbing impatiently, eager to get away. She felt incredibly inept. Was she the only witch in the world with a fear of flying?

Without a word, Rolanda pointed her wand at Hermione's broom. A rope shot out, lassoing the handle. She looped the other end around her wrist, threading it through her fingers. 'Leading rein,' Rolanda explained. 'There'll be no tricks from this beast on the way back, I promise. Are you ready?'

Nodding, Hermione took a deep breath and kicked off. She wobbled slightly, but a quick tug on the rein by Rolanda reminded the broom just who was in charge. Together, the group rose gracefully above the forest. The other women manoeuvred around Hermione, so that she was in the middle, and with Minerva at the head, they set off.

Instead of heading straight back to the castle, however, Minerva led them in a wide loop around the lake. 'Come on, ladies,' she yelled. 'Last one to the Whomping Willow carves the Halloween pumpkins!'

With a shriek, the others chased Minerva as she banked steeply. Rolanda easily caught her up, with Hermione having no choice but to trail behind.

Please slow down, Hermione prayed, screwing her eyes shut to try and ignore her rising panic and her racing heartbeat. But as she did so, something rather unexpected happened. With her eyes closed, Hermione's perception of her surroundings shifted. Her other senses came into focus: her nerve endings registering the brush of the wind against her face, her ears and nose picking up the smells and sounds of the night. It was really quite exhilarating; you could lose yourself in the sensations and almost forget you were a hundred feet up in the air with just a stick of wood between you and a messy death. Almost. Plucking up her courage, Hermione opened one eye. She just about had time to make out a Quidditch hoop far below, and then they were skirting the edge of the forest again and heading back towards the lake.

'Once more 'round the loch for good luck, everyone,' Hooch cried, urging them on even faster.

Laughing, the others followed in close formation, Septima and Aurora flanking Hermione on either side. 'Look, Hermione,' Septima shouted over the wind. 'No hands!'

And indeed, as Hermione glanced to her left, she saw Septima let go of her broom, controlling it effortlessly with the movement of her body. She grimaced. 'Show off.'

'You can do it,' said the witch on her right.

Hermione turned her head to see a laughing Aurora Sinistra doing the same thing. She shook her head, violently. 'No, never. Not in a million years.'

They each extended a hand in her direction, but Hermione wasn't having any.

'Go on, I dare you,' Rolanda shouted, looking back.

Despite her terror, Hermione was not about to let a direct dare go unchallenged, and so, hesitantly, she took one hand off and grabbed Septima. The broom swerved, making her instinctively squeeze her thighs together, which steadied it a bit, much to her surprise. Taking a deep breath, Hermione let go completely.

'Well done,' Aurora said, beaming at her. 'We've got you. You're not going to fall.'

They were about to go into the turn on the far end of the lake once more. Hermione closed her eyes again, raising her face to the night sky...this time not in panic but just to savour the feel of the wind on her face. It felt good, rejuvenating. Who would have thought it? She had always dismissed broom flight as a complete waste of time and energy...what was the point when you could Apparate or travel by Floo...but here she was doing it regardless and enjoying herself in the process. It was a revelation. Of course it's pointless. She giggled to herself as the penny finally dropped. That's the point. No one had any need to use this precarious mode of transport, and yet they did, simply because it was fun, they were magical beings and because they could.

She wasn't holding hands quite so tightly, now, Hermione realised, and she was sitting up straighter. The witches put on a final burst of speed as they turned into the home straight, and this time, instead of wanting to hex them into slowing down, Hermione shrieked, 'Faster!'

'That's the spirit, Hermione,' Septima shouted back.

Laughing with the others, Hermione finally relaxed, letting her magic do the job without conscious thought. She was too busy analysing her reactions to this new found ability to notice that there were sparks coming out of the tips of her hair.

But Minerva did. Nearing the landing point, Minerva smiled in approval as her young Charms Mistress, releasing her sisters' hands with a loud 'whoop', threw back her head and cackled like a maniac.

* * *

The Battle of Hogwarts was in full swing as Severus fought his way towards Minerva and the others. Hexes were flying all around him; the Light was heavily outnumbered and being driven back to the lake. He had to get to Hermione, but all he could see was smoke. Through the mists and the groans of the injured and dying, Severus heard Hermione scream his name. Terror clutched at his heart as he moved towards the direction of the sound. Then he saw it: a great snake coiling itself around her, constricting, squeezing the breath out of her. Hermione was completely immobilised, looking at him pleadingly.

'Sectumsempra, Sectumsempra.'

The curse bounced harmlessly off the creature. Severus spun around to the source of the voice as the snake opened its huge maw and bared its fangs. The wizard turned his face to Severus.

'Kill it, Snape,' cried Ronald Weasley. 'Kill it, now. Before it's too late.'

This was a dream. It had to be; Weasley was dead. Spinning up and away from the horrific scene, Sev erus fought his way back to consciousness and awoke, heart pounding. Confused, it took a split second for him to register his surroundings: The Staff Room? What time is it? Howlong had he been asleep? The last strands of the nightmare slipped from memory as he looked down at his hands: his ring had almost worked its way off his finger! Hastily, he shoved it back down.

-Your witch is not at her hearth.-

And indeed, in the light cast by the dying embers of the fire, Severus could just about make out that the usually clear gemstones now resembled glittering sapphires: Hermione was not in immediate danger, but she had left their home for some reason. He scowled at it. If it hadn't been for the lateness of the hour, Severus would not have been unduly concerned; Hermione was free to come and go as she pleased without restrictions, even though she normally told him where she was going out of courtesy. But at this time of night? Where on earth could she be?

-You allow her too much freedom.-

'She is not a prisoner.'

-Your refusal to curtail her movements has caused this desertion.-

Severus shook his head slowly. No, not desertion. The stones were not the amber that would alert him should Hermione contemplate venturing anywhere out of the ordinary, but at the moment, that was of little consolation. With an increasingly uneasy feeling clawing at his gut, Severus extinguished the fire and left for the dungeons.

* * *

A soft drizzle was falling as the procession of witches made their final approach. Spiralling down to the Astronomy tower in single file, they silently wove their way through the arches and landed with practiced ease.

'Mind your head, Hermione,' Rolanda called back as she guided her charge through the stonework after the others.

Hermione ducked obediently until she was safely inside. 'Thank you,' she said, hopping off the broom. 'That was fan...fan...'

'Are you all right? Rolanda asked. 'You look like you've forgotten something important.'

'Yes. Fine. I need to go home, that's all.' Hermione picked up her broom and half-turned towards the stairs. 'Thank you, everyone, for such an... interesting evening. Minerva, do you think we could have that chat about, um, what happened, soon?'

'Of course,' Minerva replied. 'Why don't you call by my office at afternoon break tomorrow for a cup of tea?'

'I'd like that.' Hermione turned to go once more but hesitated. 'Rolanda, I wonder... Do you think you could give me a few lessons? I'd love to learn to do what you all do so naturally, and it would be a nice surprise for Severus and the children, too, if we could go flying as a family one day.'

Rolanda chuckled and gave Hermione a friendly thump on the shoulder. 'You know how, Hermione. You've always known, but like a lot of Muggle-borns, you think, deep down, that flying is unnatural. Now you've found your seat, you won't lose it...you won't, honestly.' She huffed, rolling her eyes at the look of disappointment on Hermione's face. 'But I'll gladly watch you fly solo, if you want, until you gain some more confidence...though, I think you should stick to school brooms for a bit, don't you?'

Hermione nodded eagerly. 'That would be really great, Rolanda. I appreciate it.'

'So... let's think... How would Thursday suit...?'

Minerva's eyes followed Hermione and Rolanda as they disappeared into the stairwell, deep in conversation. A hand gently touched her arm.

'And so it begins...' she whispered, patting Pomona's hand absentmindedly. 'That was the Hermione Granger I remember...for a little while, at least.'

'It seems Ginevra was right.'

They both turned towards Septima, who drew her wand and began to make a series of rapid calculations in the air. 'It is, what, a little more than ten years after the betrothal...?'

'As you predicted,' Minerva said grimly.

Septima grunted. 'It was a reasonable assumption based on the constants at the time. And I take no pleasure in being correct.' She tutted at the swirl of sigils and numbers, incomprehensible to all but her.

'What is it, Septima?' Pomona asked. 'What do you see?'

'Based on this new information,' Septima replied, 'Hermione's sub-conscious mind's struggle to reassert her true nature will be brief, the chance of winning no more than fifty-fifty. And we can expect matters to come to a head very soon...before Halloween, certainly.'

'Oh, dear...'

Pomona's face reflected Minerva's own misgivings, but now was not the time to lose faith. 'Then we must be extra vigilant,' Minerva said in a tone that brooked no argument. 'Be there for her...whatever the outcome.'

Pomona nodded. 'And encourage her to join us...'

'Yes.' Septima added one more variable before banishing her calculations with a deft flick of the wrist. 'That certainly can't harm; although, I fear we may be clutching at straws at this stage. All we can realistically do is watch and... hope.' She frowned.

'That's all we've ever done,' Minerva said bitterly. 'Stand and watch while one of the brightest ever witches...'

'There's something else, isn't there, Septima?' Pomona did not like the worried expression on the Arithmancy professor's face.

'Severus,' Septima replied. 'He's always been the major variable, I know, but I'm... concerned his determination to resist the ring's power may be weakening.'

Minerva snorted. 'We all knew that would happen; it was just a question of time. I just pray Hermione can find the means to fight...'

'She found us, Min,' Pomona said firmly. 'She sought us out without even knowing it. We must take that as a sign, a good sign; Hermione is still in there somewhere, and we all know she's not someone who gives up easily.'

'You're right, of course, but I fear for her so.' Minerva sighed. 'Come. It's cold and very late, and I, for one, could do with some rest...'

* * *

''Night, Rolanda. See you tomorrow.'

The two witches parted company on the first floor landing, Hermione still giggling over the rather puerile joke Rolanda had heard the Slytherin Keeper tell at practice and was only too happy to repeat. She's quite a star when she's had a few, she thought, shaking her head. Some things never changed. Quidditch and innuendo: its terminology irresistible raw material for any would-be teenage comedian with a ready wit and a filthy mind. It's a shame that boy doesn't put his inventiveness to better use in class.

Sconces were flaring to life, illuminating Hermione's way as she descended the stairs to the Entrance Hall. After years of patrolling the corridors, she automatically held her wand out in a defensive posture in front of her, casting 'Lumos!' more out of habit than necessity. Hogwarts in the wee hours, even with most of its human inhabitants safely tucked up in bed, was anything but still or danger free: Peeves, for one thing, could be relied upon to get up to mischief at any moment if you didn't watch your back, and so Hermione kept her eyes and ears peeled. Above the natural creaking of the ancient timbers as they strained to keep the roof up, she could hear the familiar sighing of Hogwarts' ghosts, but they were flying high above, seemingly unaware of her presence...unlike the portrait people, who whispered amongst themselves, muttering occasionally, 'Put that light out' as she passed by, or who slept on regardless, letting out the occasional snore. A nearby 'Miaow' alerted her to one of the castle's resident cats going about its business, no doubt laying down the law to some poor, ill-fated mouse.

Hermione crossed the hallway quickly, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. The steps that led to the dungeon levels were not so well lit, casting menacing shadows in every corner, but it was the quickest route home. Reaching the bottom, as she'd expected, the Bloody Baron materialised in front of her. Honour bound, the ghost had never failed to keep the promise he had long ago given her husband to escort Hermione whenever she entered the dungeons alone. She was grateful for his silent presence and smiled in greeting, but said not a word, having tired of one-way conversations early on in their strange alliance. Only now as she walked with the Baron floating beside her did Hermione begin to think of Severus and what his reaction to her absence might be. There would be consequences, obviously; she would likely have to negotiate a punishment of some sort. Hermione sighed and vainly hoped she would find him asleep, even though the chances of that happening were slim.

At the entrance to her chambers, the Baron bowed, took his leave and vanished. Hermione steeled herself and pushed the door open, the creaky hinges making any attempt at stealth futile. Inside, the room was quiet apart from the crackling of the fire. In its glow, she could see a pair of long legs sticking out from the armchair.

'Where have you been?'

Hermione froze.

'I return home after an interminable meeting,' Severus began, slowly rising from the chair and advancing deliberately towards her, 'to find a house-elf asleep on the hearth rug, an absent wife and my son crying for his mother.'

Hermione took a step backwards. 'Why? What happened? What's the matter with him?'

Severus clenched his fists. 'Katie told him she'd seen a Lethifold on her field trip,' he ground out. 'Albus was convinced there was one under his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep.'

'Oh.' Hermione sighed in relief. 'Is that all.'

'All? The boy was hyst...what are you doing with my broom?' he cried, lunging for it.

'It's not damaged...not so much as a bent twig,' Hermione protested, but Severus ignored her.

'Did you get it off the ground?' he demanded as he checked his beloved broom over carefully for breakages.

'I-I didn't mean to,' Hermione replied. 'I just wanted to get some air...I had to get out, and-and it was just there, in my hand, and then I crashed in the forest...'

'You crashed?'

'I'm sorry.' Almost in tears, Hermione stared at the carpet. He had every right to be angry. 'I know how much your broom means to you...'

Severus swallowed hard. 'Sod the broom,' he whispered, letting it slip from his fingers.

'Wh-what?'

Gathering Hermione into his arms, Severus crushed her to his chest. 'I said, Sod the broom. You could have been killed. And then where would I be.'

'Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry.' She buried her face in his robes, inhaling the scent of him. Home.

'Hush, now,' Severus whispered, stroking her hair. 'If I had only known, I would have come looking for you, but... are you injured? Should I wake Poppy?'

'No, no, I'm fine.' Hermione raised her eyes to meet his and smiled. 'What kind of Charms mistress would I be if I couldn't cast a cushioning spell, hmm?'

'Indeed.' He chuckled. 'Gods, you're shivering. Come over by the fire and warm up.'

'It's okay,' Hermione replied. 'If you don't mind, I'd sooner just go to bed. I'm really tired.'

'As am I.' Severus planted a kiss on the top of her head and released her. 'Go. I'll check that Albus is sleeping and join you presently.'

Hermione removed her cloak and sent it flying to the hat-stand. 'Don't be long.'

'Hermione...'

'Yes?'

'Don't scare me like that again.' Putting his hands behind his back, Severus touched the ring. 'My broom is off limits. You are never to attempt flying it under any circumstances.'

Hermione frowned, puzzled. 'Why would I?' Turning on her heel, she headed for their bedroom. I can buy my own.

Severus watched her leave with a heavy heart. He had dropped his guard briefly, and look what had happened: Hermione had almost died as a result. But... why didn't the ring warn me she was in danger? Severus sighed. Yet again, he'd had to issue a direct order for her protection, to keep her safe from harm.

-She is restless.-

He couldn't argue with that.

-She needs a new infant to occupy her.-

We agreed on two children.

-The contract allows for four-

Severus shook his head. No, it was out of the question; their family was complete. No more children. And that is final.

* * *

Hovering in that woozy place between sleep and wakefulness, Hermione was barely aware of Severus as he crept into the bedroom. But even though he was making an effort not to wake her, pulling off his boots and undressing in semi-darkness, it was enough to put her on alert. In due course, the mattress dipped, and a cold body pressed up against her back.

'Am I not enough to warm you?' he whispered, tugging at the flannel nightgown she was wearing.

''S freezing,' Hermione mumbled. ''N your nose's cold.'

'I want you close to me.' Severus slowly gathered up the soft material until it was bunched up around her waist. He sighed in contentment. 'Much better.'

The hand resting on her hip predictably slipped under her nightgown, his fingers mapping the familiar undulations of her abdomen before moving slowly upwards. He tweaked the perky nipple that greeted him; the high, pert breasts of her youth having undergone the changes brought on by age and pregnancy were no less beloved. Almost a distant memory now, those days when they'd been full and round and engorged with milk...gods what a glorious handful they'd been! Beautiful, right down to the ring of downy hairs that had appeared around her nipples. His cock stirred as images of the sensational tit-fucks they'd provided when sex became too awkward flashed through his mind, but... no more... He sighed, brought back to the present by the reality of the flatter, more pendulous breast currently filling his palm: very different, but just as lovely.

Hermione yawned and wriggled against the erection nestling in the crack of her arse. 'Thought you were tired.'

'Mmm... don't mind me...' His hand moved south again, insinuating itself between Hermione's legs, deliberately parting her labia. Severus dipped his fingers inside, smiling into her hair at the wetness he found there: welcoming, ready for him. As always. 'Go to sleep.'

'You expect me to sleep like this?' Hermione asked, craning her neck back to look at him.

'I have to attend breakfast in the Great Hall in a few hours,' Severus replied, twisting his hand to a more comfortable angle. 'I need to rest.'

'Severus...'

'But you may avail yourself of my thumb, if you so wish.'

Tired though she was, Hermione made a half-hearted attempt at moving her hips, grinding her clit against Severus' thumb, but it wasn't long before his hand relaxed, and his head lolled back on his pillow. Hermione's mind began to wander, too, her movement losing its rhythm as sleep claimed her... the Circle... a Succubus...? Briony's husband...? Minerva... tea... questions, lots and lots of... questions...

Several floors above, curled up on the tartan quilt that graced the Headmistress' bed, a bespectacled tabby was having as much problem sleeping as her human alter-ego had been a few moments previously. Still agonising over Hermione's unexpected appearance, Minerva wondered if she should have contacted Molly with the news in spite of the lateness of the hour. Stretching and flexing, she extended her claws into the bedclothes for the extra tactile feedback to her moggy brain and pondered her dilemma. Probably wiser to wait; it would only cause unnecessary worry if she did anything now, and the dawn would come soon enough. But Hogwarts' swiftest owl would be winging its way to Ottery St Catchpole first thing in the morning.