Recognition

Disclaimer: see chapter one.

Reread by Somigliana.

They hadn’t heard from the dark-haired man for two long months when Crookshanks felt his right ear burn; his mistress was being summoned. It was about time! At last, the red-headed boy had lost interest in her; he was more smitten everyday with the fifth-year Gryffindor girl, another Quidditch groupie, even though he hadn’t worked up the courage to break up with his official girlfriend yet. As usual, his mistress would be the one to take matters into her own hands; she just needed to meet with her rightful mate once more to realise where her heart should be.

-----

“What is it, Crooks? Are you hurting somewhere?”

Crookshanks was walking to and fro, mewing in pain, at Hermione’s feet. He tilted his head to show his right ear off.

“Oh, it’s him!” she whispered, lest someone would hear. Harry, Ron and she were still at the Burrow, on the verge of leaving on their Horcrux chase. They’d needed the time to have everything ready for their excursion.

She thought up an excuse and told the boys that she wanted to buy more supplies at the supermarket. The boys were stopped from going with her by two words: feminine supplies.

-----

Severus had summoned her to Spinner’s End; he didn’t have time to organise a nice meeting in a discreet place. He didn’t give her time to breathe before he started to talk, “The Dark Lord is planning to attack Azkaban tomorrow evening, to free the imprisoned Death Eaters. It seems that he has found an ally in there, but I don’t know the traitor’s name.”

Oh my, how was she supposed to slip this information to the Order or the Ministry? Would they care about an anonymous tip? Or maybe … Crookshanks wasn’t the only one with great plotting ability.

-----

“Give me an old newspaper and parchment,” Hermione asked urgently.

She wrote a message, using the letters that she’d cut from The Guardian. She tied the parchment to Crookshanks’ neck and Portkeyed him right onto Kingsley Shacklebolt’s desk. She knew that the Auror would recognise her cat and take him back to her. She would pretend that she’d been looking for him for days when that happened.

Severus was impressed. “You know how to make a Portkey?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes, I do.”

“Aren’t you afraid that you’ll never see your cat again?”

“No, Shacklebolt is very fond of him.”

-----

They felt awkward now that the emergency had been solved.

“Perhaps you would like something to drink?” Severus managed to keep a firm tone, though he felt a bit like an idiot inwardly.

“Ah, hem, why not?”

“Please, have a seat.” He pointed her to an old couch.

“Thanks.”

“Would some tea be agreeable to you?”

“Quite, thanks.”

‘We are both acting like teenagers on a first date,’ Severus thought while preparing the tea and some biscuits on a plate. He then realised which word he had used. ‘A date? Why am I thinking of this meeting as a date?’

-----

By the time he’d come back to the lounge/library, Severus had thought of a safe conversation topic.

“What else did you learn outside of school?”

“I’ve learned, ah, some useful spells to ward a place, to mend injuries, and such things. I’ve also found a book with very simple medicinal potions.”

“I hardly think you will need all of this knowledge when you get back to school next week.”

Hermione flushed and looked guilty.

“Well, you never know.” She kept her voice was as steady as she could, but Severus was too much of a spy not to be suspicious.

-----

“What are you planning?” He didn’t like the idea that sprang up in his mind; she’d be in too much danger out of school.

“Me? Nothing.” She wasn’t exactly lying; Harry and Ron were involved in this as much as she was.

He sighed. “I don’t have the right to tell you what to do or not, but please, be very careful.”

His unexpected words, and the fire in his eyes when he told her this, had her world moving on its foundations. What was happening to her? Even Ron taking interest in another girl didn’t feel important right now.

-----

“I promise I will be, but there are things that must be done,” she whispered.

He nodded his understanding.

“I think it is time you go back to … where you are supposed to be.”

“You’re right, and Kingsley’s probably at the Burrow already with Crookshanks.”

She reluctantly headed to the door. She turned to look at him a last time—the fire was still burning in his irises, and she felt a corresponding warmth in her body, which reached her soul. Desire flared in her core, but it was more than physical, and she knew he’d felt it too.