Manoeuvring

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though.

A big Thank You goes to my beta-reader and brit-picker, Melusin, who is always encouraging, helpful, and thorough.

---

Chapter 16 – Manoeuvring

7.2. Having collected an army and concentrated his forces, he must blend and harmonize the different elements thereof before pitching his camp.

7.3. After that comes tactical manoeuvring, than which there is nothing more difficult.

The difficulty of tactical manoeuvring consists in turning the devious into the direct, and misfortune into gain.

(Sun Tzu, The Art of War, VII. Manoeuvring)

Hermione stood at a bend of the river in an area that was well sheltered from the cutting wind by a cluster of bushes. She stood on a ledge over a deep pool of water and looked down into its cold, clear depths. It was just what she wanted: a slight current, some roots and large pebbles on the ground. She could almost smell the salmon. Her thick coat and a warming charm kept the worst of the cold away. It wasn't exactly the best time for fishing, but she preferred to give it a try without using magic, anyway. She needed time to think, and there was hardly another activity that invited quiet meditation like fishing did. Hermione liked fishing; she had often gone fishing with her parents, back in the seemingly carefree times of summer holidays past, when her only worry had been running out of books to read before the holidays were over. Those days seemed so long ago, almost as if they had happened during a different lifetime.

Hermione could simply have Summoned the fish she wanted, but she thought that that would be unfair and unsporting. Fishing was like hunting: you had to outwit your prey; you had to wait patiently for it to make a mistake and then strike. That way, the prey had a good chance of escape. If you merely Summoned them all out of the water, there'd soon be no fish left to catch. It was an unspoken rule among the Underground to not needlessly deplete the resources in the area around their refuges.

A careful jiggle of her rod from time to time was all that was needed at this time of the year: that, and endless patience. Fishing was an excellent stress reliever; it gave you time to communicate with yourself, to focus on the important things in your life without having to rush from one activity to the next. It was exactly what Hermione needed at the moment.

She was in love with Severus Snape.

Hermione closed her eyes and ground her teeth, trying to push that thought, that feeling, out of her mind, out of her heart. How could this happen? When did this happen? And why did she have to find out about her feelings when it was too late...when the man was about to get married to someone else? She grimaced. She would have to be present at that wedding, smile at her friend Emmeline, smile at Severus Snape, with whom she had wanted to be friends but now realised that she had wanted so much more. It was time to stop lying to herself.

Too late now. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do about it. She certainly wouldn't disrupt the ceremony. Not only would she ruin Emmeline's happiness, but there was nothing she could gain by it. Snape wouldn't appreciate it...to the contrary. He had made it clear, several weeks ago, that he wasn't interested in children, and Hermione was afraid that, to him, she was still a child. If she interfered, he'd hate her. He'd put her in her place mercilessly, taunt her, make her feel like an idiot... and she would lose any privileges of going on missions and of accomplishing anything in the Underground. It would be routine tasks for her in the future, and he would never trust her again. He didn't suffer idiots gladly. It was one of the things they had in common, one of the reasons why she loved him, she supposed.

Why, exactly, did she love him? Was it really wise to pursue this thought? Was she confusing a crush with love? No, she didn't think so. She had never had a crush on him but had admired him for some time now, and his role in the Underground had filled her with even more admiration than before. It had also filled her with joy to see him accepted, acknowledged and valued. That was something he clearly hadn't been granted at Hogwarts, but it was something he deserved. She knew that she could rely on him and trust him with her life. She loved how he treated her as someone to be taken seriously. Ever since she had joined the Underground, he had treated her with understanding, patience and respect, even though that was often concealed under his sarcasm. Was that reason enough to love someone? She couldn't tell. All she was aware of was that he was dear to her, that she wanted to be with him, that she felt happy in his company. She wanted the best for him; she wanted him to be happy and safe.

Safety couldn't be found in their situation, but perhaps some kind of happiness could. And he had found this happiness with Emmeline Vance. If she really loved him as much as she thought, shouldn't she step back and be glad for him? Wasn't there an old saying that if you really loved somebody, you have to let him or her go?

Hermione shook her head. She had never quite agreed with that phrase. She was of the opinion that if you loved someone, you'd have to give them room to breathe, but that didn't mean that you shouldn't fight for what you wanted if there was the slightest indication that the affection would be returned. But in this case... she'd just make a fool out of herself, nothing more. She'd have to learn to accept it with dignity.

When her wandering thoughts had reached that point, she took the fishing rod out of the water and headed back to the cave, oblivious to the fact that she hadn't caught one single fish.

It was late afternoon. People were excitedly buzzing about and making preparations for the evening. Couples were hiding in the corridors, kissing, cuddling and whispering to each other. Hermione had forgotten that it was Valentine's Day. She hurried to get past all the happy couples to her own quarters and let herself fall on the bed, eyes closed. Perhaps she could just stay here? Perhaps that way, she wouldn't have to watch him getting married.

Hermione screwed her eyes firmly shut. She would not cry. It was silly to be so unhappy. She hadn't been this unhappy when she'd seen Ron fooling around with Lavender Brown. So why should she be so very miserable now? Certainly, Snape marrying Emmeline was quite different from Ron snogging Lavender, but it wasn't as if she hadn't been aware of the affair. Was it because she now realised that she was in love with a man and wasn't just having a crush on a boy? No, that would be unfair. Ron had grown up, and there had been a time when she had honestly thought that her feelings for Ron had been more than the love for a friend...and much more than a crush.

It couldn't be rationalised; she had to accept this. All she could do was accept the fact and try to get over it. Preferably, without anyone noticing how unhappy she was. She would get over this. And she would go out there, watch the ceremony, smile, congratulate, and stay for the party, even if it killed her.

That thought made her jump up. She needed a shower, and then she would carefully dress and apply some make-up. Just because, or maybe even though she was feeling horrible, she wanted to look her best. She would dance and flirt and smile. And later, at night, there would be enough time to cry and not think about what the newlyweds would be doing.

Oh no, Hermione. You will not follow those thoughts to their conclusion. You'd better get very drunk tonight.

An hour later, as ready as she ever would be, Hermione left her quarters and entered the Central Cavern. The decorations for Valentine's Day hadn't been taken down, but a lot of red roses had been added. She walked to a far corner, as far away from the top table as possible. She nodded a greeting at the few people who were sitting there already and settled in to wait.

A few minutes later, Minerva McGonagall arrived.

"I will perform the ceremony for them. Being the leader of the Order and Headmistress of Hogwarts, I'm the only semi-official person around," she explained to Hermione. "Of course, this isn't an official ceremony, but my status among the group, and the witnesses, should make it binding. But I have to go. I'll speak to you later, Hermione!" Excitedly, Minerva scuttled off.

Hermione took the closest carafe of red wine, filled her glass and downed it with one gulp. She refilled it and was just about to down it, too, when she heard a voice drawl in her ear, "Isn't it a bit early to get pissed, Granger?"

Malfoy. Just what she needed. As if the day hadn't been miserable enough already. He flopped down on a chair beside her. She downed her wine. That was better; a warm feeling was starting to spread out from her stomach. One or two more, and she'd be relaxed just enough to get through this evening.

"You have no class, but what can one expect?" Malfoy sneered. "You don't pour good wine down your throat like cheap beer; you savour it. Mind you, this..." he studied the wine in his own glass disdainfully, "...this isn't really a great wine. But it's a fairly decent vintage, and it deserves to be treated with a bit more respect. Even a mediocre wine can improve when you know how to treat it."

"I don't care, Malfoy. You can aerate and slurp and chew all you want. Just shut up." She had emptied her third glass. Draco raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

When all the inhabitants of the cave had assembled at the large tables, Minerva McGonagall stood up and addressed them. "There's been a change of plan. We're going to have the ceremony first and dinner afterwards, followed by the party. That way, you'll all be free to come and go as you wish." She smiled at them. "We will start in a moment."

Minerva walked to the top table, which was close to the cave entrance, faced the tables and the crowd, smiled and waited. Suddenly, soft music started to play; Hermione recognised it as coming from the sheet music they usually used for dancing. Someone had chosen a slow waltz for the ceremony.

Hermione saw Florean Fortescue and Carlotta Pinkstone, both festively dressed, walk up to Minerva and wait. Finally, the door to Emmeline's quarters opened, and Emmeline walked out, escorted by Snape. They walked past the large tables, Emmeline smiling, Snape without his usual scowl. Hermione looked at her hands. Emmeline looked radiant. She wore a newly Transfigured dress robe in a light blue silk that was exactly the colour of her eyes.

Emmeline looked nice enough, but Snape took Hermione's breath away. He simply looked stunning in his dark grey dress robes with silver and black trimmings. Hermione had seldom seen him in anything other than black. Even the jeans and t-shirts he wore on missions when they used Muggle transport were black. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his sharp profile with the beaky nose stood out prominently among the normal, but boring features of the other men. Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't understand how she could ever have found him ugly. A tiny part in her mind whispered that love made you blind, but she silenced it quickly.

Snape led Emmeline to the front, and then Minerva started to speak.

"We are gathered here to witness the vows of matrimony between a witch and wizard who wish to spend the rest of their lives together, through the good times and the bad.

"Emmeline and Florean, I will let you speak your vows to each other. Carlotta and Severus will be your witnesses, and I will sanction your vows. You may proceed."

Hermione's head snapped up. What did Minerva just say? Staring wide-eyed at the people in front, she was hardly able to hear the words the man, Florean Fortescue, was saying because of all the humming and buzzing in her head and ears.

"I, Florean Fortescue, take thee, Emmeline Vance, to be my beloved wife..." And Severus Snape was standing at the couple's side and smiling.

Hermione was glad that she was sitting down. All the blood had drained from her head, and she felt like she was on a fast-moving roundabout. The world was spinning around her like crazy, and she had to blink repeatedly to hold the dizziness in check.

When she was able to see clearly again, the ceremony was over. The bride was kissing the groom. Emmeline was kissing Florean Fortescue. And Severus Snape and Carlotta Pinkstone were signing a document in front of Minerva McGonagall. Emmeline Vance was married but not to Severus Snape. Snape wasn't married.

Snape wasn't married. Snape wasn't even with his lover any longer. Severus Snape was free.

Tears were forming in Hermione's eyes. She felt like shouting, laughing, crying and screaming, but of course, she did none of those things. She just sat, staring at the people at the head of the table, a smile slowly spreading over her features. With an impatient gesture, she wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks.

"Why do women always have to bawl at weddings?" Malfoy asked.

"Because their emotional range isn't limited to that of a teaspoon," Hermione snapped.

"If you say so," Malfoy drawled and helped himself to the soup that had been served by Dobby and Alouette.

Hermione ate mechanically, pretending to listen to the speeches, sometimes exchanging small talk with the other people at the table, but in reality her thoughts were elsewhere. Her head was still spinning. They had switched from wine to champagne, and each of the speeches had ended with a toast. If she didn't slow down, she'd be drunk very soon. And now she didn't really have a reason for getting pissed any longer, did she?

That thought made her smile, and she lifted her head, her eyes seeking out the man who had caused her so much emotional turmoil in just one single day. She saw him across from her but much further up the head of the table where the newlyweds were sitting and chatting with Minerva. Snape seemed to feel her glance; he turned his head and looked back at her. A smirk, and he raised his glass. She raised hers back and gave him her most radiant smile. Severus Snape had better watch out; Hermione Granger had plans for him.

"When you're not moping or bossing Potter and Weasley around, you don't look half bad," Draco suddenly drawled at her side. "Come on, Granger. Let's dance." Soft dance music had started playing, and Hermione let herself be dragged to the dance floor, half-reluctant, half-amused.

"You're a good dancer," she admitted when they were on their second round. " I suppose there's something good in everyone, then." She smirked.

"Don't get ideas, Granger," Draco sneered. "Although..." He stared at her thoughtfully. "A wizard could do worse."

Hermione blinked. "You're not hitting on me, are you? Have you lost your mind?"

Draco stared at her with a strange gleam in his eyes. "And if I am? I could do worse. It could be beneficial to be associated with a well-known M... Muggle-born witch like yourself." He smirked at her stunned expression. "Certainly good politics for my family, if the war ends like we all here want it to end. And you," he looked her up and down, "you do have potential. You'd profit from an old name like mine. And you have good hips for child-bearing."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She stepped away from him and stared. "Of all the impertinent... You're so close to being slapped..."

"Catching flies, Granger? Good expression for an adoring wife, actually." His body shook from barely suppressed laughter.

"You... you..." Hermione fumed. The git was making fun of her. "In your dreams, you git. How dare you?"

Draco couldn't hold it in any longer and started to snort.

"You... you... you can't be serious." Her eyes were wide; she couldn't believe what was happening here.

"Come to think of it, I suppose I can't be," he drawled, smirked and howled with laughter when he saw Hermione's face. And then he ran.

"You idiot!" she screeched. "Wait 'til I get hold of you. I'll teach you to make fun of me." She ran after him, threatening him with her wand, enraged and laughing. They were both stopped by a smooth voice.

"How delightful to see the two of you getting along so well," Snape said and smirked.

Hermione found that she could look at him normally again without acting like a lovesick teenager, although her heart was beating frantically once more. She smiled. "Not all hope is lost for him. Mind you, we'll make an honourable Gryffindor out of him yet."

"Over my dead body," Draco exclaimed, looking horrified.

"Since you're officially dead already, that should be easy," Hermione said, glancing meaningfully at the wand in her hand until all three of them laughed.

"If you feel threatened, maybe I can help you out by taking Miss Granger away from your presence, Draco? I'd like to dance with her, if she is so inclined."

"I'd love to," Hermione said, and beamed up at him again.

If she had thought that she'd found her calm around Snape, she was quickly disabused from that notion by dancing with him and feeling his body so close to hers. All of her senses seemed to be enhanced when he was near. She couldn't remember ever being aware of so many details when she had been interested in a man in the past.

She enjoyed the confident and secure way with which he led her across the dance floor. She had known that he was a good dancer, but now she was aware of every movement. Each time his body brushed against hers while changing steps or while turning made a jolt of desire shoot through her. Being so close to him made her very aware of his scent: a clean, masculine fragrance that went to her head and made her want to lean her face against his chest and just stay there, breathing in every molecule. She did breathe in deeply, barely able to keep herself from leaning closer into his arms.

His warm hand on her back seemed to burn a hole through the fabric of her dress; his other hand holding hers felt strong and competent. She wondered what those hands felt like when they-- No! She would not go into that. For now, she would enjoy what she had: dancing with the man she loved. All she had to do was convince him of the fact that it was good for him to be in love with her, too. And there were other things to consider, important things. Her feelings could not be the first priority, not in their circumstances.

"Nundu, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you in private sometime soon," she said.

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "You would? Well, doesn't your watch start at midnight? I can come to the Watch Cave and talk to you then."

"All right," she said, and smiled up at him. He didn't notice, however. The newlyweds had just danced by, and he stared at them with a wistful expression on his face.

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. Was he unhappy? He had just witnessed his former lover marrying another man, after all. Shouldn't he have reacted with anger, jealously, Snape-like? Why was he friendly, understanding and slightly sad instead? Had he wanted to marry Emmeline himself? Did he feel rejected? All of a sudden, her elated, triumphant feeling collapsed into a vacuum, and Hermione realised that there was still a fair way to go and a careful route to choose, if she ever wanted Severus Snape to walk in the same direction as her, to walk alongside her. And, most of all, she'd need patience. So she didn't speak any more and tried to memorize his smell, the feel of him, every detail of him. She could preserve these memories and revisit them as often as she wanted to when she was alone.

They danced another dance together, then Snape went off to dance with Minerva McGonagall, and Hermione went to the buffet, got a glass of water and watched the dancers, feeling half-confused, half-elated. She didn't quite know what to think or feel, but she knew that she would have to tread very carefully around him. She'd have to be encouraging but not pushy; open, but still guarded. And of course, she had to make him realise that she was just the right witch for him. She wondered what could work in her favour.

Snape trusted her, almost unconditionally. He had said so when she was initiated into the Underground. She still felt elated and very honoured by his trust. She had gained it unknowingly, and that meant that he could be certain that there was no attempted conceit involved. She knew him well enough to know how suspicious towards any blatant declarations of admiration and respect he would be. But since she had made her feelings known to him without knowing that it was him she was talking to, any attempt at conceit from her side would be out of the question.

Hermione smiled to herself. Severus Snape was an enigma; he was like a puzzle. And she loved to solve puzzles. So she would go about this like she would tackle a difficult Arithmancy problem: relying on her capacity for logical thinking, on observations that had to be confirmed before they could become fact.

They were observations of the kind that a man who trusted a woman might develop deeper feelings for her when he was gently encouraged. She could, for instance, hypothesize that Severus Snape might be attracted to her if she made him see her as a person who had things in common with him, who enjoyed his company, who would love to give as much as she would love to receive. Then she could proceed to construct the theory that attraction and common ground between one Severus Snape and one Hermione Granger could lead to deep love and considerable passion. That thought made her shudder in anticipation. She'd never had a research project that promised so much... pleasure.

Now, if that wasn't a goal worth working for, Hermione didn't know what was. She smiled, permitting herself to imagine the ecstasy such a fulfilment of her plan would achieve. But there was a long way to go yet, and Hermione knew very well that love couldn't be forced. And she'd be damned and stripped of all her magical faculties if she even so much as considered the use of a love potion. No, Severus Snape would have to find out for himself that a future with her was exactly what he wanted and needed. She could help him find the clues, but he'd have to make the conclusions all by himself. And in-between, he'd have to deal with leading and coordinating the activities of the Underground, of protecting the people under his care, of staying in the good graces of his insane overlord, of helping the boy-he-loathed to defeat said overlord, and with winning this war.

Hermione took a deep breath. Maybe she should focus on helping him with these goals and keep her little Arithmantic research project on the back-burner? Fighting the Dark Lord would certainly have to be first priority, but why shouldn't she combine the two tasks? This thought brightened her mood, and she went to find the happy couple because she wanted to dance with the groom. That was supposed to grant you a happy love life.

---

Hermione was sitting in the watch cave, absentmindedly scratching Crookshanks' belly and looking out at the sky. The cold spell that had hit the area during the last two weeks had driven the ever-present fog out of their valley, and for once, a brilliantly clear night sky could be seen, together with a moon that had been full two days ago and hardly showed signs of waning yet.

She sighed. It was a very romantic view. She'd have to be careful not to get carried away when Severus...no, better not get used to calling him that...when Nundu (that was better) came to talk to her. She wanted to talk to him about Parvati; that should keep her from becoming sentimental. Even though she would like nothing better than to jump into his lap and snog him until he was cross-eyed.

Stop it, Hermione, she thought. This is the teenager speaking. You're going to show him that you're an adult. None of this spontaneous snogging. For once, let someone else take the lead. He's like a shy beast; you'll have to be patient for him to attach himself to you. And better yet, give up any idea of wanting to tame him. He's far too intelligent to put up with any attempt at manipulation. Trying to manipulate a man like Severus Snape might work for someone like Dumbledore, but would not be constructive for gaining his respect and affection. She sighed and looked at the moon, remembering how good his arms had felt around her while they were dancing.

"No werewolves around; the full moon has passed," the voice of the man who had constantly been on her mind all day interrupted her musings.

Hermione turned and smiled at him. "It's a beautiful sight, so romantic. Just right for a wedding." She paused and looked at him, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sitting down opposite her.

"If you don't mind, and as you were so concerned about me in a similar situation...are you very disappointed? Do you want to talk about it?" She stopped, uncertain how to proceed and gave him a questioning look.

His eyebrows had shot up and moved down again, settling in a frown. He stared at her pensively for a moment. Hermione clasped her hands firmly in her lap, trying not to show how nervous she was about asking such a personal question.

"I see how you can draw the parallel, but be assured that there isn't one, really." He kept staring at her through narrowed eyes. "Emmeline and I haven't been lovers for a very long time. But we've been friends. And we gave each other comfort. A comfort we both needed. There wasn't any deep emotion involved. She has now found someone who really loves her and whom she loves in return. That makes me rather glad since I could never have given her that."

Hermione looked at him wide-eyed and decided not to say anything. She didn't want to reveal quite how naïve she still was, although she suspected that he knew, anyway. The thought of sex (and she was certain that this was what he was talking about) merely for comfort, without emotional attachment, seemed empty, unfulfilling. But that was probably only her overly romantic world-view.

Snape smirked when he saw her expression. "Do not worry about me, Nightshade. I'm neither sad, nor jealous, nor devastated."

"But you looked so sad when you were watching them," Hermione blurted out, not able to keep herself in check.

Snape's eyebrows shot up again. "Quite observant, aren't you? And tenacious like a terrier." He smiled wistfully. "Very well. Maybe I was jealous. Not of Emmeline's affection going elsewhere, but rather of the affection they share..."

Hermione thought he wanted to say something else, but he stopped, and his smile looked as if it would turn into a sneer rather soon, so she chose to let the matter rest.

"I'm very glad that you're not unhappy, Nundu." She gave him the most charming smile she could muster. His eyes lit up in amusement. That was better; she wanted him to laugh with her, not be sad or miss the comfort of another woman.

"And since this is such a happy day then, for everyone (smiling brightly at him again and thinking, you have no idea how happy), I have more good news. It's about Parvati."

His eyes widened, and his relaxed pose became rigid. "What of her?"

"We talked two days ago, and I found that she's coping very well. She's mourning and isn't holding back her grief. The adoration she has for you doesn't seem to be anything to worry about. It's a rather honest and healthy expression of her gratitude and admiration. She made me see how much we, or at least I, take for granted...how much I owe you. How much I have to thank you for. And I am grateful, even if I don't say it often enough." She sighed deeply and looked at him uncertainly.

Snape looked completely puzzled, albeit slightly smug. "You don't owe me anything. You're doing your work here, quite efficiently. I appreciate your thoughts, but remember: all the work here is a joint effort. I thought I had made that clear to you when I introduced you?"

"You did. But you deserve a thank you, nonetheless. Just understand that I am aware of what you do for us. I won't smother you with gushing admiration from now on, never fear."

"That's... a relief." He breathed deeply. "So, maybe now we can get to the real reason why you wanted to talk to me?"

"Well, that was part of it, actually." Hermione squirmed, feeling embarrassed. "I think that Parvati is stable. She wants revenge, but there isn't any of the fanaticism I feared was driving her. She honestly admires you, but there is nothing of the blind adulation we were talking about the other day. She will do what is needed. I think you could consider her for the mission you had in mind."

Snape frowned, deep in thought. "That would be, ah, very advantageous. I shall talk to her to see for myself."

"What exactly is it you want her to do?"

"Thus, to take a long and circuitous route, after enticing the enemy out of the way, and though starting after him, to contrive to reach the goal before him, shows knowledge of the artifice of deviation," he said, and she started to laugh.

"Tell me, Nundu, do you quote Sun Tzu to everyone? I hope He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't aware of the book. It's not a challenge I'd like to face." Her laughter had faded quickly, and she stared at him worriedly.

"Do you take me for a fool?" he spat angrily. "Sun Tzu is part of the training I gave you and your friends as Price, if you care to remember, to prepare you for what is to come. We've continued your training here, and I expect you to know the book by heart, forward and backwards." Snape glared at her but quickly looked away again, studying the night sky. "With that quote and the clues I gave you, you should be able to guess, or better, deduct for yourself what the essence of my plan would be."

"Oh..." Hermione bit her lip, angry with herself. This was a puzzle of another kind than the one she'd been mulling over earlier. "I wasn't aware that I'm supposed to be the know-it-all here, too. But if you insist." Her sideways glare was met by narrowed black eyes, glittering impatiently. "It'd be faster if you just answered my question, but if it pleases you..." She sniffed, thinking frantically. "All right, we're speaking about Parvati. And you want to confuse, to distract You-Know-Who from his plans to attack Hogwarts soon. From what I know about him, he believes in fate. Uhm..." She frowned, deep in thought, rubbing her forehead while Snape's grim expression had relaxed, and he looked at her encouragingly.

"When we discussed Parvati shortly after her rescue, you asked me about her connection to Trelawney. Trelawney, who has made all the relevant prophecies regarding Harry and this war."

"Go on."

She now had his full attention: his glare had vanished; his lips were slightly twitching. Always a good sign.

"The one thing all three have in common would be the belief in prophecies, in Divination." She stared at him through narrowed eyes. "You want Parvati to pose as Trelawney and somehow convince V... the Dark Lord that it would be going against fate if he attacked now, don't you?"

He gave her one of his rare relaxed smiles while he exhaled. "Precisely. The know-it-all part of you is still there. It's a reliable part of you. That's good to know."

Had his eyes just twinkled? Hermione couldn't believe it and simply stared at him.

The smile was gone, a smirk in its stead. "I do indeed think that Miss Patil could pose as Sibyll Trelawney and speak a fake prophecy which will cause the Dark Lord to delay any major activities for some time. This could give your friend Potter time to achieve his mission. Perhaps half a year...I don't think we can delay the attack any longer."

Hermione nodded. "That's actually bloody brilliant, Nundu. Parvati knows exactly how Trelawney speaks and acts. She's always been very interested in Divination, and she's been a protégée of Trelawney's."

"Yes," Snape continued. "But to truly deceive the Dark Lord, she'd have to pose as Trelawney, act, interact, and even teach in her stead. And Trelawney is a target; it would be a rather dangerous mission."

"Would V... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really want to kill her? Wouldn't he rather want to kidnap her?"

"Possibly. But make no mistake. One wrong word, one wrong gesture, one morsel of doubt on the Dark Lord's side, and Miss Patil would be dead. To prevent a kidnapping, we would have to protect her constantly, but I have an idea how that could be achieved..." His voice trailed off, his eyes staring at a point far away.

Hermione was very excited about the plan. "Price!" she exclaimed. "You... or he, were flirting with Trelawney. This would be the perfect excuse for Price to be close to her, to watch over her. Maybe they should act as if they were lovers?"

Snape nodded, still deep in thought. "Sibyll Trelawney couldn't be trusted with something like this, but maybe Miss Patil can step in for her. And I agree; I was thinking of Perry to protect her. That would mean that he'd have to take up all of the teaching at Hogwarts, but I think I have taught your friend Potter everything I could ever teach him, anyway. Perry knows my Slytherins well enough by now that he can be trusted to look after them, and he is a competent DADA teacher."

Hermione nodded. "He is. So what, exactly, do you want to tell You-Know-Who?"

"I'd have to make up a prophecy that tells him to wait for a certain time to be victorious. Everything else would lead to defeat.

"How would he know about the prophecy?"

"It didn't take long for the Dark Lord to learn about the last one, and it wasn't me who told him about it. If it is public knowledge at that school, it will be relayed to the Dark Lord, one way or the other."

"Oh. Does he know about that other prophecy, too? The one Trelawney made on our first day at the castle last summer, about the Shadow Man and the Dead Woman?"

"He does, indeed. And it's working in our favour, for the time being." The expression in his eyes had changed. There was less of the excited glitter, more concern, Hermione thought.

"How so?" she asked.

"Well, he knows that I am the Shadow Man." He smirked at Hermione's surprised reaction.

"Uh. We did have an idea that it might be you. But how can you be certain?"

"Did you now? I wonder..." He stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Be that as it may, it used to be a nickname given to me by Sibyll Trelawney's predecessor. Professor Vablatsky constantly called me the Shadow, much to the delight of my classmates. She imagined that I'd draw them to me; she used to comment on my appearance and my movements. You know that I don't like direct sunlight; I prefer sitting in the shade...to her, that was enough to draw the conclusion that I'd be attracting the shadows to me...this being an analogy for the dead, as you undoubtedly know?"

Hermione shook her head, wide-eyed.

Snape looked at her in disbelief. "The shadows beyond the veil. That means the dead people in the afterlife. Not ghosts, not the Undead, but the souls who moved on. Needless to say, I didn't take Divination for very long."

"Neither did I," Hermione choked out, fascinated and slightly amused.

Snape nodded. "I didn't think you'd be the type for Divination. It's a discipline that requires a high amount of imagination and an affinity to the required tools. People with an analytical, logical mind, like you...or me...usually don't meet those requirements. Logic always interferes with Divination. And yet, when the talent is there, it can be a highly useful magical tool." Shaking his head at Hermione's derisive snort, he continued, "Have you never noticed how accurate Trelawney's Tarot readings and crystal gazings really are? Of course, people don't take her seriously...with her sherry addiction, her eccentric mannerisms and all, but she really has the true sight; she has the talent. And the Dark Lord knows it."

Hermione slowly shook her head. "I'd never have thought that you... She's a fraud. She makes things up on the spot. All that nonsense..." She stared at Snape uncertainly. "Doesn't she?"

"Didn't Trelawney give a warning with her Tarot cards before I killed the Headmaster on the Astronomy Tower? She was pushing those readings into everyone's face, but no one believed her. Didn't your friend Potter tell you?"

"So he did. But how did you know?"

"Albus told me before he went away that evening, warning me to be prepared. Before..." He closed his eyes, pain flickering over his features once again.

"All right," Hermione whispered. "That's Trelawney. But Cassandra Vablatsky? How do you know that she had the true sight as well?"

"Am I not the Dark Man who gathers the dead people around him?"

Hermione gaped. "But... I mean... they usually phrase their predictions in a way that you can interpret them any way you want to, but do you really think she meant us, the living dead, the new DA?"

"She certainly didn't, but it's how it turned out, nonetheless." He smirked. "And we can use it to our advantage, now."

"I still don't understand..."

"The Dark Lord knows about my nickname. My, ah, loving housemates made certain that he did. He also knows about the prophecy from the summer. And this, for me, is life insurance."

Hermione's eyes went even wider. "Oh! He thinks the Dead Woman is... Lily Potter? And as long as you live..."

"As long as I live, I cannot unite with her, and that means he will not be vanquished. It is in his best interest to keep me alive...at least until Potter is defeated." He smiled a smile that would have scared Hermione only weeks ago, but which now worried her.

"Of course, this is all utter nonsense," Snape said matter-of-factly. "If you let yourself be driven by prophecies, you'll paralyse yourself by being more worried about finding the correct interpretation than about doing what is necessary to stay alive, or thrive, or meet your goals."

"But, You-Know-Who..."

Snape nodded. "Yes. He is so convinced that it is fated that he'll take over the wizarding world that he lets himself be directed by prophecies and omens. And if we can give him one in a believable manner, we will be able to delay him just a bit longer. This will give your friend Potter time to fulfil his task, and it gives us a bit more time to prepare, to come up with a trap. Because, as soon as Potter is ready, we will act."

Hermione nodded. "And so Parvati takes Modified Polyjuice Potion and poses as Trelawney?"

"Yes, if she agrees. She can teach Divination, I'm certain, so she could stay at Hogwarts in Trelawney's stead, constantly protected by Perry Price. Hogwarts is one of the best-protected places around, and Perry is very capable. Miss Patil will be as safe as she can be, and she can work towards getting her revenge."

"But isn't that even more of a risk than me wanting to pose as a random Order member? What if she is captured?"

"Miss Patil will not go to Hogwarts before she is well prepared. When you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, your defences weren't good enough. Your Occlumency was strong already but not strong enough for the Dark Lord...Miss Patil will have to learn Occlumency fast. She will have to spin a web of falsehoods if the Dark Lord ever invades her mind. If she resists, and he breaks into her mind, the magical contract will come into effect, and she will be Petrified."

"Which would be a dead giveaway that she isn't who she appears to be."

"Precisely."

"I understand," Hermione murmured. "I've been rather careless, haven't I?"

"Rash as usual." Snape smirked.

"And what will happen to the real Sibyll Trelawney?"

"She shall have to live with the Underground."

Hermione looked at him in horror. "You can't be serious."

"Am I prone to joking, Nightshade? What else would you have us do with her? Kill her?"

"Of course not. But to live here... or in any of the other refuges... She'll drive everyone crazy."

"We've been through worse."

Hermione bit her lip. "She could never go on missions. She'll just get on everyone's nerves."

"We cannot let personal preferences be the judge of who to save and include in the Underground and who not," Snape snarled at her. "I thought I had told you that already, Nightshade."

Hermione hung her head and sighed. "You did, and you're right. I'm sorry. It's just... you'll probably want her here, teaching Divination, won't you?"

"That thought had crossed my mind, yes."

Hermione closed her eyes, nodding. "I was afraid you'd say that. I'm not looking forward to it."

"Believe me, Miss Granger, before all this is over, a lot of things that you don't like will happen. Or I, or the next person, for that matter. We're at war; we're an army, and we fight. Personal preferences have to stand back for this."

"All right. I understand, sir. But I thought no officially living person could live in the Underground?"

"We will have to make an exception, just as we did for Perry Price. Our safety procedures are there for a reason, but they are not set in stone. We will have to keep her here unless you can come up with a better idea?" His sneer was not pleasant.

Hermione frowned, a thought surfacing in the back of her head but not quite ready to grasp yet. "As a matter of fact, I'll try to do just that," she muttered, "but I'll have to think about it some more. But to get back to the main point, what should the prophecy be about?"

Snape stared at her thoughtfully, stroking his upper lip with his index finger. Finally, he spoke, "We need to make it plausible; it needs to sound like Trelawney. She speaks with this rough croak when she is in a trance. We can show that to Miss Patil in the Pensieve, and she can practice. The wording needs to be authentic, too. Sometimes she speaks in rhymes, but not always."

"That's right, but it's always repetitive, sometimes switching words within the sentence but still basically repeating an earlier sentence."

"Correct. So, if we want the Dark Lord delayed until at least... Let's see... six months... That would be August. What would a prophecy say, do you think?"

"It should be the end of July. That's not quite six months but more meaningful because Harry's birthday is on the thirty-first. That would be when the seventh month dies. It draws a full circle with the first prophecy."

"Very good. So we have the Chosen One. We have the seventh month, and we have the Dark Lord. She's referred to him as the Dark Lord in two prophecies, so we should call him that again."

"Yes. Or we contrast him to the Chosen One. Doesn't he believe that seven is the most powerful number?" Hermione bit her lip. She didn't want to give the secret of the Horcruxes away just yet, although she suspected that she couldn't keep it a secret for much longer, and maybe it wasn't even wise to do so.

"Very perceptive. The One, the Seven, and when the seventh month dies. Let's see...

When the Chosen One meets the Powerful Seven

When the seventh month dies

But not before..."

"Hm," Hermione mumbled. "Not bad.

Then one or the other

Shall be victorious

But not before

For neither can live while the other survives."

Snape's gaze burnt into her eyes. She'd never seen him so approving of something she'd said ever before. The corners of his mouth were slightly lifted.

"And to finish it off, we'll repeat again:

When Seven meets One

When the seventh month dies."

"Sounds pretty good," Hermione said, her heart fluttering from the way he was looking at her. Damn, if that was how he approved of people, she'd burst into flames if he ever so much as looked at her with passion.

"Let's repeat the whole thing then," he purred in his smoothest voice.

"When the Chosen One meets the Powerful Seven

When the seventh month dies

But not before

Then one or the other

Shall be victorious

But not before

For neither can live while the other survives

When Seven meets One

When the seventh month dies."

Hermione could have melted away. If Divination sounded so good spoken with Severus'...no...Nundu's voice, then maybe Divination did have its merits, after all. She smiled.

"That's settled, then. I'll leave you to the rest of your watch, Nightshade, and try to catch some sleep myself." He gave her a brief nod, another one of these disconcerting looks of approval, and walked away with brisk, long strides.

Hermione breathed deeply, feeling elated and hopeful. That had been wonderful...the way he had told her about his nickname, the way they had developed the fake prophecy together. And Harry, Ron and herself had been right: he was the Shadow Man. And Harry's mother was the Dead Woman. And that would mean that S... that Nundu was safe, that Voldemort would keep him safe.

She stared at the moon that had risen high in the sky. And suddenly her mood switched from elated to very worried, and an icy chill ran down her spine. Someone as cunning as Severus...yes, blast it, that was his name. Someone as cunning as Severus, someone as determined, as devoted to the cause as him, might just turn matters around and seek his own death to upset Voldemort's little bubble of security, believing that a frightened Voldemort would be easy prey for a determined force against him.

By the time she had come to that conclusion, tears had started to trickle down her face. That wouldn't do. That could not be allowed. She had to get it into Severus Snape's head that Lily Potter was not the Dead Woman who would ensure victory. It could just as well be one of the women in the Underground; they were officially dead, after all, and part of Snape's own Vablatsky interpretation. And he should get together with that Dead Woman while Voldemort still believed that the dead woman was Lily Potter. That way, the prophecy could be fulfilled without Severus getting ideas about self-sacrifice, and revealed at the right time, the secret of the Underground's existence would sufficiently unsettle and frighten Voldemort.

Who was the Dead Woman, then? It must be a Gryffindor because of the fire references. She was a Gryffindor. So maybe the Dead Woman was her? The hopeful shine in her eyes upon that realisation didn't last long. The Dead Woman might just as well be Parvati Patil.