Chapter Twenty Seven - Their Fatal Hands No Second Stroke Intend (Part 2)

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JKR and/or Daniel Knauf. I do not profit from writing this story.

Author's Notes: This is the second half of chapter twenty-seven. Please be certain you have read the previous chapter before continuing.

-Story beta'ed by the incredibly brilliant melusin.

---

"Hermione?" Luna called. Her monotonous voice fluttered tentatively across the kitchen.

The two of them had been the last to finish breakfast and therefore delegated the responsibility for clearing the table and washing the dishes. Lacking the help of Mrs. Weasley today, neither of the girls knew the underrated magic used for cooking multiple dishes simultaneously, which also meant a lack of effective household cleaning spells.

Hermione tossed a pan encrusted with egg residue into the water-filled sink. "Yes, Luna?" Hermione hadn't intended to sound so impatient, but it was a hard habit to break when conversing with this girl. She genuinely liked the Ravenclaw, regarded her as a friend even, but Hermione still retained very little patience for some of the mindless ramblings that came out of her mouth.

That...and Hermione had only achieved about three hours of sleep before she was forced to flee Severus' room in time to sneak down to her own.

True to form, Luna didn't initiate eye contact before beginning the conversation. "Did you burn yourself with a curling iron?"

"Of course not," Hermione answered automatically. "I don't own one seeing as I have no use for it. Besides, like every other wizarding structure... this house doesn't use electricity...WHY?" Soaped dish in hand, Hermione whirled around to eye the Ravenclaw once the absurdity of the topic ultimately struck her.

Luna continued scrubbing down the huge dinner table, unconcerned that her lengthy hair was tangled around the rag. "It just didn't seem likely that someone in this house had given you a love bite, so I thought I'd ask."

Hermione was appalled. "I do not have a..."

"It's right under your left ear. But I was the only one sitting beside you so you don't have to worry... no one else noticed it."

Hermione threw open the cupboards, searching for the cleanest pan with a reflective surface. Lifting her wild hair away from her neck, she gasped. Severus would never have done such a thing intentionally. He was virtually obsessed with ensuring that the two of them showed no evidence of their relationship. On a second glance, Hermione determined that the purple discoloration resembled a bite mark more than anything.

She remembered the precise moment she had received it, too. At the crest of her orgasm, the pain and Severus' struggle to suppress his own groan had been the utmost combination of sensations.

Luna kicked over the mop bucket, spreading soapy, darkened water across the flagstones.

Pulling all of her hair over her left shoulder, Hermione reached into a cabinet and placed the graying mop into the Ravenclaw's outstretched hand. Hermione was anxiously itching to go straight upstairs and glamour this thing out of sight. "Er... Luna?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No problem!"

Before Hermione reached the kitchen door, she couldn't resist turning around to enquire, "Um... why didn't you ask who it was?"

Throwing the used rags into the empty bucket, Luna frowned, finally meeting Hermione's eye. "I'm sorry," she apologized, genuinely concerned. "Was I supposed to?"

With a roll of her eyes and a laugh, Hermione left the kitchen confident that Luna wasn't one to gossip.

*** *** ***

"For fuck's sake," Snape barked in aggravation, therefore more noisily then he intended. Slamming his empty tumbler onto the rickety table he sneered, "My denial of your offer out back wasn't a challenge... or an invitation."

The provocatively dressed witch winked at him and sashayed her curvaceous body into the booth Snape was occupying. Folding her arms under her breasts, she leaned onto the table with the notion that he'd enjoy the view.

"I'll knock off ten Sickles and throw in a blow job." She smiled drunkenly, flaunting a repellent display of lipstick-stained teeth.

"I wouldn't even pay ten Sickles," Snape sneered.

He wasn't wearing his hood low over his brow for nothing. The dim-witted slag was drawing unneeded attention to him. Snape smoothly dipped a hand into his cloak pocket. With a violent flick of his fingers, a Knut bounced off the table and hit her in the face. "But I would pay you to go away."

Issuing a loud shriek, the woman forcibly pushed herself away from the table. Snape easily righted the bottle of whiskey she'd attempted to overturn.

In a raspy, venomous voice the prostitute spat, "All you had to say was that you were a fucking queer and saved us both the time!" Stumbling in her effort to rise, the witch quickly turned in the direction of another table occupied by a solitary wizard.

Snorting in amusement, Snape noted that despite his insult and her drunken clumsiness, the woman had managed to pocket the Knut.

Pinching the bridge between his eyes, Severus groaned with a slight shake of his head. The trouble he was forced to tolerate just to enjoy a drink by himself....

It wasn't as if Snape particularly found prostitutes abhorrent. He'd employed a middling share in his lifetime, but he'd never seen the appeal in the alleyway variety. If the witch didn't belong to an established brothel, they weren't worth his time...or his money. The main feature he'd enjoyed about hired witches was their diligent and business-like approach to sex, resulting in the significant lack of emotional complications that was the usual consequence of fucking women who sought him out of their own accord.

Snape smirked slightly to himself. Complications... like Hermione. But that was one complication that he enjoyed...very much.

As long as Snape possessed Hermione, he had no inclination or need to pay for quick, uncomplicated sex. He was beginning to believe that he was thriving on the turmoil she had caused him as of late. And this particular...appreciation...for her was precisely one of the reasons he had come to this seedy pub tonight.

Precisely on time, the side door swung open, revealing yet another dubious patron attempting to mask their identity beneath a black cloak, intentionally purchased oversized. The wizard ordered a drink at the bar and slid into the seat the uninvited witch had just vacated.

Without glancing up at the expected addition, Snape elegantly refilled his tumbler.

"The climate is very warm as of late..." the wizard rasped with a tentative air.

The two men were perfect opposites. One was very tall and lean, his posture almost as straight and rigid as the wood braced against his back while the other hunched into himself, insulting his already stocky physique.

"Not nearly as warm as the Ministry," Snape responded blankly.

At the end of this coded exchange, their tense body language eased somewhat.

Severus lifted his chin and eyed the man across from him. With one arched eyebrow, Snape initiated the conversation.

Scratching nervously behind his ear, the man muttered, "I do not want to know what you will do with this information."

"I certainly don't intend to inform you."

With a nod of approval, the wizard's attempt to readjust his robes altered into a motion of removing an item from his inner pocket. He quickly scribbled a bit of nonsense onto a stray napkin before delicately placing the long, worn quill on the table. Snape noted that only under very close scrutiny could one discern the thin piece of parchment wrapped around the quill's shaft.

Tossing liquor down his throat, Snape extended his foot out from under the table. The man stumbled in his effort to rise, robes caught under Snape's dragon-hide boot.

Snape spoke, sharp and menacing. "If I discover you have lied to me, I'll be paying someone else for the address of your residence." Halfway through his sentence, Snape looked up, piercing the terrified man with his hollow, black eyes.

After an exaggerated nod, the informant was released and the quill safely tucked away within Snape's robes.

*** *** ***

"You misspelled 'apologize'," she scolded, affectionately digging her chin into his shoulder.

Harry muttered a swear-word to himself but glanced back so Hermione could catch his encouraging smirk.

It was exactly the type of action needed to inform her that she wasn't presumptuous in coming into his room uninvited. Harry wasn't about to kick her out, but he also wasn't going to instigate their inevitable confrontation.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Hermione sighed and leaned her temple against his. "Why did Ginny hit you?"

"Did she...?"

"Of course she didn't. You know Ginny doesn't gossip. It's just... obvious."

Harry went rigid, so Hermione was mildly prepared to hear him murmur, "I...kissed her."

"Dammit, Harry!" Ignoring his flinch, she cupped her palm, smacking him firmly on the ear.

"OUCH! I know... I know... I feel terrible already, so...don't."

Hermione didn't even know how to begin discussing that. Essentially, she couldn't find the patience to.

The return of her chin on his shoulder signaled a change in topic. "Letter to Lavender?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Yeah." Harry's voice was harder than stone.

"Is she still upset about...?"

"Forget it. We don't have to get into it."

Leaning her face against his once more, Hermione spoke forcefully, "I'm sorry."

Harry whirled around, stunned.

"I am. You were right, I shouldn't have interfered."

"Er... thanks."

"Sure thing...Harry!" Hermione interrupted herself with a shriek, her attention diverted by the shock of recognizing the object sitting only an arm's reach away on the desk in front of them. "Is that...?"

"Ah... yes." He uneasily ruffled his hair. "It is."

Harry appeared to be in possession of Headmaster Dumbledore's Pensieve.

"What are you doing with it?" she demanded shrilly. As if truly hearing her own question, Hermione blanched, lifting her hand in the air and clenching her eyes shut. "Wait, never mind. I don't want to know." Gritting her teeth, Hermione forced herself to walk towards the door, but she turned back around just as quickly. "Gods, never mind. Yes... I do."

Taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione marched straight towards Harry's four-poster and sat down with deliberate movements.

"I did not filch it," Harry droned blankly, crossing his arms.

Hermione exhaled. "Of course not! I couldn't imagine you doing such a thing." Her relief was apparent, however. "I take it Dumbledore has assigned you to review... some things."

Harry gazed at the door nervously and finally decided to cast a Silencing Charm on the room. "Many things. But I don't even know what I'm looking for, exactly. There's just so much... decades of memories and not all of them his."

"I thought you've seen everything there was to see on the Dark Lord?"

"I have. This isn't about him, anymore..." Harry cut her off, turning to busy his attention at the grimy window.

Hermione allowed him his silence for as long as she could maintain keeping her mouth closed before she did the predictable. "What is it about? Or should I ask, 'who'?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can't solve this for me."

"I wouldn't presume to. And I admit right now that I'm insanely curious for curiosity's sake. But... you know you can talk to me, Harry. Maybe... it'll make more sense to you once you explain it to someone else?"

Harry couldn't see the harm in it anymore. It was a bit disheartening for him to admit that if he'd been talking to anyone else, say Ron or Sirius, he wouldn't have had the tolerance to bother.

Hermione had always been very quick at absorbing details without needing things repeated or explained.

Harry sent another series of wards at the door. Rising from his writing desk, he went to sit beside Hermione, frightening her with the schooling of his features.

*** *** ***

"Sweet Merlin," Hermione gasped after Harry had finished his tale. She felt dazed. "You are the chosen one."

Harry snorted in disgust. "Don't say that word, please."

"Surprisingly though... it all makes sense."

Leaning forward, Harry braced his elbows on his knees. "Why am I not surprised you'd think so?" That's my Hermione, Harry thought to himself. He groaned again when she excitedly sprang from the bed.

Warily, he watched her pace about his room. Her bottom lip was currently being devoured, so he had reason to fear that the discussion wouldn't be over until her input was heard.

"Listen, growing up how you and I did," Hermione continued, ignoring his jibe, "as Muggle-borns, I think we can faithfully approach magic without taking it for granted...unlike the majority of the wizarding population. It is a wonderful and intensely mysterious reality. For something like magic to exist, it makes sense that it naturally balances itself out in order to sustain itself. To sustain order itself."

"You're not helping, Hermione. I need to end this balance, remember?"

"Ah. Right...but it's just so perfect! Imagine... probably since the beginning of time, there has always been a Dark Wizard and his opposite. I bet we could even find Biblical evidence of this... I wonder if Professor Dumbledore ever thought to create... like a 'good wizard' family tree?"

"Hermione!" Harry was beginning to regret telling her anything.

"Sorry, sorry! Okay... so! As far as Professor Dumbledore can presume, he received the largest chunk of his seemingly endless supply of magic one random day; therefore, the previous 'good' wizard had died. Due to fate, magnetic forces, the magical balance...what have you...Professor Dumbledore spent a significant portion of his life and energy in defeating Grindelwald...unaware that the man was also the current Dark Wizard and therefore his opposite."

"Er, right..." Harry closed his eyes as he listened to Hermione rant, feeling queasy watching her endless pacing.

"And in killing Grindelwald, Dumbledore simultaneously completed his 'purpose', therefore enabling the next Dark Wizard to absorb his full potential of magic...in the same way that the Headmaster had received his...who is obviously the current Dark Lord."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected, leaning forward to eye her strangely.

Hermione flinched at hearing that name and not for same reasons she had years ago. Swallowing, she nodded. "Right... now, before either you or the Dar...Vol-Voldemort had any knowledge of there being a balance, circumstances were already set in motion that guaranteed you two would be enemies... which gives evidence to the fact that the balance does exist."

"Yes, Hermione," Harry conceded impatiently. "I don't need proof that it exists!"

"Wait. That means that before you are strong enough to kill Voldemort...Oh, Harry..."

"The Headmaster is already extremely ill."

"My gods...." Hermione attempted to approach the bed but halted when Harry raised his hand.

"I am not discussing that. Continue like you were before if you want to continue talking. You still haven't come to the main point."

"Yes," Hermione agreed wretchedly. "This...balance...sounds perfect. I don't see how you intend to stop it... and whether or not you should is an entirely different issue."

Harry jumped up from the bed, insulted by her reasoning. "What's the point of defeating Voldemort if some other sick bloke is going to pop up later and replace him?"

"Point? The point is that it needs to be done. He's hurting people right now, Harry. Muggles and wizards are dying every single day because of that man and his cult-like agenda."

"I KNOW that! But Dumbledore's theory does make sense. If something in my actions can make it possible for there to never be another madman like him, then I should attempt it."

Frustrated, Harry watched her chew at her lip again while she furiously shook her head.

"This is so... scary. It's a balance for a reason, Harry. Even if you stopped the... creation of future Dark Wizards, who's to say that power wouldn't release in another way. Perhaps even more terribly."

"I need to try."

"How?"

"Simple. I need to find the next Dark Lord... the one who would receive Voldemort's power once I have defeated him."

Hermione was afraid to ask, "... and what happens once you find him?"

Harry snorted through his nose as if the answer was more than obvious. "He needs to be destroyed. It is essential that I get to him before Voldemort is killed. That's the only way this could work. If Dumbledore's theory is correct, the generation of 'chosen ones' after that aren't even born yet."

After an unnerving silence, Harry stressed, "This will work, Hermione."

To her credit, Hermione managed to resist arguing. "I hope... I hope it goes exactly as you have it planned. Um... any ideas on who?"

"Yes," Harry answered with care, as if his mind wasn't completely made up. "I mean no! That is...after some memories I have viewed up until now, all signs pointed to the same man Dumbledore assumed it was twenty years ago, but he had been proven wrong. As far as we know, it can be anyone."

He grimaced at the worried look she sent him. Harry nodded his head, allowing Hermione to spit out whatever she was holding back.

"Dumbledore had very close interactions with Voldemort...and you. Voldemort was obviously captivated by Grindelwald's... politics, and it influenced his own. If the pattern repeats itself, most likely it is someone you know or know of. Someone you may even know intimately...."

"Yeah." Harry had always acknowledged that, but he didn't enjoy dwelling on it. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. Turning from her, he said, "I'm tired. I think I'll have a lie down."

Thankfully, Hermione recognized his need for privacy and an end to this conversation. She left, and neither felt it necessary to stress the importance of the extreme secrecy regarding everything that had just been said.

*** *** ***

That girl would be the catalyst to his predestined demise.

Snape easily distinguished that evocative certainty spread a black shadow on his future...but still he maintained a brisk pace as his legs carried him to the location that had been purchased for a small fortune.

For some time, Snape had been very conscious of the role Hermione seemed to play in his...life...and it irritated his sensibilities that he retained no desire to put an end to it.

It was this madness that steadied his breathing for the long trek through this rural scattering of country houses. Traveling by night, of course, was the only option if Snape wanted to stealthily slip into Macnair's home. That and journeying by foot.

The self-important wizard maintained an Apparition detection that covered a kilometer in diameter, but not once did Walden think to set up his wards to detect those approaching his home the Muggle way.

Lip curling, Snape paused in a snow-mudded lane in front of the small cottage. He stood there for some time, quietly picking apart the various nocturnal sounds around him, ensuring that not one emanated from within the dwelling. For a man who despised everything Muggle, it was ironic for Macnair to live in a home that had belonged to one of his very own victims. The ex-Ministry executioner's efforts to hide from the Aurors' detection appeared to have succeeded...until now.

Snape had craved this for a very long time. Macnair had been a pain in the arse since Snape was a new and eager recruit, but not until now did Severus feel...justified. And not until now had the man been worth the effort.

In every way that Severus possessed Hermione in his bed, he was reminded of Macnair. The wizard's handiwork was everywhere.

Hermione's scars didn't repulse Severus in the least. In fact, the experience of receiving them and their presence on her body had aged Hermione significantly, and it suited her. Gone forever was the fragile, innocent student sullied by her corrupt Professor.

When he had initially begun his affair, she was merely a passing fancy, a distraction to be used for warmth in his bed and not worth the effort to emotionally maintain for any stretch of time.

Now... she was a woman and a comrade in the Order. But at the rim of his psyche, all Severus could envision was retribution against those who'd threaten to seize or injure what rightfully belonged to him.

Every time Snape undressed her, he was reminded of what that bastard had done...reminded that Macnair still lived and breathed free of punishment for his offenses against Snape.

These thoughts bolstered Snape to dare to enter from the front of the house. But he wasn't worried. Severus had always worked to the best of his potential alone. No one, not a single member of the Order nor Death Eaters had ever witnessed the way Severus could slip into a dwelling undetected nor watched him cast the complex spells used to shield his actions. Snape enjoyed being admired for his skills, but he would never reveal his secrets, and he especially wouldn't warn potential threats of the alarming extent his powers seemed to take.

Where the average witch or wizard leveled out in their magical abilities, Severus continued to surpass his own expectations.

Door securely closed behind him, Severus sneered at his surroundings.

Pathetic.

The interior more resembled the Room of Requirement than it did a home. From floor to ceiling, wall to wall, it was piled with every type of expensive 'treasure'...magic and Muggle...that a greedy pig like Macnair would believe himself to need.

Quietly edging his lithe body around and under the cluttered furnishings, Snape eased down the hallway, his senses informing him as to which room Macnair was asleep in.

In a matter of seconds, the door was pushed open and ropes sprang from the tip of Snape's wand, tightly securing his fellow Death Eater to the gaudy four-poster in the middle of the room.

Swiftly glancing around to take in his surroundings and possible exits, Snape sneered once more at the resemblance this room had to the rest of the home.

With Macnair securely bound and magically rendered unconscious, Severus was beginning to feel a measure of the heady excitement that had brought him here start to wane.

Pointing his wand, he hissed, "RENNERVATE!"

"Fuck me! FUCK! FUCK ME, NO! " Macnair howled in terror, instantaneously aware of his predicament before comprehending who was holding him captive. He fought to control his breathing, but his hysteria at the threat of death was nearly impossible to overcome for a coward like him.

Snape stepped into his eye-line and drawled. "Do you remember the warning I gave you before the attack on Hogsmeade?" He didn't look at Walden as he spoke but fiddled instead with the various trinkets strewn about the room.

"Wha...? SNAPE? What the fuck do you think you are doing? You can't do this!"

"I told you," Snape continued, "that there are no games, no pretenses in a duel. A fight is a fight... to the end."

"Our master will have you destroyed!" The house was freezing; the fires had died out hours ago. Still, perspiration managed to drench Walden from head to toe.

Snape groaned, rolling his eyes at the wizard's predictable threat. "He'll never know."

"I never thought you'd take a bit of friendly competition so seriously!" Mockingly, Macnair dared to spit, "Lucius trained you well, after all."

"This has nothing to do with Lucius, nor our brothers, nor the Dark Lord." Finally turning around to eye his captive, Snape smoothly folded his arms, his expression hauntingly emotionless. "If you were an Order member, or Dumbledore himself, I would be standing where I am now. I do not enjoy having anything I am determined to keep threatened with removal."

"You... You're mad."

"Perhaps. I've always considered that possibility myself...."

"What do you want! There, I've said it! I am begging for my pathetic, fucking life. Happy? You win!"

Snape chuckled throatily, tilting his jaw to shield his amusement with his hair. "No. No, no, no it's not that easy. You see, I had every intention of quietly slipping into your room and snapping your neck while you slept. But then I realized... I wouldn't be nearly as satisfied unless you were aware of it first."

Before Snape had finished his sentence, his wand whipped soundlessly through the air.

Macnair screamed. The flesh of his thighs ripped open, blood spraying the ostentatious duvet profusely. The ties around his lower body were now free, but he couldn't force his limbs to obey him. "FUCK YOU! You fucking, Mudblood-loving bastard!"

"Exactly."

Macnair quieted in comprehension before shrieking, "The Mudblood? This is about that disgusting, filthy, Mudblood!"

In his rage, Macnair was able to draw upon whatever vestiges of wandless magic he possessed. An hour-glass shaped Chinese vase on the dresser exploded, blasting shards in Severus' direction.

Snape ducked, but it was pointless. His cheek suddenly began to feel cool. The pain would come later. Carefully tucking his wand into his robes, Snape jerked his face to Macnair, silently glaring at him through his greasy hair.

"No... get the hell away from me! What are you doing! DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUC..."

Walden's scream was interrupted by the snap of his vertebra dislodging from his spine.

*** *** ***

Hermione jolted from her comfortable position in front of the fire at the sight of Minerva blustering into the kitchen. Mindlessly shoving her school books to the side, Hermione froze at the sight of Professor Snape being dragged behind her Head of House with a graceless tug of his robes.

"What happened?" Hermione gasped.

Severus glanced at Hermione to acknowledge her presence and groaned. "It never ends..." he muttered under his breath.

Dragging a chair from the kitchen table, Minerva shoved it roughly behind his knees and barked, "SIT!"

Hermione couldn't move from her awkward position in the middle of the kitchen, nor could she tear her horrified gaze away from Severus. He looked terrible. Blood covered the whole right side of his face and neck; a deep, angry gash trailed down his cheekbone. Half-expecting to be shooed away, Hermione kept silent so as to not draw attention to herself while she curiously monitored Snape eying his fellow Order member maliciously.

He did not, however, yell at either woman.

Snape waited until Minerva casually turned her back to him before he submitted to her demand. With an exasperated groan he lowered himself into the seat. In an instant, she was upon him. Snape relieved his frustration with endless cursing when Minerva grabbed him by the jaw.

He continuously jerked his face out of her hold, but she was relentless.

Hands on her hips, Minerva tsked, staring down at Severus like she would a rule-breaking student. "If only Albus were here to help me tame you...."

"I am not a pet," Snape snarled.

"Shut up. I wouldn't bother if I didn't know you so well. You were just going to raid the cabinet to dull the pain and possibly pass out before cleaning this. You already scare the wits out of the students as it is, so we don't need to add a hideous scar down the side of your face to make it worse...KEEP STILL."

"Do refrain from screaming at me, Minerva. There are children in the room."

Hermione bristled. Forcing her expression to appear impassive, Hermione finally approached her Head of House. "I'll help you, Minerva."

"Very well," she replied without hesitation. "We can't just clean this with magic. Boil some rags, will you?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh, be quiet."

Ignoring their argument, Hermione continued on her determined march across the kitchen. She Summoned an iron pot and some tea-towels to the sink. While the water boiled on the stove, Hermione threw open the cupboards in search of a proper healing salve.

"Did either of you hear a damn thing I just said? I do not want or need the help of a student."

The iron pot floated in the air in front of Hermione as she rounded the counter. Coming up beside them, she leveled the pot onto the kitchen table by Severus before finally turning to acknowledge that he had been speaking.

"Then you are in luck, Professor Snape. Because you're getting the help of an Order member instead."

Minerva smirked openly. Unintentionally making the situation worse, she asked, "I hope you don't mind, Hermione, but there is some business I need to take care of for Albus...?"

Hermione quickly dipped a finger in the water to gauge the temperature. "Go ahead. I'll be fine."

Severus growled, sharply turning his face away from the two of them.

Once Minerva had exited through the kitchen door, Severus snatched Hermione by the wrist.

"This isn't game," he hissed.

Hermione yanked her hand back, busying herself with wringing out a hot, wet cloth. "I know that. But she's right. You're neglectful regarding your own wounds. So please, if you don't mind... hold your tongue so I can concentrate or else I won't refrain from cleaning your cut roughly."

Severus was staggered into silence; the rigidity in his back fell slack. Lip curling, he allowed Hermione to wipe away the blood that had encrusted his skin.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her so she spoke as if he has just engaged her in a conversation. "I particularly like the appearance of your face as it is and don't desire it to be needlessly sullied. I'm very good, so there won't be any mistakes."

Severus' eyes narrowed at the sight of Hermione tapping her wand against her throat. She leaned in close to him, gently gliding a crusted strand of hair behind his ear. She lowered her face to his.

"Hermione," he whispered warningly.

"Shh." Freezing, cold, air blew out of her mouth.

Severus closed his eyes without realizing it, relishing the sensation of icy wind pressing against the extensive swelling on his face as she continued blowing at his cut.

"Feel better?" she hummed with a slight laugh in her voice.

Snape grunted in acknowledgment.

"What the hell do you think are you doing?" The voice screeching by the door was clearly appalled at the scene he had just witnessed.

Neither Hermione nor Severus were shocked by this development. The odds were certainly against them. Knowing that no reaction was the best defense, Hermione continued as she was.

"Are you lost... again?" Snape sneered at Black, turning slightly so the over-excited wizard could see his wound.

"This is my house!" Sirius shot back childishly. Turning a worried gaze to the young woman perched alarmingly on the arm rest of Snape's chair, he called, "Hermione?"

"Yes?" she answered irritably. "I'm very busy at the moment, Sirius. Can this wait?"

"Harry wants to speak you... in his room." Sirius extended his arm behind him, pushing open the kitchen door and gazing at her expectantly.

She dabbed her pinky in a jar of healing salve. Gently sliding her finger over Severus' face, she snapped, "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I have finished with Professor Snape's injury."

"I think Snape could wait," Sirius spat.

Hermione slammed the jar onto the kitchen table, finally turning her full attention to Harry's godfather. "Dammit, I'm busy, all right?"

Severus showed no reaction to Hermione's outburst, knowing it wasn't a dramatization. With Hermione's thigh and hip nearly pressed into his side, Snape smirked at how close he was to her in Black's presence. He extended his hand, brushing her elbow with the back of his fingers to gain her attention. "You may leave if you wish, Miss Granger."

He had only said this to hear the response he knew she would give.

"No, it's all right, Professor. I've nearly finished."

Glancing up through his disheveled hair, Snape sent Black a knowing and vindictive smirk.

"Thank you for sending my message to Harry, Sirius," Hermione said pointedly, arching an eyebrow.

Sirius wanted to argue. And he would have, if Hermione hadn't stubbornly held his gaze with her impassive expression. By the time he finally left, Hermione was shocked to realize that Snape had Summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler during the distraction.

Before Snape was able to bring his tumbler to his lips, Hermione made an insulted sound, smoothly plucking it out of his hand.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm giving your liver some much needed rest."

"My liver?" Snape scoffed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, remembering that a Hangover potion not only livened a dull mind but cured the body from the harm that would have been the result of the alcohol's poison.

"Wizards and their dependence on potions," Hermione muttered, rising from the chair to gather the soiled rags. Dumping everything into the pot, she carried it back to the sink for another boil.

"Don't you dare insult potions," Snape sneered as he reached for the bottle of firewhisky once more. "They can heal anything... almost."

Hermione was aware of Snape coming up behind her before she felt his presence very close at her back. Without turning around she hummed, "How does it feel? I didn't even think about giving you a Pain Relieving Potion..."

"I'm fine," Snape hummed.

She stilled at the feel of his hands on her shoulders. Severus gathered her riotous hair in his hands, moving the mass off to one shoulder. Breathing deeply, Hermione closed her eyes, anxious and half-expecting him to initiate intimacy by lowering his lips to her neck. All the same, she couldn't believe that he would...with his reservations about being caught.

Snape's arms whipped in the air around her. Something cold and smooth glided into the dip between her collar bones. Looking down, she inhaled sharply, her fingers sliding against her skin to inspect the braided silver chain.

"Happy Christmas," Severus muttered into her ear.

Lifting the necklace away from her skin, Hermione spluttered, "Severus! This is beautiful! But... it must have been expensive...."

"Perhaps, but that isn't what should make it... special."

She whirled around, her gift twirled around her fingers as she glanced up at him shyly. "I know."

He was silent a moment before asking, "Do you?"

"Yes... it's Muggle made."

Hermione had been so enraptured with studying her gift that Snape felt no need to mask the sharp narrowing of his eyes.

"Indeed."

"But... Christmas isn't until tomorrow...."

"It's almost four in the morning."

She rolled her eyes in agreement. Suddenly looking distressed, she whispered, "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Snape chuckled darkly. "You weren't expecting a gift from me."

Hermione didn't meet his eye.

Sending a quelling glance at the kitchen door, Snape dared to step nearer. Carefully edging his hand between the folds of her dressing gown, Severus curled his fingers firmly around her waist, pulling her closer. "Good. Then that can only mean you have refrained from purchasing some useless rubbish on my account. I receive enough ridiculous gifts from the staff and students as it is. Besides, I am...inadequate...at expressing genuine gratitude and would have sorely disappointed your efforts."

"That hardly seems fair."

"I cannot help it. Truly."

"I know. And I wouldn't change you for anything."

Snape's thumb had strayed unknowingly while he spoke. Fingering the hem of her night dress underneath, Snape's expression went serious. His thoughts briefly acknowledged that the garment was daringly short. He was able to easily slip his hand underneath.

Hermione braced her hands on the counter behind her, pushing herself on her toes in order to reach his jaw with her mouth. Overwhelmed by his presence, she opened her knees, gliding the flesh of her thigh insistently into Snape's already busy hand.

Snape briefly closed his eyes at the feel of her chaste kiss. "Not here..."

Before Snape could completely extract Hermione from his person, the kitchen door he had been attentively monitoring seconds before flew open.

Snape's neck snapped violently. He wished, more than ever, that looks could truly kill.

Sirius Black stilled in the doorway, disbelief and mortification emanating from his body.

---

Author's Notes: Uh oh....

-Many thanks to my wonderful beta and mentor, melusin.

-Chapter title taken from John Milton's Paradise Lost, Book ii. Line 712.

-Next Up: Sirius confronts Harry about Snape. It's Christmas day and that can only mean one thing...party time! Unfortunately, overworked Order members and ready available alcohol do not mix.