Chapter Eighteen - Of What He Was, What Is, and What Must be Worse.

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

Author's Notes: None of this could have been possible without the help of my beta, melusin.

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"There was something terribly... cold about his speech," Neville said softly. His eyes stared straight ahead, growing watery the longer he went without blinking.

Hermione, Ron, Harry and Neville sat restlessly at a secluded table in the back of the library. They discussed the day's events, stumbling over their words to make their descriptions as tactful as possible.

"I don't think 'cold' is quite the word I would use to describe it," Hermione corrected. She leaned against the table to balance her chin in the palm of her hand.

When all of the students ... the surviving students, that is ... had been safely escorted to the castle, the Headmaster had commanded them all to go to the Great Hall for an announcement. A good number of them had been injured, forced to stay in the hospital wing. Dumbledore was confident that they would heal in time... but five students, unfortunately, had been lost.

No recognizable bodies. They were just missing.

Only when Aurors had found and identified the remaining body parts from the explosions would the school know for certain if the five students had been killed, kidnapped, or had run away. Three Hufflepuff third-years, Orla Quirke of Ravenclaw, as well as Jimmy Peakes of Gryffindor hadn't attended Dumbledore's speech that evening.

"Expected," Harry said flatly.

"Gryffindor is going to have to find a new Beater..."

Hermione perked up when Harry spoke, blatantly ignoring Ron's train of thought.

"What was, 'expected', Harry?"

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes as he attempted to clarify exactly what he was trying to say. He knew the others wouldn't enjoy hearing it. "The way Dumbledore spoke to us... his condolences, his grief, his warnings... It wasn't cold, exactly. It just sounded rehearsed. Almost like he'd expected something to happen in Hogsmeade."

Hermione paled, remembering Severus' words.

"Who said the Dark Lord commanded anything of me..."

But, just as quickly as her professor had entered her mind, she shook her head, forcing him away.

"Impossible!" Neville barked. When the others forcefully shushed him, he whispered, "If Dumbledore had had any idea that there was going to be an attack, he would have cancelled the trip."

Hermione and Harry grimaced at his words.

Given as much as Harry knew about the Headmaster now, he didn't quite believe that to be true. But by the anxiety etched across Neville's face, and the matter-of-fact tone of his voice, Harry recognized that Neville needed that to be true. So Harry nodded morosely and said, "No. You're right."

Hermione's head snapped up in alarm. Harry was conceding... backtracking from the last argument he had just made. That was not like Harry. Once he got going, he would argue his point until he either convinced everyone around him or stormed off in a huff. Harry could feel her staring at him. He quickly raised an eyebrow, obviously caught off-guard by her intense examination. Hermione turned her head slightly to the side as if to ask if he was feeling all right. After a slight shake of his head, she decided to let it go.

Throughout this conversation, Harry and Hermione dutifully listened to Ron and Neville speak, swallowing excess saliva while they chewed on the side of their tongues. They both had experienced very... unusual... interactions with Slytherin students in Hogsmeade. They both felt a burning need to disclose that information but doubted it would serve any purpose.

Hermione didn't want to get Remus into trouble with his enemies.

And Harry didn't want to expose Blaise Zabini as a sneak.

So they remained silent, quietly contemplating how this information could be used to their advantage before it was exposed.

*** *** ***

Zabini was sitting in the Slytherin common room a few hours after the Halloween feast. It was well past curfew, so he had taken advantage of the silence of the empty room to gather his thoughts.

He sneered at the sight of discarded bottle caps and sweet wrappers haphazardly strewn around the room.

Quite a celebration the Slytherins had thrown that evening. The similarities between this party and the ones his house typically hosted over Quidditch victories were so alike it turned his stomach. Murder being equivalent to sports... It was disgusting!

Zabini had attended the festivities, of course, for the sake of appearances, but mirth and excitement were not at the forefront of his mind.

Fucking Harry Potter.

Closing his eyes, he groaned, worrying if he had done the right thing.

The right thing, he repeated, laughing sardonically.

That was the question, wasn't it? What was the right thing? He groaned, fisting his hand against the cushion.

No, no, he truly didn't have the energy to contemplate such ethical decisions. Zabini rephrased that last thought.

What was the right thing for him?

Scratching his chin, Zabini leaned back into the settee, turning over these deliberations in his mind.

If he hadn't stopped Harry in the Hog's Head, the Slytherin students and the other Death Eaters hiding out in there would have attacked the Gryffindor. Zabini grudgingly admitted that Harry was powerful, but there was no possible way he could have overcome that many wizards on his own.

Right?

Erring on the side of caution, Zabini hadn't been able to take that risk. So he had hidden Harry in the broom cupboard.

But... why?

I don't want this, he thought immediately. The this being the war, the fighting, and the Death Eater summons.

Oh, how he loathed being summoned.

It was a good thing that as a new recruit, he was not granted the privilege of looking his Master directly in the eye. He always had to keep his vision glued to the floor whenever questioned. Truthfully, Zabini put forth the least possible effort when he was assigned to raids, guaranteeing that he wouldn't move up in the ranks.

He had absolutely no training in Occlumency. If the Dark Lord ever glimpsed his thoughts, his Master would know that Zabini did not want him to succeed in this war. The last thing Zabini desired was to live the rest of his life under that sadistic rule.

But Zabini groaned at the alternative. The idea of Harry-Bloody-Potter being the wizarding world's hero also turned his stomach, but, for very different reasons.

He knew that this was just his House bias talking. Deep down, Zabini fully recognized that he would rather live under the Gryffindor's reign than the Dark Lord's. Hopefully, when all of this fighting was over and done with, Harry would remember Zabini's efforts.

Zabini snorted after that last thought. Most likely, today's actions would not be enough to clear his name. Another plan was in order.

"I thought you said you had to study tonight?" a saucy feminine voice asked.

Zabini groaned loudly. He responded without meeting her eyes. "I don't need your shit right now, Daphne."

She tsked insultingly. "Ha! Is that right? Like I need your fucking lies!"

"I'm not lying. I'll get around to studying... eventually."

Crossing the common room, Daphne quickly sat down by his side. Possessing very little shame, she had intentionally left her dressing gown in her room, desiring Zabini to see her in the skimpy pajamas she wore ... small shorts and a low cut camisole.

"Look, Blaise, if you're getting tired of me, just let me know."

Like he really had the choice. Zabini threw his head back on the cushion. "Ah, hell..."

"Do I annoy you that much, now?" she asked indignantly. "Can't you even stand to talk to me? You obviously can't even look at me!"

Finally turning toward her, Zabini made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down. A derisive laugh escaped his mouth at her attire. "Has it ever crossed your mind... the notion that, maybe, if you stopped nagging me all the bloody time, I wouldn't get so impatient?"

She stubbornly pursed her lips. Zabini had had his say and felt no desire to beat a response out of her. They sat together in uncomfortable silence. He was testing her, but Daphne didn't care. She quickly spat out her next accusation. "Are you shagging Pansy?"

"WHAT?" he gasped. The look Zabini sent her made it very clear that he thought Daphne must have gone mad.

She turned her gaze down guiltily. "I don't... It's just that... I catch you looking at her at odd times, so I can't help but think..."

"No," Zabini spat through clenched teeth. "I am not shagging her."

"Are you attracted to her?"

"NO!"

Well, that wasn't precisely true. He did appreciate the feel of petite and fragile women. But his relationship with Pansy did not involve any palpable sexual attraction or flirtation whatsoever. She just had the same objective as him, and Zabini couldn't deny that it would be better if he didn't have to work alone.

But the slapper sitting next to him didn't need to know that.

Gods, how he wish he was betrothed to a woman who possessed even an ounce of class and sophistication.

Daphne leaned in very close, placing her hand on his knee. "Prove it," she whispered, gliding her hand up his leg.

Slightly caught off-guard by her offer, Zabini weighed the proposition in his head.

He steadily turned in his seat, catching her eye. "Daphne?" he called silkily, leaning in very close.

Her excitement showed clearly on her face. "Yes?"

Sliding her hair back behind her ear with one finger, Zabini exhaled softly before speaking. "You talk too much," he spat quickly, voice heavy with revulsion.

Daphne violently pushed him away. She blustered at his amused expression. "You're a fucking bastard, you know that?"

"Sorry, my dear, but my parents are married."

When Daphne stood up quickly, she paused in her tantrum, turning to look at him. It was very obvious that she wanted Blaise to ask her to stay.

So he refused to react. Glancing in her direction, he snorted mockingly before waving his hand at her in dismissal.

"Fine!" she screeched, clenching her fists. "You can just sod off, then!"

Zabini laughed at her outburst. Placing an elbow on the back of the settee, he smiled as he thought about her crude suggestion. Compared to that screeching harpy, he really rather would.

*** *** ***

Hermione wasn't certain what had inspired this sudden whim. But she couldn't find sleep, anyway, so she washed her face and dressed under the pretense of doing a late-night patrol.

Severus. She kept thinking about him as she lay in bed attempting to fall asleep. One moment, her blood boiled at the remembrance of his insulting and hurtful words; the next, her face flushed as she envisioned his hands sliding up the inside of her thighs, tugging at her knickers before his dexterous fingers parted her...

She exhaled deeply, releasing a frustrated growl. Hermione chastised her weakness when her own hands began to mimic the memory.

So she fled her room to occupy herself elsewhere. It was a testament to her desperation for a distraction that the 'elsewhere' she had in mind was to search for Harry's godfather.

Sighing resignedly, Hermione conceded to herself that if someone spotted her entering Sirius' office in the middle of the night, it would spark some outlandish and incredibly embarrassing rumors.

But she hadn't seen Sirius in Hogsmeade, or at the Halloween feast, so Hermione felt this intense responsibility to ensure that he was all right.

A child.

When she really got down to it and questioned what she thought of Sirius or of his personality, that was the first word that crossed her mind.

He seemed so very much like an overgrown child. Maybe that was why she was so forgiving of his advances and wild temper tantrums. In a way, it was as if he just didn't know any better.

As Hermione slowly descended the marble staircase, she faltered on the last step. She had the nerve-racking sensation that she was being watched, and it sent goose-pimples down her arms and legs.

With a firm set in her jaw, she passed across the Entrance Hall on her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. From the corner of her vision, Hermione uneasily eyed the darkened stairway that led down to the Dungeons.

If Severus was watching her, she prayed that he wouldn't reveal himself. Hermione just couldn't deal with him right now... not after this afternoon.

Typically, after they bickered or argued, she would yearn for the chance to see him again. She craved his presence just on the off chance that he would display a measure of interest that would reassure her insecurities. But she was certain of his feelings for her now. And she also knew that he put the least effort possible into avoiding arguments and saying hurtful comments.

So Hermione just had no patience for him at the moment.

She didn't desire his company, and it emboldened her.

Raising her chin, Hermione continued with confident steps down the corridor towards Sirius' classroom as the edges of her lips rose into a very Snape-like smirk. Once she stood before the door, Hermione quickly turned the knob. Her relief at finding it unlocked turned to satisfaction once she eyed Sirius' office door.

The soft glow of a candle danced inside, spilling out from beneath the door.

She knocked softly and waited, but there was no response. After loudly knocking again, Hermione dared to invite herself inside. She guardedly pushed the door forward, half-expecting to see or hear something that would make her wish she had never come.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Sirius was asleep. His chest and the side of his face lay flat against his desk.

No, not just sleeping. It was very apparent that he was having a nightmare. His eyes were clenched tight, and sweat dripped down his brow. By the random twitches of his fingers and eyebrows, Hermione knew he was trying to wake himself up.

Hermione took a small step toward him. She flinched back when he inhaled sharply.

His breaths suddenly started to build deeply and raggedly. When his face turned that familiar shade of blue, Hermione ran from the door and was by his side in an instant. She palmed the outside of his robe, frantically searching for a bulge in his pocket. Her hand finally closed around something hard and cold. She reached into his robe, smoothly pulling out his black pocket watch.

The second she touched it, she wanted to put it down. It was cold. So cold it almost burned her skin.

Remembering what she had seen in Hogsmeade, when she had spied through the brothel window, Hermione quickly flipped open the latch. Her eyes widened. The second hand ticked erratically, and the faceplate pulsed a deep, blood-red.

Sirius' labored breathing grew worse.

Grasping the side of the pocket watch, Hermione smoothly began winding it.

By the time she was able to give it two full turns, Sirius jolted awake with a gulp of air. Gasping in fear, his hands moved wildly around him, searching his pockets as he remained oblivious to Hermione's presence.

She calmly closed the latch. He whirled toward her at the sound of a 'click'.

"Don't worry," she said. Her voice breathed out soft and soothing, hoping it would calm him. Hermione slowly extended her arm, dangling the watch before him. "I turned it for you."

Sirius' eyes bulged at her words. He looked at her, then at the pocket watch dangling in front of his vision and back to her.

"You... what?" he croaked. His face was horror-stricken at her calm and curious demeanor. Her hand inched toward him, instructing him to take his possession.

Sirius' shaky fingers reached out, grasping the watch by the chain. He held it in both of his hands as the reality of the situation finally sunk in.

Hermione had wound it, he thought. She knew... something. And she was still standing in his presence. She wasn't screaming or running away in revulsion.

Finally, someone knew.

Sirius started to suck in deep, uncontrollable gasps of air, which exhaled in cries of anguish. But this time, his erratic breathing had absolutely nothing to do with his condition.

The weight of the situation hit him full force. The one person he had wanted to know... The one person he didn't have the heart to speak to about this... That one person knew and had chosen to help him. He gasped as tears and relief choked his breathing.

Hermione watched all of this, surprised at the swell of compassion fluttering in her chest. She walked toward the side of Sirius' chair, extending her arm around his shoulders.

"It's going to be all right," she said confidently.

Sirius hesitantly raised his arm. He desperately clutched at her waist, pressing his forehead against her.

Hermione shushed and cooed to him, allowing him to cry as she placed her hand on his head.

*** *** ***

"Pick up your gun." Grindelwald's head motioned toward the pistol on the side table.

"I SAID, PICK IT UP." Spittle was flying from Grindelwald's mouth. "NOW!" His mad eyes flashed as the scared Muggle extended a shaky hand towards his pistol.

"Coward! Hiding here as you let others fight a losing battle above you. Your name will have its rightful place in history, believe me." Grindelwald moved his wand from the Muggle's temple and pointed it between his eyes.

"NO!" the man barked angrily. "Wait, it's not over yet!"

"Imperio!"

Dumbledore watched breathlessly as the Muggle's mouth fell open. Dumbledore knew what was going to happen, and he easily could have stopped it. But if he were to trade places with Grindelwald this very moment, Dumbledore would have sentenced this Muggle leader to the same fate. This was no less than the despicable man deserved.

Eyes unblinking, the Muggle reached into his coat, removing a small pill from his pocket which he placed in the back of his mouth. Slowly, he grasped the pistol firmly, raising it to his temple. A second later, he pulled the trigger, spraying the back wall with brain matter and hair.

It was now or never. Swift and silent, Dumbledore seized his chance. "Petrificus Totalus!" Dumbledore shouted as he darted from his hidding place against the wall.

Grindelwald had a fraction of a second to turn, staggered by Dumbledore's presence before he fell stiffly to the stone floor.

"Yes," Dumbledore said slowly as he walked to stand by Grindelwald's frozen body. The Dark wizard looked up at him, face contorted in fury that Dumbledore had finally caught him. "You're right. It is definitely time to end things. I believe I will finish off from your lead..."

Dumbledore raised his wand but hesitated when the bound man suddenly began to chuckle. The chuckle grew from a deep, throaty rasp to an all out laugh. Dumbledore knew this man possessed a dramatic flair for playing games, but despite his reluctance to indulge him, Dumbledore raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Do you really think this is over?" Grindelwald mocked.

"For you, it is," Dumbledore responded confidently.

"You may be right, Albus, you may be right. But kill me, and it will be over for you as well."

Dumbledore's eyes briefly narrowed in curiosity before his expression became serene again. "Power has made you mad, old friend."

"Not in the least!" Grindelwald barked. "Power has made you, Albus, very blind. We will definitely see each other in the next," Grindelwald chided with a sneer.

"I never took you for the religious type. I doubt you and I will ever cross paths in the afterlife. Our souls will have different destinations."

"Fool!" Grindelwald laughed deeply. "Our kind does not have an afterlife. It seems you're not truly as wise as most believe you to be. No, not the afterlife... but the next life. My power... your power... they will meet again."

"Quoting Matthias, are we?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"You would do better not to take folklore so lightly. You'll come to learn of the Dualism in time. I possess no fear in telling you this because I know you won't listen to me... now."

Tired of Grindelwald's fairy tale ramble, Dumbledore pointed his wand at Grindelwald's cloak, Transfiguring it into the uniform of the lowest foot soldier.

Grindelwald's eyes widened at the sight of the blood-red band around his bicep. If Dumbledore could say he had ever seen this sadistic wizard display a fraction of true terror, it was now.

"What are you doing?" Grindelwald gasped.

"Like that of your protégé, you will not have the glorifying death you seek, either," Dumbledore said, looking down at him, his face expressionless. "You will not die from a wizard's wand."

He slowly turned his wand to Grindelwald's forehead.

A bomb exploded somewhere overhead, raining clouds of suffocating dust.

"Confundo!"

Grindelwald's dilated eyes looked up at Dumbledore, glazed and unfamiliar with what he saw. Dumbledore bent by his side to gain a firm grasp of his wrist. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the Muggle tanks and guns of the Allied forces, Apparating the two of them to the madness that lay above their heads.

Harry inhaled sharply as he sat up straight in bed. Breathing deeply, he raised his hands to his temples, pushing his messy hair away from his sweaty hairline.

He concentrated, for once, with the intention of remembering the entirety of his dream.

Harry violently kicked his bedclothes away from him, lurching from his room and down the dormitory stairs.

He smiled, recalling what Luna had said in Hogsmeade.

"You really need to learn how to stop fighting your nature, Harry."

My nature, Harry snorted. But despite his incredulity, Harry had listened. He had made an effort to fall asleep without dread in his heart. Harry consciously invited his mind to open up to any and all visions or dreams that had been hovering on the outskirts of his thoughts just waiting to be seen.

And enter it they did.

Luna was right. There was more to the memory... Dumbledore's memory. Not very long after Grindelwald had killed the Muggle, Dumbledore had finally defeated Grindelwald.

But there was something extremely depressing about this memory. Harry hadn't just watched it, he had lived it though Dumbledore's eyes and body. As he listened to Grindelwald speak, feelings of regret and shame had inundated him.

It didn't make any sense. Dumbledore had defeated the greatest wizard of that time. He had succeeded in destroying his Opposite. The One before Voldemort. So why did the worst feelings of guilt and shame bombard him right before they Apparated away? What on earth would Dumbledore have done differently?

The Headmaster had repented something that had happened that night, and Harry was resolved to discover exactly what it was.

*** *** ***

"Enter," Dumbledore called dejectedly.

Harry quickly pushed open the heavy office door. He took a few wavering steps towards the Headmaster's desk, confused at finding the room empty.

"I knew you would want to speak to me," Dumbledore's voice drifted from across the office.

Harry turned, surprised at seeing the two student chairs facing each other in front of the fire. Dumbledore motioned to the one he wasn't occupying.

"I was afraid I would have to wake you up," Harry mumbled. He met Dumbledore's eye and quickly turned away. The Headmaster looked ghastly. Harry knew that something about the old man had seemed very ragged at the Halloween feast, but Dumbledore had been too far away to inspect clearly. Being close to him now, his face looked haggard, cheekbones protruding from loss of weight.

Dumbledore still managed a serene smile. "No, no, I was already awake. Bad dream."

They exchanged hard, pressing looks. Glancing at the floor, Harry finally moved toward his offered seat.

"I suppose I should be thanking Luna for that," Harry chuckled darkly.

"She is an extraordinary girl," Dumbledore breathed. "I'm happy she's your friend, Harry. She will be quite an asset to you."

"Luna already has been ... for quite some time."

"Good. It's been such a pity, after so many years at Hogwarts, and she still has so few friends. Her kind heart is one of the most unselfish ones I have seen in many years."

Harry hummed in thought before shaking his head. "She's far too eccentric for the other students to see that and truly appreciate her. She makes them uneasy. But I'm not the least bit surprised by Luna's odd behavior and even stranger comments. I would expect that having one's mind constantly pulled between two different realms of existence can take a toll on one's sanity."

Dumbledore didn't immediately respond. A little uncomfortable by the silence, Harry looked up, caught-off guard by his penetrating eyes.

"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore finally said. He did not sound surprised at Harry's insight. Instead, he seemed almost... miserable.

"Why was that a bad dream?" Harry asked, remembering why he had come here. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs. "Years from now, I can only pray that the worst of my dreams will be remembering how I destroyed Voldemort."

Dumbledore released a deep exhale. "It was a bad dream because I should have... done things... very differently. I wish I'd listened to him... Grindelwald, I mean. He knew of the balance before I, as well as... the loopholes."

"Loopholes?"

"He knew," Dumbledore continued, "that had I killed him, that would have been the end for me as well. That night, the capacity of my power peaked, and once he was gone, it started to slowly decrease, as it still does now."

Harry pushed his arms off his legs, leaning back into his chair. "Okay, I'm confused."

Dumbledore smiled serenely at him again. "And you're taking that rather well, don't you think?"

"Taking what well?" Harry asked again calmly.

"Being in the dark. Finding out more information that I have kept from you. I needed you to be ready to hear it. And it's very obvious, you're ready now." Dumbledore stopped speaking. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "My power peaked because... I can't be the greatest wizard in the world if my rival, the strongest Dark Wizard, is dead. My usefulness, my purpose is done. There isn't only a balance between the 'good wizard' and the 'bad wizard', Harry. There is also a separate balance on each side."

Harry pulled his eyes away from the floor, finally putting what few pieces he had together. "You mean... good wizard... and good wizard."

Dumbledore nodded very slowly. "The weaker I get, the stronger you get. The more erratic and irresponsible I get, the more clear-minded and focused you become."

Harry suddenly remembered that incident in Defense class. He had shown such incredible magic without truly trying, amazing Hermione even. But when he had gone to speak to Dumbledore, he had been unable to gain an audience. The Headmaster was bedridden that morning...

"This is a little sick," Harry said quietly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Only because we are trying to understand it. This has been going on since the beginning of time, and I do believe the most that it has been acknowledged has occurred within the last one hundred years. It only feels twisted because we have been trying to understand it... as well as trying to stop it."

"Why do you regret Grindelwald's death?" Harry wanted him to say it, point blank.

"I should have killed Voldemort before Grindelwald." Dumbledore's eyes were dark, stony, with years of pent up frustration.

"But you said Voldemort isn't your opposite; he's mine."

"Yes, Harry, but you weren't even alive, then. And without Grindelwald's boon, Voldemort wouldn't have been anyone's opposite. He would have had no protection against me. Harming him, then, would not have harmed me." Dumbledore motioned toward his damaged hand to stress his point.

"Boon? You mean Grindelwald's power?" Harry asked hungrily. He crossed his legs, leaning comfortably against the side of the armrest.

"Precisely. I don't know for certain, but I fully believe that if I had killed Voldemort before Grindelwald, this cycle would have ended. You can't change the fate of who is meant to be the next Dark Lord, but I do believe you can prevent them from being placed in power. With Tom gone, had I then killed Grindelwald... where would that Dark power have gone? There would have been no one to receive it."

"You said," Harry asked quietly, "that the more erratic you have become, the more clear-minded I have become as well." Dumbledore closed his eyes, and Harry did not wait for him to respond. "You're dying." It wasn't a question.

"Very, very slowly, Harry," Dumbledore said, a slight pain making its way into his confession.

"So, it won't be long before I get my boon," Harry spat disgustingly. He wasn't looking at the Headmaster. Gazing unblinkingly at the flames of the fire, Harry could see the old man nod from the corner of his eye.

Harry straightened himself in his seat. "I need to find the next Dark Wizard."

"Yes," Dumbledore breathed.

"And I need to kill him."

"Yes." This time the answer was full of anguish.

"Before I kill Voldemort."

Dumbledore remained silent. He didn't need to tell Harry who it was because once he was dead, the knowledge would automatically pass on to him. He just prayed Harry would forgive him. Someday.

*** *** ***

Indifference. Hermione felt like the very emotion, if it could be called that, bled from her every pore. It wafted in the air with each swish of her hand; it drifted in the flip of her hair and showed in the hollow gaze of her eyes.

And she knew Severus could smell it.

Since the beginning of the school year, this Potions class had been the best one yet. She had felt no hesitation in raising her hand to answer Professor Snape's questions. She listened with rapt attention to his lecture, but it was very clear that she was more interested in the information than the sound of his voice. Throughout the whole double lesson, Hermione had kept her mouth in a perfect straight line whenever he had dismissed her answers.

His behavior, of course, hadn't changed. If anything, he seemed to grow more vicious when it became obvious that he wasn't going to get a reaction out of her. Professor Snape's scowl didn't even elevate her heartbeat.

Perhaps, if she had been alone with him, the situation would have been very different. But she felt unbelievably safe and comfortable surrounded by her fellow classmates. Honestly, what was the worst he could do to her here? The usual tactics he used to intimidate her classmates weren't enough to frighten or alarm her anymore.

Hermione had touched a much darker creature, which had not been unleashed in this room. But the moment she imagined that creature, her Severus, a sharp twang of sorrow choked the air in her throat. She wanted to touch that darkness so badly.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione focused on the indifference again.

Towards the end of the lesson, Hermione thought she had caught him clench his jaw uncomfortably a few times. She knew her behavior was confusing him, but aside from that, anything else he felt really didn't matter.

He deserved it.

Despite how well she was bottling her feelings, Hermione still cared about him. Missed him, even. She just refused to allow herself to think of such things now.

But focusing on perfecting the potion in front of her wasn't enough. She could have done this in her sleep. So Hermione's thoughts drifted toward something else to distract her from her emotions and from Severus.

She thought of the incident with Sirius the previous night.

Poor child. She had added compassion to her estimation of his character. The true extent of the pain he was forced to live with, day to day, had been unbearably tangible last night.

Hermione inhaled sharply, wincing as pain throbbed in her temples. Her hands clutched the side of her work-table. A flash of light breezed across her mind, and in that second, she remembered Sirius crying, his head pressed against her as she held him.

Only, she didn't choose to remember that part of last night.

Hermione snapped her head up, sending a loathsome glare at Severus. He should know better than to enter her mind like that again.

She expected to see smugness, anger even, with a bit of disgust directed at her. Only, Severus didn't turn to meet her eyes. He stood rigidly by the blackboard, his hand clenched into a fist at his side. Based on his body language, Hermione would have guessed that he was seething with rage... until she noticed his perplexed eyes.

Three hesitant knocks pounded on the classroom door.

"Go away," Professor Snape snarled, his typical viciousness surprisingly muted.

There was a small silence before one more hesitant knock.

Finally releasing a frustrated snarl, Severus flicked his wand at the door. It flew open, banging against the stone wall.

"What do you want?" he bellowed at the female student standing fearfully in the doorway.

"I... um... Professor McGonagall would like to see Hermione... sir," the student squeaked.

Professor Snape's upper lip curled. He was about to growl something venomous when he noticed the bright yellow parchment in the student's hand.

Despite what Severus wanted to do, he couldn't deny a request from the Deputy-Headmistress.

Swallowing heavily, he turned his back to the classroom, dismissively waving his hand in the air.

Hermione didn't bother glancing in his direction as she gathered her things and followed the younger student out the door.

*** *** ***

"I don't know. I've just been so irritated lately," Hermione breathed. She picked half-heartily at the pastry in front of her. If she didn't attempt to eat it, Minerva would scold her again.

Minerva had told Hermione that she had been acting... unusually lately. Her Head of House had requested this meeting to ensure that Hermione wasn't getting in over her head with the Order on top of her full load of school work.

"Boy troubles?" Minerva announced. She snorted at the absurdity of the topic.

"No. Man troubles," Hermione spat before thinking better of it.

Minerva's tea cup clanged against her saucer. Hermione's head snapped up to meet her professor's penetrating glare.

"What?" Minerva asked briskly.

"I-I... oh, never mind." Hermione slouched in her seat, bringing her hands up against her face, shielding her desire to expel a frustrated bellow. Hermione didn't need another excuse to think about Severus.

"So it's true, then?" Minerva questioned in disbelief. Slowly placing her tea cup to the side, she leaned back in her seat, primly folding her hands in her lap.

"Is what true?" Hermione asked tersely.

"I mean, I heard the rumors... and Dumbledore's incessant rambles... but I never thought you would be receptive to such behavior..."

Hermione raised her head, eyes bulging in shock. "Good lord, Minerva, what rumors?" Hermione gasped.

"You're having an affair with Sirius."

"WHAT?"

Instead of turning into a Confunded mess like Hermione hoped she would, Minerva shrewdly narrowed her eyes. "If you are not having a relationship with Sirius, I fail to see who else you would be having man troubles with."

Oh... right.

"No... it's Sirius," Hermione immediately answered. She couldn't help but imagine Severus smirking satisfactorily behind Minerva at her increasing ability to lie on the spot. But then she winced after the thought. "But, it's not like that!" Hermione quickly added.

"Are the two of you seeing each other?" Minerva asked seriously.

"No, not at all. But that doesn't stop him from trying," Hermione answered, irritation evident in her voice.

Minerva tsked under her breath. "Arrogant fool!"

Hermione released a tired sigh. "Indeed. But I can't help but feel pity for him. But, maybe my pity is misplaced, however. The very last thing I desire is to give him false hope in pursuing me. But..."

"But?" Minerva stressed. "Goodness, are you developing feelings for him?"

"No, not in the least. But I can't help but notice how withdrawn and bottled up he is with everyone... except me."

Hermione turned to glance at her lap. She had meant what she said. This was part of the reason she felt such a strong sense of responsibility for him.

"Yes." Minerva hummed in thought. "I have noticed this as well. Ever since he has... er... returned."

Hermione inquisitively narrowed her eyes. "Do you know the reason he is able to be with us now?" How many other of the people she had put her trust in had been keeping her in the dark?

"No, sadly, I don't. The only people I believe may have some idea are Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape ... and by completely different methods of procuring such information."

Minerva's brows rose questioningly at the noticeable bristle Hermione displayed at the mention of the Potions master's name. "He's cancelled your week's worth of detentions you were assigned at the beginning of the month," Minerva reminded her in good humor. "One would think he has now become your new favorite professor. You just may pass your NEWTs with an unblemished record, after all."

Hermione flushed furiously at being caught. "Eh... no, it's not that."

"What else is troubling you ... which obviously involves Professor Snape?"

Hermione detected a sharp bite in her professor's voice ... a bite that was usually reserved for the likes of Harry and Ron whenever they expressed their many disrespectful and insulting assessments of Minerva's fellow Order member.

Hermione thought quickly. "It's just... so difficult to talk to and... console Sirius with Professor Snape criticizing him every chance he gets."

Minerva's lips thinned in response. "Those two, despite their history, are now fully grown men. Whatever little squabbles they may partake in can, and should, only be handled between the two of them. I suggest, Hermione, never getting involved or voicing an opinion about one, to the other."

Hermione's face darkened. Yeah. She knew that now. "I can perfectly understand your advice as far as Sirius is concerned, but I have absolutely no reason to discuss such familiar things with Professor Snape."

Hermione might have been getting better at lying, but she was terrible at covering her emotions. When the name of the Potions master exited her mouth, it did so as if it were a bad taste that needed to be scrubbed off her tongue.

And Minerva noticed this as well. Instead of prim sternness, Hermione was astonished to see a slight drooping in the heavy lines around her eyes.

"Please, Hermione," Minerva spoke sincerely, "while I'll never ask you to like Professor Snape, in the very least... please, don't hate him."

For the briefest moment, Hermione had the sudden urge to confess the extent of Severus' violence towards her, in the hopes of her anger being validated.

Sensing Hermione's desire to argue, Minerva continued, "I have always possessed such a pride in your sentiments and intellect, compared to all of the other students in your year. Even students much older than you. You have always been able to look past house bias, past stereotypes, in order to show respect when it is deserved. As I said, I don't expect you to ever like Professor Snape, but don't hate him. Trust me; I know he is not a nice man."

Hermione snorted in agreement. If Minerva didn't think Hermione was taking the stance of a dedicated friend of Sirius, seeing Severus as the bully, Hermione would not have been so hungry to allow some of her irritation to show.

"I have worked with Severus for two decades. I know he is not a nice man."

Hermione guiltily remembered the scene she had witnessed in Severus' bedroom back at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She vividly envisioned the worry on Minerva's face, and then the pain when Severus dismissed her.

"Nice," Minerva dryly continued, "I don't think, is even in his vocabulary. But there is much that he does, much that is asked and expected of him, from both sides of this war, that I wouldn't even wish on an enemy. The Death Eaters, the Ministry, Voldemort, spying, the 'lottery'..."

"The what?" Hermione knew much more about Severus' life than Minerva assumed she did, but this was something she had never heard of.

"The 'lottery'," Minerva answered in confusion. "Dumbledore has asked things of you, assigned missions... I was so certain he would have told you about your parents by now."

Hermione lurched forward in her seat, slamming her hands on the desk. "My parents! You know what has happened to my parents?"

Minerva vigorously shook her head. "Of course I know!" she spat angrily. "But if Albus hasn't discussed this with you, maybe we shouldn't... The less you know, the better you'll be."

"The less I've known the madder I have become!" Hermione gasped, throat growing thick with emotion. "What's going on? What's this 'lottery', and what does it have to do with my parents?"

Minerva furiously muttered to herself as she rose. She staunchly walked toward the window, placing her fingertips against the cool glass. "Severus is a spy," she announced matter-of-factly. "Accusations of not possessing real dedication to Voldemort are thrust upon him by the other Death Eaters from time to time. Without Severus, we would never have known that Voldemort had declared an underground war on the families of Muggle-borns. Without his information, we wouldn't have been able to save anybody; we would never have known who was next in the target houses... but losses, of course, are unavoidable..."

Hermione's heart suddenly started racing. Losses are unavoidable... She had heard Dumbledore himself announce those very same words.

"Are you telling me that my parents are... have been..." Hermione's voice had risen to a high squeak.

"No!" Minerva stormed across the room to sit by Hermione's side. She hesitantly covered Hermione's hands with hers. "No. Your parents are hidden safely. Memories modified... temporarily! They can't worry over a daughter they don't know they have. Severus spared them from the 'lottery'."

Hermione visibly relaxed a bit at finally having some information about her parents. Then, as her curiosity sent her mind whirling, she became animated once more. "What is this 'lottery' you keep talking about?"

Minerva swallowed with a quick glance at the floor. "Severus, as I have stated, constantly needs to prove his loyalties. Due to his position at a school with so many Muggle-born and half-blood students, twenty years worth, Voldemort has made it his responsibility to find the whereabouts of their Muggle families. For every five or so families the Order is able to hide, Severus needs to turn one in."

"He chooses which families die?" Hermione asked, clearly appalled.

"He also chooses which ones survive," Minerva corrected. "As I have said, it's a very tough line for him to walk. Regardless of whether or not he shows it, or even feels it, it is what it is. So please, don't hate him, Hermione."

Hermione was still dumbstruck, but she managed to catch her professor's eye. "Of course," she spoke softly, "I don't hate him. How could I? He saved my parents."

Any grasp Hermione might have had left for indifference drained with the relief that her parents were alive and content.

*** *** ***

He wasn't asleep.

Severus had tried, for the past few hours, but his efforts had found no success.

Unless he was passed out on drugs and booze, Snape almost never fell asleep naturally.

His thoughts had muddled his senses all day, all evening, thinking of her. Even when he didn't want to think of Hermione, he thought of her more. He just couldn't comprehend her behavior. Was that the end of it? Had he been so vicious that he had driven her to the edge? To that dog?

Severus' upper lip curled as the vision of Sirius' arms wrapped around her screamed in his mind. He shouldn't have done that, entered her mind, because now he couldn't stop thinking of what he had seen.

He should have listened to that tiny voice in the back of his head ... the one that had told him to come out from the Dungeon stairway last night as she walked by. The voice that told him how good, how natural it felt when she was in his arms.

This was his own doing, Severus realized, sighing deeply.

If he had been drinking tonight, he wouldn't have had to be considering all of these regretful reflections.

But if he had been drinking tonight, he might never have heard his bedroom door open with a resisting creak. But when it did, instinct did notforce him to lunge for his wand.

Her feminine shadow was clearly outlined in his doorway.

He was dreaming. This one just as real as any other he had experienced with open eyes, but twice as torturous.

Pushing himself on his elbows, Severus didn't know what to say. Yet, anger was certainly not his first reaction. His eyes raked her body as he released a deep exhale from... what was that? Relief?

Still unable to see her face, she hesitantly entered his room. As if grasping a final nerve, Hermione walked to the foot of his four-poster.

She stood there, looking at him, as her chest heaved with deep and unsure breaths.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered softly. Her arms came up before her. They paused in midair before she lowered them to her chest and slowly unbuttoned her dressing gown.

"But, please," she said softly. As her hands moved down her chest, a sliver of bare skin followed the free buttons. "... Don't make me regret it."

Dragging her hands away from her navel, the robe fell completely open. She slowly leaned forward and steadily placed a knee on his bed.

Severus did not show any measure of protest. Feeling the weight of her, he hungrily watched her crawl toward him. The dungeons were freezing, and it showed very clearly on her bare flesh.

Hermione kept crawling until she was able to sit directly on top of his lap. The moment she was within arm's reach, Severus did not hesitate. His arm reached out, palming the underside of one bare breast, reveling in the weight of it.

Hermione slowly inhaled a shaky breath.

Severus' other arm slid under her open gown to grasp her bare thigh. Her skin was heated, yet the goose-pimples still ravished every inch of her skin.

She felt so unbelievably real. Only, Severus couldn't comprehend her coming to him at all, let alone like this.

"Kiss me," she breathed, half-begging.

Severus dragged his eyes away from her naked body. He grasped the back of her neck, pulling her face down to his.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth as her heated body ground against him. Her high-pitched whimper finally sent him over the edge. He knew how this would end, and he was certain that she should have guessed the same, coming to him in such a manner.

Severus suddenly grasped her arms, pushing her away. Anxiety at being rejected clouded her eyes, but it became apparent that he had only wanted to remove the layer of bedclothes that separated their bodies.

He grasped her waist, quickly flipping her onto her back.

"You're right," he said smoothly, "you shouldn't have come. But since you have, now you can't leave."

Hermione whimpered in reaction. "You don't want me to leave?" she asked insecurely, breasts heaving against him.

The smirk dancing on the edges of his lips faded. He trailed the back of his hand down her face, skimming her neck, before touching the whole length of her body. "No," he whispered, but his voice still rasped harshly. "I don't."

Clutching the back of his neck, Hermione threaded her hand through his hair. She trailed her fingers down his chest before flicking the top button of his grey nightshirt. "You and your bloody buttons," she laughed timidly.

Smirking as he gazed down at her, Severus grasped the back of her knee, raising it up and pushing it to the side until his body pressed between her legs.

"Off," he commanded, tugging on her dressing gown.

Hermione leaned up on her elbows to completely remove the offending garment from her shoulders. She hesitated slightly when Severus began unbuttoning his own nightshirt in response.

This was really happening.

By now, her vision had completely adjusted to the dimness of the room. Following the light splatter of the hair at his navel, her legs fidgeted in arousal at the sight of him stroking himself above her.

When she had come here, it had been completely with the intention of giving herself to him. She had never seen his bare skin within arm's reach before. And now that she had, a steady tingling was building between her legs.

Grasping her ankle, Severus wrapped her leg around his hip before sliding his hand up the outside of her thigh. Steadily leaning forward, he lowered himself against her, intentionally thrusting his arousal against her moist clit.

Reveling in her loud moan, Severus bit and suckled at her neck. He'd wanted this for far too long.

"Why?" he asked slowly, slowly pulling his hips back. Hermione's hand clenched against his back.

"W-why... what?"

Breathing deeply in her ear, he continued the slow thrusting, pushing back against her. "Why..." His speech was interrupted when he groaned against her throat as the head of his cock slid against her moisture. "... Why did you come to me tonight?"

Hermione's legs clenched hard against his hipbones before quivering in pleasure. "I've... oh, God... I've told you before. You're far too dangerous for me. But I have always known that, and it's time I stopped trying to change it. I'm submitting to your whim..."

His hand slid up her waist. Palming the underside of her bare breast, he pushed against her again. "Is that all?"

"No!" she wailed in reaction. Hermione kept lifting her jaw toward him. She wanted to feel his mouth, his breath, his tongue, but Severus continued pulling away until she answered him. "I want you... and..."

Dragging his hand away from her breast, Severus quickly thrust it between their bodies. He pushed her leg up, spreading her legs further. "And?" he asked, wanting her to finish her thought. He had never talked during sex before, but now, it was going to be a habit with her.

His thumb barely slid against her clit as he thrust his middle finger into her.

Delirious, she groaned loudly again.

"And... what, Hermione?"

"A-and..." Throwing her head back, her eyes clenched when his hand began a slow rhythm. "I'm sick of arguing with you. I want... I want to feel like I belong to you!"

He moaned loudly at her confession. He reached up to remove Hermione's hands from his shoulders, his moist fingers smoothly closing around her wrists. Lifting her arms above her head, Severus pushed them into the pillow.

"Silly girl," he whispered silkily. Kissing her gaping mouth, Severus bit playfully at her lip before lowering his face to her throat. His knees slid against the mattress as he gradually pulled his cock away from her clit. Positioning himself against her opening, he slowly pushed into her. "... You already do."

---

Author's Notes: More mysteries answered... hopefully. Hope you enjoyed it. Will try to get the next chapter finished ASAP. I've been spending much of my free time reading Stephenie Meyer's books, Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse. I wish I didn't finish them so fast, but surprisingly, they did give me some inspiration for this chapter.

-My beta, melusin, has been an incredible help on this chapter.

-Chapter title taken from John Milton's Paradise Lost, Book iv. Line 23.

-Next up: The morning after. Remus returns to young John's cave. Severus gives Sirius a 'helping' hand.