The morning of Friday, October the thirty-first dawned clear and bright. Less than thirty-six hours earlier, Hermione and Harry had taken the first dosage that brought them up to two and three quarter drops of Veritaserum. They agreed that they felt no more than a cursory inclination to tell the truth about something they had rather not, and point-blank questions about fourth year resulted in Harry confirming that yes, he knew Ron was in love with Krum because they'd gotten along so well that year, while she averred a heretofore unknown passion for Fleur which had resulted in her dancing with the part-Veela for the entire night of the Yule Ball. Their ability to lie through their teeth, then, was unimpaired.
Having rapidly grown tired of popping to the loo and going for the eye-dropper to dose herself—besides being worried that Harry mightn't measure right—Hermione had created little gel capsules that dissolved once they hit the tongue and dispersed the correct dosage of Veritaserum. Once they had ensured that the dosage held after midnight on the first night, she injected the capsules for the other fourteen doses each that they would need over the subsequent five days.
She put a mild Notice-Me-Not Charm on them and followed it up with a slight Aversion Charm; the majority of people wouldn't notice at all when she and Harry popped them into their mouths, and for those few who did, they would tend to regard it with a wariness equivalent to that which they accorded Albus's lemon drops; they weren't about to ask if they could have one.
In DADA that morning, they were working in pairs to practice combined offence and defence. Much to their amusement, Tonks still didn't seem to have gotten the hang of "dressing like a professor" as Minerva had now admonished her to do several times. She almost always remembered to wear a robe, but it was still often open to reveal a Weird Sisters t-shirt and jeans. When news about her being a Metamorphmagus had leaked out, she'd gratified everyone's curiosity with a quarter of an hour of changing appearances. Her general standard was her own face and short, bubblegum pink hair.
Despite the fact that she had once somehow tripped and taken out an entire row of desks like they were dominoes, she had not been dismissed by the students as incompetent; everyone listened immediately when she began to speak.
"Although strong Shielding Spells are effective against most attacks barring the Unforgivables, it is effectively impossible to both shield yourself and attack your opponent. You can drop the shield to cast your offensive spell, but there's a lag before you can cast your new spell and then get your shield up again, and this is assuming you can think all those processes through quickly.
"Working in pairs this morning, you have one purpose. The person who is casting the Shield Charm does so until the offensive speller begins to speak. The second the words are out of their mouth, the shielder puts the shield back up again. It takes timing, and you need to get used to your partners in order to anticipate their moves.
"Remember that it can be very noisy in a battle environment, so the shielder needs to be paying attention to both the external cues—you have to know what you're shielding against—and the person you're shielding. The offensive speller needs to be paying attention to the rest of the battle, planning where an attack will do the most good. Remember that it's draining on the person who's casting the shield to constantly take it down and put it back up, so you'll need to make your hits count.
"Everybody pair up. One person will shield, and the other person will fire spells at the 'enemy'; right now, that means a mild Stinging Charm at the wall, but we'll build up towards mock fights once you've got the hang of it. For now, your own Stinging Charm will bounce back at you, as I've cast a Reflection Charm on the wall, so that will help you get the hang of a standard back-and-forth duel. Stand about two metres from the wall to start, and we'll see if you can't narrow that distance by the end of class. You three together will be fine."
Tonks added this last bit for Hermione, Harry, and Ron. There were seventeen students in the class, so they were always an odd person out when they paired up for practical work. Since they were three of the strongest students in the class, it wasn't terribly detrimental for them to have slightly less practice time than everyone else. If the lesson was going well, Tonks would sometimes pair with one of them, but she had the good sense to monitor everyone's progress first.
They paired off predictably. Daphne and Draco, as the only two Slytherins, automatically went together, and most of the others followed suit with in-House pairs: Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Susan and Hannah, and Morag and Padma. Terry and Justin formed a team in bedroom as well as out, apparently, leaving Neville and Vera Moon as the only other inter-House pair, but they were more by default than any other factor.
For the first several minutes, there was a fair amount of good-natured swearing as the Stinging Charm slipped through the gap before the Shield Charm was re-cast. The loudest yelps occurred when the shield wasn't taken down quickly enough, as this resulted in the spell being blasted back at the two of them from point-blank range.
As a general rule, Ron and Harry worked well together, as did Ron and Hermione. They'd had several years in the DA and a number of sessions with various members of the Order to ensure that this was the case. Since the entire class had paired in a friendly manner, they all knew how to work with one another more or less effectively.
Harry and Hermione, though, worked together exceptionally well. They'd found that they were even more in tune this year, and she attributed that to their shared Pure Adult status. Severus often set them up as opponents so that he could watch and criticize, and when they practiced on their own it was similarly as opponents, but there were plenty of times when the Slytherin pit his skills against theirs to see what they could come up with in order to defend themselves. Overall, the two of them probably had more training together than the rest of the pairings combined.
By the time it was their turn to work together this morning, most of the other pairs were leaving only a very minimal gap around the offensive wizard's spell-casting; nine times out of ten, they got their shields back up quickly enough that neither of them was stung by the rebounding charm.
Rather than moving closer to the wall, however, most of them seemed to be peeking at Harry and Hermione to see how they'd do since they'd had less time to practice together than everyone else; there was nothing like seeing one's friends get stung by their own spells, apparently. She quirked her eyebrows at Harry in question, and his lips twitched in answer. It looked as though they'd be showing off a bit.
Last year, Judex's competency had left them all with the feeling that if they asked a question beyond the scope of the text they were learning from, he'd be at sea. He had not given the impression that he'd like to have his own knowledge boundaries pushed, and the upper-year students had felt the lack of someone who'd regularly performed the spells they were learning and could probably write four books in place of the text they were studying. On top of this had been the man's reluctance to teach anything that he thought might help Harry take over the world. As a result, they'd not exactly learnt a whole array of new and fascinating spells and techniques.
It was Severus who'd formally taught them how to cast wordlessly in their training sessions at the end of last year, and it was a skill that had not yet been taught to the DA or to this class—which amounted to the same thing, given that fourteen of the class's seventeen members were part of the association. It was down on the curriculum for this year, though, and anyone who'd paid attention to Harry and Hermione when they duelled recently knew that they already knew how to do it.
Hermione was currently better than Harry at "feeling" when he was about to cast, so she took the position of shielder. They began. Even as the spell was emerging from Harry's wandtip, Hermione was casting the Shield Charm. The spell bounced off the wall and dissipated harmlessly against her barrier. As she felt the swell of magic that preceded his casting again, she released the shield, snapping it back into place a second later. And repeat. Several times. Since either had yet to feel the sting of Harry's charm, they moved closer to the wall. And then closer still, until her shield was flickering in and out like someone was flicking a light switch, and Harry was coming close to casting without pause. It felt extremely natural.
The fact that all this was happening without a word being spoken finally made her aware of how silent it was throughout the entire classroom. She yielded her wand slightly, and Harry immediately desisted. They turned back to the classroom to find that everyone was watching them as though they were a particularly interesting exhibit at the circus. They smiled self-consciously.
"I'd say the two of you have the hang of that one," Tonks said cheerfully. "Ten points to Gryffindor. You've done it before?"
"Not as such," Harry admitted.
Ron was staring at them very intensely.
"But we've worked with Shield Charms before," Hermione added quickly. "And we often get the chance to practice together now that we're sharing quarters."
"Very well done, regardless. Care to see how your spellwork holds up against a real opponent?"
They consented, and the rest of the class cleared to the perimeter of the room to watch. Hermione and Harry were now facing off with Tonks herself, a position which they had heretofore encountered only in training sessions. Now, as then, Tonks's spells were packing more punch than simple Stinging Hexes, and Harry reciprocated.
Tonks was aiming for that moment when Hermione had to take her shield down to let Harry cast a spell, but Harry was doing everything in his power to send spells in their professor's direction that sent her aim off or prevented her from firing because she needed to shield herself. It was much more difficult to keep an eye on both Tonks and Harry than it was to anticipate the rebound from Harry's own spell, and Hermione found herself relying almost entirely on her sense of Harry's magic to anticipate all of his actions, focussing the majority of her energy on the witch on the offensive in front of her.
The fight wound on for several long minutes until their pink-haired professor finally threw out a nasty burning spell that she and Harry were a little too slow to counter. It happened very quickly. Despite the fact that it meant the Freezing Charm Harry was even now casting would hit the two of them when it rebounded, Hermione threw up her shield; she'd rather be hit by the cold than the Burning Hex. A fraction of a second later, Tonks's hex bounced off the Gryffindor's shield and rebounded on the Auror. It was extinguished by Harry's charm, which hit her at almost the same moment.
Harry disarmed her, and the class exploded into applause. Harry and Hermione looked at one another, both clearly wondering the same thing: had anyone else seen how his spell had gone through Hermione's shield at almost the same moment that Tonks's spell had failed to penetrate it?
From the sharp gaze they were receiving from the Auror, she, at least, hadn't missed it. She granted Gryffindor another fifteen points.
"Let's see if the rest of you can give these two a run for their money, shall we? A metre from the wall, if you please. Ron, why don't you join Neville and Vera, and we'll give Harry and Hermione a chance to catch their breath."
Ron obeyed and with a last piercing look at her and Harry, Tonks set about to monitor the class again. Hermione was feeling slightly winded and was glad to sit down, and Harry looked as though he could use the rest as well.
Speculative glances continued to be shot their way from time to time, but for the most part, the rest of the class settled into trying quite diligently to improve. Draco and Ron both looked particularly fierce.
That didn't go exactly how you anticipated, Girlicorne?
This was Fawkes's nickname for her, a particularly apt running joke, as it turned out, although she hadn't understood until she became a unicorn Animagus. She'd just thought he knew that the herd was fond of her.
You know you're supposed to make your presence known before you haunt my mind like that, right? she reminded him.
Must I apologize before I get my answer?
He didn't allow himself to be chastised as a general rule.
If I say yes, will you actually say you're sorry? she asked curiously.
If you really want me to do so. He sounded as though the prospect pained him. You were focussed very intensely. It drew my notice.
She had, in fact, felt his lightest of brushes against her mind, but as she'd needed her concentration here in the room, she hadn't acknowledged him properly. It was relatively comforting to know that if she seemed to be in distress, he'd check in on her.
Well, it might not have been exactly what I was imagining, but, she gave a mental shrug, it's not as though any of them don't know what Harry's up against and what he's training for. And it's given them plenty of motivation.
Draco had switched to wordlessly casting his shield, but he couldn't anticipate Daphne if she stayed silent as well. They now seemed to be experimenting with her whispering the words.
So that was all in the name of improving your classmates' scholastic prowess? Fawkes demanded archly.
The trio of which Ron was part was having some success mimicking the battle that had just occurred, with the odd person out actually casting spells at the shielding team.
She dignified that with mentally sticking out her tongue. You know I was showing off, bird. But it was fun.
Harry had been watching Draco and Daphne intently for several moments, so she gave him a discreet nudge with her foot to remind him of where he was.
Fawkes laughed. There is that. Hmm … I'd better go. Albus is making last minute garish additions to the Halloween Feast. Oh, for all that's good and magical in the world, not the lime green—!
She snorted, suspected he was thoroughly preoccupied, but added, Best of luck with that.
The bell rang shortly thereafter, and Tonks held the two of them back. She cast privacy charms and looked at them seriously.
"I've never seen that before. Your magic has to be incredibly compatible. There're only two Aurors I've heard could do it." They looked at her curiously. "Frank and Alice Longbottom."
Hermione swallowed. "They must have made an amazing team."
"So Moody told me. Just watch yourselves, yeah?"
They both nodded, and Tonks let them go. They headed down to lunch, not really feeling like going but figuring it would be better for them to be there in case a big deal was made out of what had happened. They wouldn't want to look as though they were avoiding everyone.
The news spread down the Gryffindor table as their classmates gushed about what a good showing they'd made. If their classmates from other Houses were sharing it with their tables, it at least wasn't such stunning news that it immediately became apparent to Harry and Hermione. It seemed, therefore, as though no one else had noticed what Tonks had.
Ron didn't look precisely disgruntled, but he did seem a trifle out of sorts, so they invited him down to their quarters for an afternoon of studying, training, or wherever the mood took them. He acquiesced readily.
Hermione had thought that her homework time would suffer as a result, but it soon became apparent that Ron felt his best friend status had become endangered. What he really wanted was to spend time with Harry, and after a token protest, he was very happy to let Hermione retire to the sofa with her books while the two boys duelled in the spelled area of the room.
The Gryffindor girl did her best to tune them out completely, knowing that she'd otherwise have to constantly fight the impulse to Abackseat fight". Since it was likely to be Ron she was shouting directions to, she had the sense to block her ears and let them go at it on their own.
She even waved them on to dinner without her, insisting that she had a great deal of homework to do. As this was never a lie, given the number of classes she was taking, she was easily able to deflect Harry's look of concern. She knew that he didn't always have an easy time being between the two of them. Since she didn't feel her position was jeopardized by Ron, she didn't at all mind letting him have an afternoon alone with Harry if it made the redhead feel better.
It was mornings like this one, she knew, that suddenly made Ron realize how much he wasn't there for, and if he could only accept that that was all right, they would be fine. They'd all chosen their life paths, and none of them could walk perfectly identical ones; if his diverged a little while hers and Harry's were more similar right now, that wasn't the end of the world; there'd been plenty of times in years past where the two boys' interests had dovetailed and hers had been the odd ones out. Now they were just leaning a bit the other way. She smiled slightly to herself. So she thought, anyway. There was no saying what was going through Ron's mind.
You know, I didn't tell you about Albus's plans just so you could skip out on the Feast.
She grinned. Of course you did. How bad is it?
Fawkes let her see for herself. Albus had gone overboard on the decorations again, as though he'd discovered Muggle decorations for the first time and therefore had to be horrendously enthusiastic about their use. First, there were the standard floating jack-o-lanterns, although these were positively thick in the air. Bats had been enchanted to flutter round them, causing more than one excitable student to shriek. Then there were the cardboard cut-outs of pumpkins, ghosts, and even Muggle renditions of green-skinned, warty witches that covered the walls. Streamers of crepe paper in black and several shades of orange festooned the ceiling and walls, nearly obscuring the enchanted sky above. If it were a Muggle room, it would be a serious fire hazard. Fortunately, Fawkes seemed to have talked the headmaster out of whatever had been lime green.
Have you ever tried to teach Albus that 'Less is more'?
He never seems receptive to that tenet when it comes to decorations. Or clothing.
She laughed. That's our esteemed headmaster. Now, hush, I'm trying to finish this paper before the boys come back.
The Muggle Studies paper went well, and it was indeed completed by the time Harry returned. Ron, it transpired, had Quidditch practice.
"And Tonks looks to be supervising detention. A bunch of second-year boys kept glaring at her, anyway. So I guess it's just you, me, and Professor Snape tonight."
Their training session started at nine that evening, but they were barely an hour into it before their numbers were reduced again: in the middle of their duel, Severus clutched suddenly at his left arm, and Hermione cast a shield to deflect the curse Harry had already let fly.
Severus's eyes glittered as they met hers, pain pinching his features.
"I might have been looking for just that show of weakness, Hermione."
She Summoned his mask and cloak, surprised that he had forgotten himself enough to call her by her given name in Harry's presence. It seemed too much to hope that his relationship with the Gryffindor boy had improved so much that he was finally relaxing his standards.
"I assure you that real Death Eaters pained by their Dark Marks would not move me," she said brusquely, before adding with a bright smile, "but it's reassuring to know you think we're good enough that you need to resort to cheap tricks to get the better of us."
Harry unsuccessfully smothered a laugh with a cough, and Severus scoffed as he donned the cloak. The mask he held, waiting until he crossed the grounds.
"That is an entirely unfounded supposition, I assure you."
This almost managed to keep the situation light despite the garb the Potions master now wore.
"You will inform the headmaster?" Severus asked.
"Of course," she answered.
He took out his wand.
"Severus." His wand arm checked. "Allow me?"
His eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod.
She Disillusioned him so he could get to the dungeon exit unseen.
"Be safe," she said softly.
She and Harry watched the door open and close, seemingly of its own accord, and it was as though all the cheer had gone out of the evening with the man's departure, which was a little ridiculous given the man in question. She informed Albus of the Slytherin's departure but couldn't seem to concentrate well enough to do any subsequent training.
Whenever Hermione knew that Severus had been Summoned, she was always horribly worried. If she were ever to inform the Slytherin of the depth of her concern, he would no doubt be incredibly insulted at what he considered her complete lack of faith. She knew that he would do everything in his power to come back to them, and she also knew that he was extremely skilled at what he did; balanced between Voldemort and Albus, he had to be. But she cared about Severus, and that meant she was deeply concerned with what happened to him. No matter how clever he was, the chances of her never seeing him again because he was being tortured to death in some horribly gruesome way were dramatically increased when he was at Voldemort's side.
Harry, while he would not now be so callous as to say that he didn't care whether Severus lived or died, was hardly overwhelmed with concern over what the man was going through. His primary concern whenever Severus was Summoned was what others were going through. Since it was extremely unlikely that Voldemort had Summoned all his Death Eaters for tea, an attack was imminent. Knowing that but being powerless to stop it felt worse than not knowing at all.
It didn't help that all they could seem to dwell on if they got off the "attack we're powerless to prevent" topic was the death of Harry's parents. But it was Halloween, and they were now focussed on Voldemort, and no other topics stuck.
In the past, Halloween had always represented failure to Voldemort; All Hallow's Eve at Godric's Hollow had robbed him of his corporeal body and effectively banished him for eleven years, and up until this point, even after his return, it hadn't looked as though he were anxious to reclaim the day.
Today, it seemed, he was pretty sure of himself, and both of them knew that that boded ill for someone—or more likely several someones—in the wizarding or Muggle world. If Voldemort was really making a move today, especially after such silence, he would want it to be a rousing success, and that thought was horrifying.
She fed Harry tea and read their Defence text to him for over an hour, knowing it was the only subject that had the slightest chance of occupying his attention. It seemed better than the two of them simply sitting in their common room staring at one another. Periodically, Harry would even rouse himself from his deep introspection, offer her a half smile for her effort, look as though he were concentrating for all of thirty seconds, and then lapse back into inattention.
At half eleven it was late enough that she could force him to bed without his making too much of a fuss.
"You don't want to stay up all night, mad with worry. Just lie down; if you don't fall asleep, you can always get up again," she soothed.
Of course, the mild Sleeping Draught she'd slipped into the last mug of tea rather precluded that possibility, but he wasn't to know that.
Once he was asleep, she sat down again on the sofa and closed the textbook that she knew she wasn't going to read now that he was gone. She could keep herself together for Harry's sake but couldn't make nearly as rousing an effort only for herself. Tucking her legs up against her chest, she wrapped her arms around them.
If nothing else occurred, the Map would tell her when Severus was back, so she would just have to constantly refer to it. It was the beginning of the weekend, but Voldemort knew he couldn't keep the Potions master for too long without it causing issues with Albus and others on the side of the Light—or Ministry officials, which could jeopardize Severus's position as a spy for Voldemort, which the man obviously didn't desire.
The last time she had felt this worried about Severus was in a sadly similar situation. It had been the end of April in sixth year. A Saturday evening. She and Harry had been training sporadically with Severus since Christmas, yet this was somehow the first time that the man had been Summoned in their presence. She hadn't immediately recognized the signs at the time, as she did now….
Professor Snape stopped mid-sentence with an abruptness that was unusual, even for him.
"That will be all for the night. You may go." He seemed to force his arms to his side with deliberation, long fingers splayed against his thighs.
Hermione and Harry exchange surprised glances. They'd been training for little more than half an hour and hadn't covered a fraction of the topics that the man had told them less than thirty minutes ago they would be exploring this evening.
"Sir—?" she began hesitantly. "Is there anything—?"
"Did you fail to hear me, Miss Granger?" he snarled. "I told you to go."
Knowing that another repetition of the instruction would almost surely result in point loss, if not detention, she and Harry hastened to obey. She looked back as they reached the threshold, and it was then that she saw him with his left arm curled round his abdomen, the right hand clutching at the skin below the elbow.
It was such a completely unnatural pose for the man that she stopped in her tracks, and a moment later, the import of what she was seeing fully registered in her brain. With difficulty, she bit back the sudden gush of concern that she knew he would find grating, asking instead, "Would you like me to inform the headmaster, sir?"
His head snapped up, black gaze spitting fire. "What?"
She swallowed but forged on bravely. "If it would save you time, I could tell Albus that you're leaving." The reminder that the headmaster had enough respect for her to have already granted her the privilege of the use of his name was deliberate.
She knew that Professor Snape was a spy. He knew that she knew that he was a spy. But since she had only officially joined the Order in September, there hadn't been many official moments where she needed to acknowledge him as such. He seemed to be finding it disconcerting, if the long pause before he answered her question was any indication.
"Then do so, Miss Granger. I must go."
He swept past her in a flurry of robes and disappeared down the hall. Harry, who'd made it all the way into the hall before she spoke, popped his head back round the doorframe.
"What just happened?"
She dragged him back into the room and threw up privacy charms.
"He was just Summoned. I volunteered to let Albus know so that he could get out of the building more quickly."
"I guess that explains it, then. Did you want me to come with?"
His dismissive attitude did not help her nerves. "No, that's all right. But if you think you can get back to the dorm without the Map, it would help me sneak to and from the headmaster's office with no one the wiser."
Harry consented, and they sneaked up to the ground floor together and then went their separate ways. She was thankful that Harry hadn't questioned her further about why she wanted the Map; she wasn't normally one to take it away from him for her own use, especially when it put him at a disadvantage in his own hallway wanderings.
She had, as it happened, little doubt that she could get back to the Gryffindor dorm from the headmaster's office without much trouble. Unlike being found in the dungeons, it wasn't the slightest bit problematic to explain her presence should she be stopped by anyone anywhere in the circuit from Albus's office to Gryffindor tower.
What she really wanted the Map for was to check and make sure that Professor Snape came back. She knew theoretically that he left and returned frequently without her knowledge, but having physically seen him leave tonight, she didn't think she could sleep until she knew that he was safe.
And this wasn't really totally bizarre on her part. Despite how much they didn't speak about it in the infrequent Order meetings during the school year, it had become increasingly obvious to all of them that Voldemort was growing more and more suspicious of his Potions master, and nothing Professor Snape did seemed to reassure the paranoid bastard.
The chance that he wouldn't come back seemed to be growing, therefore, and Hermione couldn't stomach the idea that she might simply be sleeping the night away while this traumatic event was occurring.
So she informed Albus that his Potions master had been Summoned, and then she sneaked as unobtrusively as possible back into the Gryffindor common room. It was with great relief that she discovered that Ron had dragged Harry off for something Quidditch related.
Hermione therefore felt no compunction about going up to her dorm with the Map. Wherever Harry was, he clearly had no expectation of using it right now, and it wouldn't really be polite for her to just wander into the boy's dorm to return it while they were gone.
She settled onto her bed with several school books and the Map. It was only just past eight in the evening. It was likely to be several hours before her roommates returned.
Time passed inordinately slowly. A permanent-until-countered Tempus prevented her from casting the same spell over again every three minutes, which the stupid spell insisted was the trend otherwise.
Eight became nine, nine became ten, ten became eleven, and finally, midnight was imminent. Hermione could have sworn that someone had cast some sort of Time-Slowing Charm. Or maybe an Unproductive Charm. The hours couldn't possibly have taken so ungodly long to pass and yet left her with so little to show for it. Four hours that had felt like twenty-four should surely have yielded more than half a paper on the current British Royals and their interaction with wizards, shouldn't it have? She'd changed into her pyjamas before ten in the hope that the evening would start progressing at a normal rate thereafter, but she'd had no such luck.
Parvati and Lavender swept in just before midnight, and there was a flurry of activity as they prepared for bed. Hermione resolutely shut her curtains, charmed to prevent any light from showing through them, and stared at the Map. She shook her head and set it aside. She would be productive.
Half twelve. She could hear the deeper breathing that indicated her roommates were asleep. She was starting to feel more than a little antsy. What good would it do her, after all, if she saw on the Map that Professor Snape had returned? He would be way down in the dungeons, and there would be no way the little dot on the parchment could tell her if he was in good health. What if he was in need of medical assistance? It would be thoughtless, cruel even, for her to remain sitting up here in the safety of her bed and only watching on the Map to get an update on his situation. Sitting in bed didn't help either of them.
There was nothing for it. Masking herself, she went back into the Gryffindor common room, out the portrait hole, down the stairs, and down, and down, until she'd snuck into the dungeons and made her way to the side exit that she presumed Professor Snape favoured. It was closest to his office and quarters, anyway.
Seating herself on the floor, she unMasked but cast a strong Notice-Me-Not, got out the Map, and settled in for what she sincerely hoped was not as long a wait as the last four hours had been.
By half one, the homework she had chosen not to bring as a useless endeavour was starting to look pretty appealing. It seemed a much better investment of her time than concentrating on not thinking about all the ways that Professor Snape could be horribly cursed to death. There simply shouldn't be so many options, she shouldn't be able to think about it for so long. What was wrong with everybody, thinking up such stupid and destructive spells? It was outrageous.
It was almost two in the morning before she was startled out of her worried stupor by movement in her vicinity. She looked down at the Map. Yes, it was Professor Snape, he was finally back, and what on Earth had taken them the entire night?
As he stumbled into her field of vision, not even Disillusioned, she had at least part of her answer. Making sport with the Potions professor had apparently featured prominently. She leapt to her feet, causing him to start badly as he finally noticed her in the dim light of the corridor, but she positioned herself under his shoulder, and his body let her take some of his weight even as his mouth was forming words of protest.
"I'm fine. Return to your dorm immediately."
She ignored the words. "Let's get you back to your rooms and lying down. You can yell at me then."
The fight went out of him, and she felt a moment's alarm that his capitulation had been so swift.
Together, they hobbled through the dungeon corridors. Even through the thick layers of clothing that separated them, she could feel the tremors that wracked his too-thin frame, sporadic ones of particular violence throwing off his balance and making the two of them lurch in an ungainly manner as she struggled to keep them on their feet.
After what seemed like an unreasonably long amount of time given the short number of corridors that separated their point of origin from their destination—time was behaving very strangely tonight—they reached his private quarters. He rasped out the password, and they stumbled inside.
She couldn't spare any concentration to actually process what the sitting room they were in looked like; she was more concerned about getting them across the seemingly vast space, around the many obstacles that were in their path, and through the door on the wall opposite, which from his terse Abed" and inclination of the head, she took to mean led to the bedroom.
The lights had sprung up to about a quarter lit when they entered, so it wasn't impossible to see. It was Severus's increasing lack of coordination—which told her he was nearing the end of his energy reserves—which made it difficult for them to get round the footstool, the pile of books, the coffee table, the second pile of books, and the desk. When he could walk without difficulty and unsupported, she was certain that he wove around all of them unconsciously. It was extremely unlikely that he had them arranged to make it as difficult as possible to get from one side of the room to the other, but that was what it felt like right now.
Goal finally reached, they stood rather unsteadily just inside the door and caught their breath for a moment; he might be underweight, but he was still far heavier than she was. The violence of his shudders continued unabated, and she mentally cursed whoever had invented the Cruciatus.
The light in the bedroom was perhaps half the regular strength. It was more than enough for her to see that his normally sallow complexion had gone positively ashen, even his lips colourless, making him look horribly unhealthy. Sort of like a walking corpse, but she wouldn't allow her thoughts to go there.
"Bed," he repeated.
She couldn't just put him into bed in the state he was in, so she turned to face him and struggled to remove the heavy cloak that he was wearing. Her fingers didn't seem to work properly, but she finally managed it, and the black fabric fell to the floor with a heavy thump, unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Her eyes followed its descent, and that's when she noticed that she was covered in blood, the crimson stain garishly noticeable on her light blue pyjamas, whereas it had blended into the dark wool of the Death Eater garb. Now that she knew it was there, she could smell the cloying copper tang. It was strong enough that she couldn't fathom how she'd missed it before.
"Oh, my God," she said somewhat blankly.
He pulled away from her, although she had to reach out and grab his upper arms as he nearly overbalanced. He immediately disentangled himself again, taking care to do so more slowly this time so that he could stay up on his own. Or rather, back up slowly to the bed and prop himself up against the nearest post so that he didn't collapse in front of her.
"I told you to go," he snarled, the effectiveness diminished by the weakness of his voice.
"You need help!" she yelped, his attempt at harshness finally compelling her to action. "You need Poppy." She latched onto the concept. "I'll get Poppy."
"I'm fine," he said flatly.
She looked down at herself and then up at him with disbelief.
The words were gritted out through clenched teeth: "It is not my blood."
Not his…. Oh. She was at once immensely relieved that he wasn't more injured and rather disturbed that she was covered in the blood of a complete stranger—probably a stranger whom she could never meet because he or she had recently died a horrible death.
The Slytherin facing her was eyeing her defiantly, clearly expecting a meltdown. "I told you," he ground out.
He was expecting to be judged, she realized suddenly. He expected her to condemn him. She faced him squarely.
"Since I became involved in this war at the age of twelve, I have been covered in my own blood as well as that of a number of my classmates, various Order members, my dying neighbours, and people I don't know. My primary feeling right now, I assure you, is relief that this blood is not yours."
He stared at her for a long moment, gauging her sincerity, she supposed, and she relaxed her mental shields to help quash his lingering doubts.
He gave a curt nod.
"So," she said in as business-like a manner as she could manage, "would a shower help or hinder?"
His look made it instantly clear that a shower with her in the room was not going to happen.
"Then we need to get you cleaned up and into bed," she said with an authority she didn't really feel.
His look was very wary.
She gave him her most cheerful and blithe Gryffindor smile. "A Scourgify, and then I'll show you this really neat spell I learnt that undoes lots of buttons." She knew there had been a good reason for her to memorize that random bit of knowledge.
He had to be feeling awful because he acquiesced with no more than a scathing look that eloquently expressed what he thought of her manner.
The spells she had listed did exactly what they were supposed to, Vanishing the blood on both of them and then making quick work of the myriad buttons on his school robes. She had to help him take them off, his first two attempts ending unsuccessfully and his reluctant resignation finally making her assistance possible.
It was with something akin to shock that she realized she had never once seen him without his robes on. Even during his time at Grimmauld Place, he had always appeared "properly" garbed, at least in the presence of his students.
Underneath all those buttons was a white button-down and black trousers. It made him look very human, and his malnourishment became evident. Both these pieces of clothing were immaculate, and her surprise must have shown.
"Low-level Repelling Charm. No one looks under the robe."
Clever. Which shouldn't really come as a surprise, she realized, given who she was dealing with. It also meant they didn't have to deal with any awkwardness over the removal of any other articles of clothing, and that was brilliant.
Their combined effort to get him into bed wouldn't have won any awards for style, but the deed was accomplished. He tried to sit up again to get to his shoes, but she shoved him gently but firmly back onto the bed and did it for him. The seizing muscles seemed more pronounced when he was lying in the bed. He was letting out little distressed breaths and pained exhalations out of his nose, at the worst moments, and it was painful just to watch.
"How do you usually manage this on your own?" she demanded, appalled.
"S'not usually this bad," he slurred, wariness returning as he realized what he had just admitted to her.
"Do you have anything that helps?"
"Blue vial. Cabinet in the bathroom."
She found the bathroom, the cabinet, and the vial, and tried not to think too hard about why there were almost a dozen little blue bottles lined up in there.
His hands were shaking so hard that she knew he'd only spill the dose that he needed, so she unscrewed the lid and held it up to his lips. He gulped it down, and even in the serious situation, her lips twitched in wry humour at the grimace that crossed his face.
"I didn't make it for its taste."
She schooled her expression, nodding with what she hoped was due seriousness. His lips tipped up ever so slightly, and she felt as though she'd received a full-fledged grin. Setting the now-empty vial aside, she pulled the bedcovers up around him, hoping this would make him seem slightly less sickly or at least make her feel as though she'd done more to help him.
Several minutes passed, and it was a "no" on both counts.
"Your potion's going to kick in any minute, right?" she finally asked and knew she sounded as worried as she felt.
"'Ll knock me out."
Not soon enough, apparently, because he was still lying there in horrible pain after another handful of minutes had passed.
"Isn't there anything else that will help?"
He was in the uncommon position of being one of the only people to suffer repeated exposure to the Cruciatus over an extended period of time. Well, the other Death Eaters were probably in the same boat, but she cared very little for them. As far as it went for victims, the lucky ones experienced a brief bout that was over and not repeated—as Harry had done—while the unlucky ones were usually tortured to death or madness. There wasn't a lot of research on that middle ground, and the dearth of palliatives and the hole in her knowledge was especially galling right now.
His speech was even more slurred, and she thought that perhaps the potion was starting to take effect. "'Nother person."
Unfortunately, she didn't understand his response. "Another person what?"
"To touch," he whispered.
Huh. Not an answer that she had been anticipating. Likely not one that he would have given in his right mind, either. But it was brutal to be here and helpless, so Hermione would happily try this, even if it was a little … outlandish.
Hoping skin on skin contact was not the crucial feature, she circled the bed and climbed in from the other side, sliding under the crisp sheets and telling herself sternly that this was not awkward, it was healing.
"'Cha doin'?" he mumbled.
"Touching you," she whispered back since no terribly wonderful and rational answer to that question sprang to mind.
He was lying on his back, and after a moment's awkward consideration, she moved so that she was pressed against his side. This way, most of her weight was still on the bed, but she was providing a fair bit of contact without actually climbing on top of him or anything like that. Her head rested on his shoulder in this position, and her right arm lay across his chest, hand resting over his thankfully steadily beating heart.
Each of his convulsions now shivered through her as well, but she could feel the material between them warming against her and trusted that his cool skin would soon be doing the same. This was something, at least, some concrete contribution that she could make to help him heal.
If Harry or Ron could see her now, she knew they wouldn't react well, but she found the prospect of her best friends' displeasure curiously unimportant. It was a little difficult to argue that she was simply doing what had to be done because the thought of Ron or Harry doing this for their Potions professor was completely ludicrous. But the thought of not having come down and waited for him, the thought of the grim man being forced to stumble to his quarters himself and try to crawl into bed…. He wouldn't have made it, she was sure, and the image of him in agony on the floor of his sitting room was jagged and hurtful.
An arm settled softly across her shoulder, long fingers curling into her hair, and she wondered how altered his consciousness had to be for him to be quasi-embracing her. Despite the cleaning charm and the obviously harrowing night he had been through, he still smelled faintly of potions. Spicy and herbal. Quite pleasant, really. She had to suppress an urge to nuzzle closer to his neck and try to positively identify the elusive scent. Probably that would be considered unprofessional.
It mattered a great deal to her what happened to him, she realized. She had always respected him, first as a professor and then as an Order member, but she wouldn't be doing this for Mundungus Fletcher. She'd do it for Harry … and for Ron, she supposed, but she was sure she wouldn't feel so … cozy, snuggled up to either of them as she did next to Severus. This was definitely Severus, she decided firmly. Even if he never invited her to use the name aloud, he couldn't stop her from using it in her head.
It was warm and comfortable now in the bed, and his inadvertent movements had dropped off sharply, now just an occasional twitch. His deep breathing told her that his potion had finally had the correct effect. Or perhaps it was the cocoon of warmth they had created, the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests.
She had not discerned any actual magic taking place, but there was a tickle in her mind, a feeling she couldn't quite identify … almost like what she felt when she was in unicorn form, as though magic that couldn't be seen by human eyes was floating around them, and now it had settled against both of them. Or maybe their magic had coalesced and merged a little around them. Somehow, it felt as though they had been rendered into one unit, and that felt indescribably right.
This sense of rightness was her last impression before she fell asleep.
Hermione blinked back to the present, distancing herself a bit from the memory. She had woken up just after five in the morning and scared herself silly, not by being surprised by her surroundings or alarmed by being in the Potions master's arms but because it still felt incredibly right to be there. Her first, half-conscious thought on waking had been that she could happily wake up like that every morning, and an alarmingly strong part of her had wanted to just close her eyes again and go back to sleep, basking in the heat and sense of safety Severus generated.
It was this thought that had finally jolted her into complete wakefulness and helped her regain what was left of her obviously mentally incapacitated mind. She wouldn't be safe if she went back to sleep and he woke and found her there. No, she'd be a little smudge on the floor, and Harry and Ron would never find her body.
So she'd inched her way painstakingly out of his embrace, praying to all the gods she'd ever heard of that whatever potion she'd helped dose him with would keep him sleeping soundly until she was all the way out of his quarters.
At the door to his bedroom, she'd risked a last look back. He had been sleeping peacefully, his face more relaxed in slumber than she saw it at any other time. It had seemed to be wiped of worry and not in that artificial "stone face" that he so often employed. This had been natural and … and charming. He wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, but he was vastly appealing. She'd still felt a strong urge to climb back into bed with him or at least kiss him on the cheek or….
She'd high-tailed it out of there at that moment, pursued by her distinctly less-than-platonic thoughts. And the thoughts had simply refused to be banished. In fact, they had spawned more thoughts, had forced her to examine past behaviour, and had quite loudly declared to her that she was very interested in this man in a way that she hadn't really ever been interested in anyone before.
She was a student and a Gryffindor and best friends with Harry Potter. If Severus was employing a "three strikes, you're out" policy, she was doomed. He'd probably been barely conscious when he wrapped his arm around her, and he probably hadn't had the slightest idea whom he was holding…. But she couldn't seem to totally shake the insane hope that grew tenaciously within her. He didn't usually seem to loathe her, and there were moments where he was really quite decent to her…. Maybe once she graduated, she could sound him out on the idea of getting to know her better? And casually drop into the conversation the fact that she was a Pure Adult, and she'd really like it if he were her first? She grimaced. She was doomed.
Frowning at the room around her, she realized that it had to be getting rather late. If the Death Eaters were having the "entertainment" in, then maybe it was nearly over and they could all be put out of their misery. If, on the other hand, they were going out—Oh, bugger.
She'd left Harry's door open, not even pretending she wasn't listening for sounds of disturbance, and here they were. She hurried into his room. He was moving erratically, seemingly alarmed that he was tangled in his sheets. Whimpers of distress were clearly audible. Without hesitation, she climbed into the bed and cuddled up to him, holding him close.
He gripped her tightly as though she were a lifeline. After the first time Harry had woken up to find her in bed with him, he had confessed himself worried that he would react badly to her presence, taking her for one of the Dark figures in his dream and lashing out accordingly. The truth of the matter, as it turned out, was exactly the opposite. Touch-deprived and ignored as he had been as a child, the unconscious Harry craved contact and concern and wasn't afraid to take what was on offer.
Getting out of the bed again once Harry-vine had attached himself was what proved to be a challenge; if she did manage to wriggle out of his grasp, it tended to reduce him to whimpering at the loss of contact, and there was absolutely no way she could leave him in such a state. Thus the reason why she sometimes spent the entire night in his bed.
There were other times when his nightmares seemed to be of a milder variety and resting her hand on his back or brushing the hair out of his face was enough to soothe him adequately so that he fell into a deeper slumber, and she was able to return to her room.
At first, it seemed as though her physical presence was going to have a useful impact. Snuggling up against her warm body had brought about a discernible decrease in the noises he was making; maybe she'd been wrong, and this was just a run-of-the-mill nightmare, nothing extra for her to worry about.
She sighed. Or maybe he'd start thrashing more wildly, sweat suddenly soaking his skin, whimpers of distress emerging furiously, and she'd know he was trapped in a vision.
Hoping she was wrong, she tried to shake him awake, loudly calling his name. This had no discernible effect. No one had successfully woken him from one of these episodes before, and they were never, ever pleasant.
Spurred on by her memory of helping Severus in an unconventional way, a fresh idea sprang into Hermione's mind. Maybe she couldn't get him out of the vision, but perhaps she could join him in it?
Fawkes? she requested. A little help, if you please.
I don't think this is a good idea, Berit. He sounded, in fact, extremely doubtful, and the use of the herd's name for her indicated his seriousness.
No, she agreed. But he suffers so much alone; I'm going to help in any way that I can.
Very well.
She felt the pull as Fawkes connected their two minds, and then suddenly she was sucked out of sight of the phoenix, rushed along a mental connection that was dark and tunnel-like, and slammed to a sudden halt. She felt winded despite knowing that she had no breath here.
What the hell was that?
What are you doing here?
She turned the mental projection of her head and found that the mentally projected Harry was at her side.
I couldn't wake you. I thought you could use some company.
You shouldn't be here, he whispered, horrified.
Neither should you, she said softly. If you can suffer through it, so can I. Where is 'here', anyway?
Harry shook his head. We were already here when I arrived. How did you get here?
Followed you. It's a long story.
He regarded her through slightly narrowed eyes. I think you have a lot of long stories these days. He seemed to let go of most of his annoyance at the fact, however, when he asked much more mildly, Sooner or later you'll catch me up?
I think we all have a lot of secrets these days. I—Movement in front of them caught her attention, and she turned back to survey the scene in front of her. What are they doing?
Harry shook his head. There were a couple of blokes, night watchmen I guess, that they were killing when I first got here. But he's ordered the others out to do whatever, and this is the first of them back.
Voldemort had been standing alone in the lobby of an impossible-to-identify building. It looked to have been built a couple of decades ago and wasn't terribly well lit. Attempting to move closer and examine the details further, Hermione discovered that such movement wasn't an option. Their minds had provided them with the constructs of physical selves, but it apparently didn't afford them correspondent free rein to move about the scene at will. Hermione wanted to rail at that ill luck but realized that the only other position Harry had had in such visions was in Voldemort's mind, and she'd take this third-person position any day of the week over that option.
She wondered if it was Harry's increased Occlumency abilities that had allowed him to distance himself a little from the scene or if this view was for another reason entirely.
It was Wormtail who had joined his master, shuffling into view and appearing obsequious. If they couldn't recognize his mannerisms and voice, the gleaming silver hand was a dead giveaway, making the mask quite useless at hiding who he was.
"Everything is prepared, my Lord," he said, an annoying mixture of excited and anxious.
"Splendid." The 's' was an extended sibilant, the cold pleasure disturbing to hear. "Bring them in."
Hermione's blood ran cold when she saw who was being brought in, and Harry clutched painfully at her arm. A row of little children, seven in all, still in their nightclothes and clearly terrified, ranging in age from what looked to be about six to thirteen. Their movements were stiff and jerky, suggesting that one of the Death Eaters had spelled their compliance. They were followed by two adults who were being held at wandpoint by two Death Eaters. Hermione assumed that these were the workers at what she now guessed was an orphanage.
"Severus."
The masked but recognizable man stepped to the head of the little line at Voldemort's command and pulled out a small green glass bottle from which he removed the stopper. An inkling of what was about to occur made Hermione's gut clench.
A second Death Eater, who had the bearing of Lucius Malfoy, not to mention his white-blond hair, pried open the jaws of the child at the front of the line, and Severus let two drops fall into the child's mouth. Without so much as a sound, she dropped to the ground and didn't move again.
Two hulking Death Eaters picked the tiny form up and rearranged it in the middle of the lobby according to Rodolphus Lestrange's direction. The second child followed in the wake of the first, and then the third.
Harry and Hermione were holding onto one another now, helpless to do anything but watch. The young blonde woman who looked to be in her late twenties pleaded for the lives of the children and offered herself in their stead. She was tortured with the Cruciatus until Voldemort finally seemed to tire of the screams of the remaining children and ended it with the Killing Curse. A shudder rippled through Harry at the flash of green light.
Severus resumed. Four. Five. The second adult, a burly moustachioed man who looked to be in his late forties, burst out of his captor's grasp and dove for Severus. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Six. Seven. The last body hit the ground and was dragged over to join the grotesque pile Rodolphus Lestrange had made, lifeless faces staring blankly towards the door, arms and legs all askew, piled there like so much garbage.
He produced a long knife and at Voldemort's nod, slit the throat of the man who had tried to interrupt them. He proceeded to dip his fingers in the blood repeatedly, laughing a little as he wrote on the wall. Hermione had to wonder if he'd gone more than a little crazy since the death of his wife, or maybe it was noticeable now because she wasn't there to be even more outrageous.
The two workers and the two guards were moved to new positions as well, all four propped into seated positions against the wall, a parody of them keeping watch over the children. Thin trails of blood oozed down the wall to reach them.
Finally, they were done, five of the six Death Eaters Apparating away at the instruction of their master. Rodolphus Lestrange opened the main door and made sure that the carnage was clearly visible. Then he raised his wand and pointed it at the sky.
"Morsmordre!"
A green glow painted the sky, and the last thing Harry and Hermione heard were twin peals of cruel laughter as Lestrange and Voldemort Disapparated.
A vertigo-inducing tug and Hermione and Harry were out of the vision and peripherally aware that they were capable of consciousness back in his bed. All they could see behind their closed eyelids were the letters daubed across the wall, reminding them so clearly of a young Tom Riddle and another monstrosity:
THIS is the result when I poison children.
She and Harry clung to one another. The tears that she had been mentally crying continued to wend their way down her physical face, soaking into the sheets and wetting Harry's hair.
Still quasi-connected, Hermione succumbed to Harry's exhaustion and the influence of the sleeping potion she had given him earlier, and there was blessed unconsciousness.