Please

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There was a sound. A soft and high whistling sound that became persistent the moment she noticed it. Annoying thing. Hermione stood on the thrice-damned island surrounded by a lake full of hundreds of dead bodies (this time for good she hoped) still looking at the spot where Dumbledore's charred corpse lay in the darkness when she realized what that sound was. Her ears were ringing in the deafening silence after all the roaring and screaming and wailing died down. The next thing was smell. The smell of smoke and burned meat, and it was so out of place, Hermione's nostrils flared and stomach turned, and it snapped her out of her trance-like state. Still a little nauseous, she cast another Tempus — 10:52 pm. Time to move on, today's adventures only just started. Hermione cleared the air somewhat, and with a deep sigh, conjured a Bluebell flame in the jar that still hung on a chain from one of her carabines, illuminating the space around her. Without another glance at the Headmaster's remains, she looked around, trying to decide what to do next. A small object on the pedestal near the basin caught her attention. A medallion of sorts. The supposed Horcrux, lying around, looking as innocent as you please. Steeling herself, Hermione walked closer and leaned forward, studying it, but the expected onslaught of dark magic did not come. On the contrary, compared to everything else around here, it was the most mundane thing. Confused, she waved her wand over the object to check it, then picked it up. It definitely looked like the lost Slytherin’s locket, "looked" being the definitive word here — it was a fake. A well-made one, but still. All ancient magical objects had this unique feeling to them, one could’ve never mistaken it with anything else, provided one was sensitive enough to magic and knew what to look for, of course. In those particular circumstances, it didn’t matter though. Regardless of the authenticity of the locket, the most important question still remained: why wasn’t it a Horcrux? Was Dumbledore mistaken? No, it did not make any sense. Hermione opened the locket to see what was inside. A small folded piece of parchment fell out on the ground. Snapping the locket shut, she picked the note up. It stated:

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this

but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

I face death in the hope that when you meet your match

you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Well… That certainly left more questions than answers. Did they have an unknown ally? The note looked old, it must've been here for a few decades at least, so there was a good chance that this mysterious R.A.B. truly was dead. Though, there was no way of knowing for sure, at least not here and now. Deciding not to waste time on it at the moment, Hermione put the note back and returned the locket onto its place near the basin. It would be better if Harry found it when he wakes up. Returning him safely to the school was her first priority right now, so she brightened her light and looked around, searching for the boat. To her dismay, the thing was blasted into pieces, half of which were burnt… Sighing, Hermione sat on the ground in front of it and set to transfiguring a new one from one of the pieces, and then enchanting it to glide to the exit of the cave. It took her about ten minutes of work (she didn't try to create an exact replica, it was more than likely that Harry didn't pay much attention to it in the first place, and even if he did, she doubted he'd take notice of any small differences in his current state of mind). Done with that, Hermione stood up and, turning around, walked to the sleeping teen. He looked so peaceful… But, she supposed, they all did. Hermione checked that all her spells were still strong and rose back into the air on her broom, prepared to extinguish the bluebell flame and cast a counterspell but halted. At the last moment, she decided not to take any chances and levitated the locket, placing it onto the ground next to the corpse, and only then turned the light off. Five seconds later, Harry Potter groaned. There was some shuffling in the darkness, and then after a quiet Lumos Hermione could see once more. The picture wasn’t one she would wish to witness ever again. Upon noticing the corpse, the boy became very distraught… He cried, and screamed, and then raged, and cried again, ripping Hermione’s heart into a million pieces. To his credit, the hysterics did not last long. Exhausted, Harry sank down on the floor, leaning on the pedestal, and his gaze fell on the locket. He picked it up, opened ("Of course, Harry, why bother checking it for any potential danger…" ), and took the note out. In a span of the next several seconds, Hermione could see about a dozen different emotions fleeting over his face: from shock to amusement to anger to resignation, then back to anger and everything in-between. After another minute, to Hermione’s relief, Potter threw one last teary glance at the corpse, put the note and the locket inside his trousers pocket, and cautiously moved to the boat. She silently followed him to the exit of the fissure and watched how he swam to the lowest boulder, climbed on it, and, hesitating only for a few seconds, threw his cloak over himself and popped away. Hermione only hoped that he didn’t manage to splinch himself in the process. Sighing, she checked the time — it was 11:26, and then flew back into the fissure to undo whatever it was that Dumbledore did to hold the passage open, which did not take incredibly long. He simply moved a stone under the arch to block it. Then she flew onto the cliff and landed near the spot from which she took her dive upon arriving, this time making sure she didn’t fall. The sky was black and twinkly, and Hermione instantly remembered how they sat with Severus on the floor on top of the Astronomy tower, looking at the stars in strangely comfortable silence, how she wondered what he was thinking. Was it really just yesterday? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. And it was so surreal still… Even in her wildest fantasies she couldn't imagine the events playing out the way they did, or Severus (of all people!) taking her turning in stride. Then again, she never would've thought him a suicidal type, no matter how lonely and exhausted he always appeared to be. What if all that desperate need that she saw in him in the morning was just that — pure desperation to have at least something? Anything really. He looked utterly shocked when in the Astronomy tower she urged him to lay down and then started to slowly comb his hair with her fingers in a soothing manner. It was such a simple and small thing, yet Severus seemed to be on the receiving end of it for the first time. He cried for fuck's sake! Would he do the same if it was anyone else instead of her? Sadly, yes, most likely. Was she taking advantage of him? God, she hoped not. Would he ever be able to see her as anything more than the proverbial "angel" he called her back then or would he eventually tire of her insufferable ways and leave? What would she do if it happened? What would she do if it happened now, when he found out about the murder she just committed? A sinking feeling settled deep in Hermione's chest. Surely it would destroy her. It was one thing to be in love with a dream, knowing it would — could — never become a reality, and completely another to be rejected by the real man somewhere along the way of it hopefully becoming true. Hopefully. There was no guarantee really that the two of them could even become friends after some time passes and the Incident moves deeper into the memory, losing its hold on the man. But did she regret her actions? Hermione stopped thinking and concentrated on her feelings, realizing that no. For better or for worse, she didn't. Maybe Severus wasn't the only one who was desperate. Shrinking her broom, Hermione put it back into her rucksack and cast another Tempus. 11:38 pm. Why didn’t she simply buy herself a new wristwatch? Exasperated at her own stupidity and depressing thoughts, she apparited away to her flat to put all her things where they belong and change, and then to Severus’ appariting spot near the secret tunnel in the Forbidden Forest. Originally, Hermione thought of sleeping in her flat and then turning back to 6 am to attend classes but changed her mind. If she planned on spending the evening with Severus, she needed to find an excuse for her absence for Harry and Ron. Or she could make another small-ish jump and spend time with them all. Because today of all days leaving anything to chance would be beyond foolish. Settled on that, Hermione made her way through the silent castle’s secret corridors toward the Transfiguration classroom, since it would be her last class of the day. Finding one of the nooks near it hidden behind a tapestry, she took her time-turner out and set it to whisk her away back in time to 4:15 pm — five minutes before the end of the period. Homenum Revelio didn’t show anybody in the hallway, so Hermione cautiously got out of her hiding spot and quickly strode to the nearest bathroom, making a beeline into one of the cubicles. As was her habit by now, she locked the cubicle with one of the strongest wards she knew (because obliviating whatever child it was that accidentally stumbled inside was not among her favorite activities) and removed all spells from herself with a single wave of her hand, feeling tremendous relief. Maintaining so many spells for so long put quite a strain on her magic, not that there was a choice. Allowing herself a few minutes of rest, Hermione sat on the toilet lid and closed her eyes, checking her Occlumency shields and loosening them a bit. After all that happened, she couldn’t afford to walk around without them completely, but looking like an emotionless machine wasn’t an option either. The end of the concerned questions would never be near enough. Done with it, Hermione put on her teen-glamour and waited for her future self to come. It didn’t take long. In about a minute, someone walked into the adjacent cubicle, and another stone on her charmed bracelet warmed up for several seconds, indicating that it was safe to leave. Waiting another two minutes or so, Hermione exited the cubicle, took the backpack that her future self left for her on the floor, and walked out of the bathroom where Harry and Ron were waiting, chatting. Seeing Harry being all happy and carefree, made her heart clench, but Hermione momentarily took control over herself and smiled. The trio went up through the castle into their common room, listening to her usual monologue on the importance of studying accompanied by the boys’ usual whining, and the familiarity of it all made Hermione feel a little bit better. A tiny bit. Maybe. After dinner (where Severus was absent, thankfully, because right about now Hermione didn’t think she’d be able to look him in the eyes like nothing happened. It was enough that Dumbledore twinkled at her from time to time from his throne behind the high table), she ensconced herself into the library to pass the time — seeing Harry was equally hard. Every time she laid eyes on the boy, images of him feeding Dumbledore, or fighting inferi, or crying over a burned corpse seeped through the small cracks in her shields, making her miserable. Without any need — obviously — to prepare for some stupid school exams which she could pass in her sleep at any moment, Hermione wandered between the rows of books, looking for something she hasn’t read yet when she noticed a stand filled with old Prophets in the corner. Deciding that a few ridiculous articles could serve as a distraction just as well as any other book, she dug into it, reading everything that caught her attention, sometimes giggling at the contents to Madam Pince’s ire. At one moment though, all her merry disappeared, replaced by anguish. In one of the old papers, she stumbled upon an image of some girl around fifteen who looked so astonishingly like Severus, it made Hermione’s heart rate jump for a moment. The girl — Eileen Prince, according to the name tag under the photo — looked even more miserable than Hermione felt. And it wasn’t surprising… The features that made her son look unique, charismatic, on Eileen's face looked completely wrong, borderline ugly. Trying not to think of Severus now, lest she drove herself stir crazy with worry, Hermione put the paper back, turned to the nearest bookshelf to browse something there, and then stopped. No matter her low mood, this photo was a good opportunity to continue Harry’s subtle training in the art of defense. In this particular case — his observational skills. Hermione was so sorely disappointed and subsequently irritated for months and months that in all that time Harry didn’t manage to find out who the bloody Prince was (pun intended). Apparently, staring at the man’s handwriting week after week for years and seeing his signature ‘obviously’ written all over the margins of the cursed book, or the fact that both of them (Prince and Snape) were geniuses with potions (and how many of them does he actually know or even heard of?) was no help at all. He did not seem to be able to put two and two together. Maybe this will be of help. If not for Potter’s invigilation, then for keeping Hermione’s mind off of the events that were about to happen and thoughts about Harry’s fate, which included the ones about the possible futility of the aforementioned training for obvious reasons. As it turned out, one Harry Potter, along with one Ronald Weasley, were more dunderheaded than she ever anticipated… Hermione angrily stormed the hallways after her latest failed attempt to talk sense into the stupid boys, mentally cursing them both. The later it got, the more on edge she became, and those idiotic teens did not help matters in the slightest. She only wished for the bloody day to be over already… knowing perfectly well there was a long way ahead of her for it to come to pass. Her worry steadily increased by the hour. What would Severus think of what she's done when he knew? Hermione had no intention of hiding the truth from the man just as she had no intention of ever letting anyone else know, lest they'd drag her into Azkaban by her hair. A rather unfortunate outcome of all her preparation and training. But still, she didn't feel remorseful, not really. She had no idea what she felt, truth be told, and didn't want to examine it in any depth. Now was not the time. And those two silly boys just had to go and add more fuel to the fire, insulting her intelligence and belittling all her efforts in endless attempts to educate them over the years in any way she could. “Ugh… Idiots. Bloody fucking idiots, the both of them. Ungrateful little shits.” Hermione wandered the hallways for several minutes working out her frustration with her so-called friends as well as herself, but when she felt calm enough and was ready to return to the common room, she noticed Harry's silhouette disappearing behind the corner ahead of her. Deciding that it would be prudent to follow him just in case, sher placed the usual concealment charms on herself and raced after the boy, keeping to the shadows. He was heading in the direction of Dumbledore's office, but halfway there they were stopped near the Room of Requirement by Trelawney the Ever-drunk Fraud. The longer Hermione listened to their conversation, the more she wanted to smack the stupid professor over her empty head. One thing was clear — Death Eaters were already in the school. Which was not good news at all. Hermione lost herself in thoughts about Riddle’s followers for a moment (or several), only half listening to Trelawney's blabbing and trying to find the least disastrous solution to this little problem when she was ripped out of her musings by a sudden loud exclamation, “…but then we were rudely interrupted by Severus Snape!” that echoed around the empty hall. Both Harry and Hermione froze. “What?” whispered the boy, shocked. This time he definitely managed to put two and two together fairly quickly, but Hermione's joy was short-lived. After staring at Trelawney (who continued speaking) for several seconds, Harry took off at a neck-breaking speed and Hermione followed closely behind him. From there the events unfolded too fast and not fast enough at the same time. After walking the boy to the gargoyle, she returned to the common room, and spent the rest of the evening babysitting Ronald who was agitated beyond all reason by Harry's departing commands (with half a vial of Felix Felicis in his pocket boosting his confidence), and trying to keep an eye both on the map and on the annoyingly persistent teen who proclaimed himself in charge in the absence of the unspoken leader of their almighty trio, not wanting to lose the opportunity. But sadly for him, letting a bunch of barely trained hot-headed teens out of their common rooms and straight into the welcoming hands of Death Eaters was not on Hermione's agenda for today. Only one Hogwarts occupant was to die this evening, she'll make sure of it. At 11 pm she was dragging Ron to the gates to watch for their friend's return, in case Harry did splinch himself while appariting great distance in such an emotional state, though Ron didn't know about it, of course. She disillusioned them both before leaving the common room, and silently — if Ron's shuffling could be called that — strode the empty halls, expertly avoiding patrolling stuff, but despite the invisible state they were in, Hermione still had a constant feeling of Ron's eyes on her when they should be on the floor. Because as it turned out, walking while you can't see your body is actually harder than it seemed. To prove this point, Weasley tripped twice, nearly dragging Hermione with him, as they were holding hands so they wouldn't take the wrong path and lose each other, and once he actually toppled down face forward. The idiot. "For God's sake, Ronald!" hissed Hermione, while helping him to get up. "Don't look at me, look where you're going!" "How could you know that I —" "Just move," Hermione cut him out and pulled him further without another word. She tightened her grip on the boy’s hand and practically ran through the castle and the grounds, shushing every Ron's attempt at talking, because the whole evening he was looking at her that way again and Hermione was afraid he was going to say something they both would regret shortly. She already regretted her decision to get to the gates this early, leaving them time to talk before Harry appeared. The whole situation was beyond uncomfortable. Right after the famous break up with Lavender, Ron took to staring at her at every possible moment, sometimes with lovesick adoration, apparently waiting for Hermione to notice and do something about it, which was ridiculous and would've been very funny if not so tremendously wrong and overall nauseating. Because Hermione never saw either of her friends in that way, they were like her younger siblings. Dumb little brothers who needed constant looking after. And the older she became, the more wrong and weird the thought of a romantic relationship with either one seemed. But right now, Hermione feared, the moment of big revelations finally came — judging by the sweaty palm, the long-long stare, the ominous silence, and the laborious breathing, if anything. It could very well be because of Harry’s absence and panicked warnings, of course — it seemed the most logical conclusion in the circumstances — but Hermione’s intuition told her otherwise. “Hermione!” barked Ron right in her ear, and she realized two things: one — they stood near the gates now, and two — she missed some important part of Ron’s speech (and he was definitely trying to talk to her), which made the boy sound annoyed and even angry somewhat. Suppressing a triumphant smile at the thought of, "Now you understand what it's like to be ignored, you silly creature!" Hermione schooled her expression into pleasant neutrality, waved her hand canceling the disillusionment, and turned to the boy. “Yes?” Best to pretend that all was as it should’ve been. Right? “Were you even listening?” Well, here goes that. “Um… I’m sorry. You were saying?” Instantly, Ron became unsure and nervous, and Hermione's heart sank. She was right, apparently. While Ron, blushing fiercely, stammered his confession for the second time, Hermione wondered if that was what Severus felt like when he realized what she was about to say this morning, and hoped that it wasn't. It would've been too awful, and awkward, and terrifying, and many other things that Hermione didn't feel like naming right now, because… Well, just because. She always knew the likelihood of being rejected by that man in particular was high, very-very high, and considered herself ready to face it one day, but now — when that day suddenly came — Hermione was shaking like a leaf (figuratively) at a mere thought about it. But right now wasn't the best time to think about it. "I'm sorry, Ron… We can't. I can't. I've been in love with someone else for a very long time already, and I don't think it's going to change any time soon. Besides, we couldn't possibly be compatible —" "Not to mention the age difference…" supplied Hermione's brain, not helping the situation. "…You're a great young man, Ronald, you'll find someone who would suit you, I'm sure." It felt like she just kicked a puppy. Hell, Weasley looked like a kicked puppy. He determinedly turned away from her and said no more. Almost at midnight Harry ran through the school gates where Hermione and Ron were waiting in uncomfortable silence, and nearly collapsed on the ground, panting. The boy looked worse than shit, in torn dirty clothes and with hair in a state of complete chaos, like he was dragged through a hedgerow a few times. Where the hell did he wander for over fifteen minutes between now and the last time Hermione saw him appariting away, she had no idea. Nobody moved. "Harry?" asked Ron apprehensively. "What happened? Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Harry looked up. His face was dusty and dirty with tear tracks on his cheeks. "Dead. He d… He died. The island… I left him there. His body… I couldn't take him, had to leave… I…" he stumbled over the words, half-choking. "Harry, stop. Are you hurt?" Potter looked so miserable, Hermione had to intervene. The boy shook his head 'no'. "Good. That's good. Now, you need to start in the beginning, but not here. It’s too dangerous. Let's go back to the common room. And be quiet!" Not waiting for a reply, she took Harry's hand in hers and started tagging him towards the castle. Ron strode beside them on autopilot with a shocked expression on his face, even forgetting to keep a safe distance from her. "Hermione, hold on," whispered Harry loudly halfway through the grounds, trying to free his hand from the death grip. "I need to tell someone! I need to find McGonagall. Common room can wait." Hermione halted and turned to the boys. Last time she looked on the map, McGonagall was with her and Severus in his quarters. There's no way she'd allow Harry to go there. Besides, there was very little point in it. "Believe me, Harry, she knows. She's the Deputy, the moment Dumbledore died, the castle wards informed her. I bet she's busy right now." Harry looked annoyed, which was kind of funny in his current state. "Still. She needs to know what happened. It's important." "It is. But not as much as organizing things with the Order and planning for the future, don't you agree? Do you think Voldemort wouldn't want to know what happened? Wouldn't want to make a move? What if he’s planning to attack the school? Or the Ministry. The Order is the priority right now. I know you're grieving, Harry, but it's not the time for rushing without thinking and screwing up something important. Not when there's a very real chance that somebody might get hurt or die as a result. When McGonagall would want to hear your story, she would ask, do you understand?" Both boys stood stanned for several seconds, thinking Hermione's words through. "The voices! In the Room of Requirement! If it was Malfoy and Snape, and it was them, I know it was, Voldemort is definitely planning something! Trelawney said they laughed, Snape never laughs, so it must’ve been Malfoy with somebody else!” Harry started pacing. “Snape must’ve told Voldemort about Dumbledore’s plans, and…” That was the most ridiculous logic Hermione ever heard. On the other hand, Harry didn’t look so murderously pale and miserable anymore, so… That was good, right? “Harry…” called Hermione quietly, but the boy didn’t stop his whispered tirade. “Harry! For God’s sake. Stop this nonsense!” she cried out after casting a Muffliato. Harry froze. “How’s that nonsense, Hermone?! We all know what’s happening here! We need to go to McGonagall right now, don’t you understand? Tell her, Ron!” Weasley — who all this time stood to the side, nodding absentmindedly to his friend’s words — looked like a spooked deer all of a sudden, Hermione’s heart clenched again. Their conversation at the gates and her rejection shook the boy pretty badly already, and now this. But Harry ignored the strange reaction. “Wait a minute… McGonagall doesn't even know I went somewhere, why would she ask me about anything?" "She knows." Two seconds of silence. "What?! Hermione!" exclaimed both boys in unison. She sighed. "I told her earlier when she came to the common room to talk with me about some prefect thing. Oh, don't look at me like that, you two! It was the right thing to do! You were God knows where, Harry, risking your life. What if something went wrong, as it clearly did?" Harry fumed. "It was a secret, Hermione, that's why! Dumbledore wanted it to be a secret, I told you because I trusted you, and you were supposed to respect that! Did you alert the DA like I said?" Hermione raised an eyebrow and her expression hardened. She was getting seriously sick of this evening in general and of this argument in particular. And, Merlin, how strong was the urge to tell them just what exactly she thought of Dumbledore's wishes. Somewhere in the background, she noticed Ron also getting angrier once again. "No,” she cut. “Why?” The power of logic of an adolescent. Why indeed. “Because I don’t condone suicide missions, nor do I take orders from sixteen-year-old boys!" "Yeah?" spat Ronald. Hermione shot a warning glance at him and snapped, "Yes!", then turned back to Harry who continued his rant. "From whom do you take orders then?!" he yelled. "From adults? It's just like you, Hermione! Always with your sucking up to authority! When will you start thinking for yourself?! WE'RE AT THE BLOODY WAR! If you wanted orders, what was wrong with Professor Dumbledore's?!" "Dumbledore didn't ask me to send a bunch of barely trained kids to spy on Death Eaters! And even if he did, I'd ignore it, and specifically because I can think for myself! Dumbledore wasn't infallible, you stupid boy!" Merlin, she saw red. "YES! YES HE WAS! He was wise, and kind, and strong, and… and he knew things, he understood things no one else does! None of your precious adults!" Harry was hysterical. His chest was heaving madly, his eyes glimmered in the white moonlight with unshed tears. He looked so young and lost, it made Hermione's angry retort die in her throat. What were they doing?.. What was she doing? "They understand, Harry. We understand," she said sadly. "Because Dumbledore wasn't the only one who had more knowledge and more experience in this world than you do. He wasn't the only wise person, nor the only kind person, or strong person. You just need to open your eyes and see the whole lot of us, standing all around you." She suddenly realised that keeping her turning from those two probably was one of her biggest mistakes. How many disasters could've been avoided otherwise? If she could act openly, how much more help would she be? At the change of tone, Harry's anger also blew away. The three of them stood, staring at each other in silence for a long moment. Hermione thought she saw Harry getting paler again as his mind worked, connecting some dots, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. "We?" he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat and added louder, "What do you mean 'we'?" Ron came closer to Harry, now standing with him shoulder to shoulder, as a united front. Opposite her. Dread crept up Hermione's spine. What she was about to say would be the beginning of an end, she felt it in her very bones, but there was no way out. "Let's get inside. I've got a lot to tell you." And she did. Hermione led them into one of the old classrooms on the first floor which she often used as a make-shift bedroom in the past years, and after securing it thoroughly, dropped her glamour and told the two boys a short version of her long complicated story. Well, part of it, as there wasn't much time, and she was beyond exhausted, and, frankly, at this point, it long became none of their business. They listened in silence, staring, which was a nice and very welcomed surprise. Harry didn't even blow up when on the question "Who else knows?" she simply replied, "Severus". Maybe he finally realized the depth of his own ignorance, or maybe he simply stopped caring, or started considering her a part of the enemy's camp, Hermione couldn't tell. It didn't matter either way. "Go to your dorm, guys. When McGonagall needs you, she'll come," finished Hermione, dismantled her protections and watched how Ron tugged Harry's arm to turn him around, and how he reluctantly gave way. "Where's my map? I need my map back," said Harry with his hand on the doorknob, not turning back. "And you will have it in the morning. I need to be sure you two didn't take any detours." He didn't move. "Professor Dumbledore once said that your Snape used to call us 'the golden trio'. You can tell him that we aren't anymore." Not saying anything else, they left, quietly closing the door to the classroom, and to the whole era behind them. Hermione stood alone, trying to process the events. Now she officially lost her friends. Did she consider them friends? Maybe, or maybe not. Either way, the sinking feeling of a loss was still there, choking her. Loneliness wasn't new to Hermione, but now more than ever she acutely felt it. But a very long time ago, she promised herself to never ever cry because of it. That's why she took a deep breath, rubbed her face with her hands tiredly, shut the uncomfortable emotions away behind the mental shields, and resolved herself to her short — hopefully — vigil. It was half past twelve already and over fifteen hours since the last time she slept, so Hermione was happy to see that not ten minutes after the boys left, they were intercepted in the hallway by Tonks who led them towards the head office where the Order meeting was taking place. Not bothering to go anywhere or even undress, she sealed the room shut, transfigured one of the tables into a bed and went to sleep for several hours.

* * *

Saturday morning was bright and shiny. Hermione was jolted awake at half past five by the sudden thought that it was her last turn of this bloody Friday. It made her content if not outright happy, and with cheerful spirits, she returned the room to its previous state, turned back for twenty-four hours, and made her way outside. As was her habit, Hermione (invisible, of course) ran a few lapses around the lake to keep her form, then took a walk to the Greenhouse One and put the envelope that would help her past self become a murderer back into the box, and then returned to the castle to start the day as any other six-year student: take a shower, have breakfast, and lazily shuffle to the first lesson. Well, maybe not lazily… Hermione was long over her blind enthusiasm when it came to lessons, preferring studying on her own when she could move at any convenient pace and in any direction that struck her fancy, not needing supervision of any kind. With that, Hogwarts lessons started to seem hellishly long and useless — she could easily teach every single one of them, after all. But still, she had pretenses to keep, so laziness was out of the question. And she saw Severus at breakfast. She didn’t even realize how much she missed him these two long days. How differently he looked without the custom black attire: white open collar of his polo-shirt that showed his long neck and a hint of his sharp collarbones, sleeves of the normal length, thin wrists, slender fingers that stirred a cup of coffee… And the way he watched her, shocked for a moment. He seemed so much younger and healthier already. So striking and hot, and… Well. Let’s not go there right now. Harry and Ron were at her side as usual, which added some rain on the whole parade but… There wasn’t anything she could do about it. So she clenched her teeth, plactered a smile, and pretended that the two of them did not hurt her at all, and all was well, as usual. Besides, it wasn’t the first time Hermione forced herself to pretend to be nice to someone, ignoring her own feelings (however painful), so she was pretty much used to it. At lunch, she was so amused by her schoolmates’ antics with paranoid studying for their last DADA lesson of the year (which was kind of dumb in her opinion), she actually forgot to be miserable. And during Defense, amazing, wonderful Severus continued to keep her spirits up by simply being his own snarky self. By the time the two of them finished harvesting bluebells in the Forbidden forest, Hermione once again felt some hope for the future. How could she think that Severus would reject her friendship because of what she had to do? He was one of a few who understood that particular predicament very well. He lived in it for far longer than she did. That’s why Hermione felt relatively calm on their way back. That's why she felt confident and didn't start to panic when terrified Severus shook her, yelling, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU DAFT WOMAN?!" right in her face. And in front of McGonagall no less. And he called her daft! Their new acting-headmistress' head in the fireplace froze mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes. Hermione ignored her, not looking away from Severus. "Why do you think that I did anything?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh!" exclaimed McGonagall. Apparently, she only now noticed that Severus wasn't alone in his rooms. Severus instantly let go of Hermione as if burned, and jumped back a step. "Forgive me. I just…" he took a deep breath, instantly coming to his senses. "My apologies. I did not mean it the way it sounded." Meanwhile McGonagall's head vanished from the fireplace, and a few seconds later the professor stepped into the room in all her tartan glory. She came closer to the couch in the center of the room and addressed Hermione, looking directly at her. "I didn't expect Severus to have company, excuse me, Miss…" And her eyes gradually widened to comical size. "…Granger?.. Miss Granger, is that you?! What the heck is going on here?! Professor Snape! Would you be so kind as to explain what in bleeding hell an aged-looking student is doing in your private chambers after curfew?! And what did you give her?!" She did look like a seriously pissed off cat at the moment, Hermione gave her that, but she was not fazed, and nor was Severus. As a matter of fact, he started to look pretty angry himself. If not stopped, the situation could easily escalate to a row of colossal magnitude, and Hermione had enough of that crap for one Friday, thank you very much. "He has nothing to do with my aging," she said calmly after loudly clearing her throat. "Isn't there anything more important than my youth's idiocy at the moment? I seem to recall you yelling something about Dumbledore being dead. Let's deal with that first, and then you two can quarrel to your hearts' desire." Both professors stared at her, but if McGonagall's face showed only astonishment, Severus' eyes shone with amusement. McGonagall cleared her throat. "Right. Yes. But still, however you look, Miss Granger, this is not a discussion for children's ears, so off you go to your dormitory. And I don't care that you're seventeen and technically of age, so don't even start, or there's going to be a major point loss!" This last sentence was added by the professor when Hermione opened her mouth to reply. Which she did nonetheless. "I'm twenty-eight, Minerva. I'm a professional healer, have a mastery in Defense along with a few years of experience as a cursebreaker, and am currently apprenticing under one of the famous American arithmancy masters. I'm not going to go to my dormitory, however many points you're thinking of taking. You can expel me on the spot for all I care. I would actually prefer it, I'm quite sick of wasting my time 'learning' things I could do in my sleep." The silence was so absolute, you could hear a pin drop. "How?" whispered McGonagall. Instead of a reply, Hermione simply tagged the Time turner out of her robes, making McGonagall gasp and clap her hand over her mouth. "Minerva…" interrupted Severus. "Dumbledore." The older woman stood motionless for another several seconds, then blinked and exhaled tiredly. "You owe me one incredibly good explanation, Miss Granger, and it better be soon," she said sternly, pointing a finger toward Hermione who only nodded in response. "Now," continued McGonagall but stopped, looking suddenly old and haggard as she remembered why she was here in the first place. She turned to Severus. "You've felt it, haven't you?" He nodded. "What are we going to do now, Severus?" she whispered. "How are we supposed to carry on? One moment all is well, and I'm preparing for bed, and the next I'm struggling to keep the weight of all the school wards on me, and Fawkes is singing, and…" she sighed, sinking on the couch on the opposite side of Hermione. "I don't know what to do. I can't do it."

* * *

Severus crossed the room and leaned on the fireplace on his elbows, combing his hair back with his fingers. Everything has gone to hell but not the way he expected. They needed to act very quickly, but all he could think of was whether or not Hermione killed the old man. "…will you help me kill him? “Dumbledore? I will…" She said she would. Did she? Somehow there was little doubt about it in Severus' heart. And if so, what now? Would she hate him for placing her in this position? He closed his eyes and imagined Hermione's smiling face. Her wild curls, her deep tired eyes, her small frame… standing above a long-bearded corpse, wand in hand. And all for him. So he wouldn't have to. He asked, and she did. His angel guarded his soul with hers… Unthinkable. Tremendous relief flooded Severus from head to toes. Dumbledore is rotting somewhere, and his soul is still intact. The next moment, though, cold sticky fear and hot burning guilt washed the happy thought away. Hermione killed a man because he didn't have the guts to do so. If a young woman could do it, then so could he. Why on earth didn't he? Why? Why? But deep down Severus knew the answer. Because he just wasn't able to. The Dark Lord was trying to force his hand several times back in the days of the First war, but Severus slithered out every time. He was called a weakling and ickle-fickle baby Sevvy or something equally insulting (guess by whom), and generally made fun of, but he never could make himself kill anyone. These days the taunting stopped, thankfully, for he made himself quite a reputation and overall ceased looking like a wet ugly thrown out kitten, but in essence nothing changed. He just couldn't do it and survive with his mind intact. If not for Hermione… Gratitude mixt with guilt. That's what he felt in the end in his very core, if and when all other emotions are peeled off. All consuming gratitude for saving first his life and then his mind and soul. And unwieldy guilt for the cost she paid for it, for relief and for gratitude he felt now. He owed this young woman everything he was, but strangely, this thought didn't raise any aversion, nor protest inside Severus. But what if somebody found out? Startled, Severus turned around to look at the two women. They sat quietly, watching him. Hermione seemed sad, McGonagall, on the other hand, looked straight at him with an annoyed expression. "Well?" she asked. "If you're done staring into nothingness, we should be doing something. I'll call an emergency Order meeting. Hermione, are you?.." The woman in question looked up and nodded. "Yes. But…" Her eyes full of guilt landed on Severus. "They've been here since curfew, Severus. If we don't want to show our hand…" For a moment he didn't understand what the hell she was talking about, but then it dawned. The Death Eaters. "We need the Dark Lord to remove them himself," he finished Hermione's sentence after a second’s pause. "You don't have to go there, you know. We'll think of some other way to let Riddle know." “Hermione… Sweet kind Hermione. And to think that she could… No, better not to go there now,” ran through Severus’ mind. "What are you two talking about?" demanded McGonagall. Severus sighed, glancing at the headmistress. "Even if there was another way, Hermione, finding it would take precious time. Besides, I need to finish what I started. If they're already here, I need to go now. Would you explain to Minerva everything about the situation with the Malfoys?" Which meant 'would you explain to Minerva everything about Dumbledore's cursed hand, Draco's mission and my vow?' in Slytherin-speak if you are curious. The 'please, don't tell her about the tower' went without saying. "I'll start with how you caught me wandering the hallways last night and we got talking," agreed Hermione, inclining her head. McGonagall (who apparently did not like to be ignored) huffed in annoyance and went to the fireplace to start floo-calling Kingsley. Paying the older woman no mind, Severus looked at Hermione, almost grinning at how good it felt to have someone who truly understood you, but kept it together. He turned around and strolled to the exit — the further from the source of temptation the better. "Wait," called Hermione quietly, catching him at the door. Severus glanced at her questioningly. "Be careful," she whispered with worry, placing a palm on his chest. Severus looked down, then on Hermione, down again, and then in a fit of madness (surely… otherwise, why?) did something he never ever imagined himself capable of doing — he stepped forward, closing the distance between their bodies, and dropped a chaste kiss on the corner of her lips, and then hastily made a beeline out of the room, so he wouldn't have to see her reaction. Till his last days, Severus never found out what possessed him to do that. Not that he complained, of course, knowing how it all turned out in the end, but at this point, while he practically flew through the silent castle toward his appariting point, he was horrified beyond belief. Yes, she was amazing, and yes, he was grateful, but even Severus (with his lack of social skills) knew that building a relationship on that only was impossible. It was derogatory and unjust. All it would do in the end is hurt Hermione, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He wasn't fit even for friendship, for Merlin's sake! And for the life of him, Severus couldn't understand what Hermione saw in him in the first place. Whatever it was, she most likely imagined it, and the moment she knew him better, she would undoubtedly change her mind. But what if not? What was he supposed to do if Hermione Granger stayed? If she continued to love him? "Oh, Merlin…" Severus was so distracted by those thoughts, he did not even notice how he got out of the castle, remembering himself only as he was about to press the wand point to the mark to call for an audience. Angry at himself for acting so unforgivably foolish, he closed his eyes and concentrated on hastily creating a memory of McGonagall telling him about the death of their esteemed headmaster where Hermione wasn't present. The result was far from perfect, but Severus hoped that in his joy his master would not pay it much attention. Somewhat satisfied, he fortified his Occlumency shields, called the Dark Lord, and after several seconds was whisked away. All in all, the meeting went better than Severus could've hoped. The Dark Lord was so overjoyed, he didn't even torture Lucius and Narcissa for their son's failure, nor did he demand Draco would be brought before him, allowing Severus to punish the worthless boy himself and find him some useful occupation until further notice. The Death Eaters who were waiting in the Room of Requirement were summoned from the school to join the celebration of the old fool's suicide, from which Severus was excused because he was expected to attend the Order meeting. So with false condolences and a light heart for the first time since last summer, he returned to the Forbidden forest without a scratch. The evening so far progressed a lot better than Severus feared it would. The first thing he noticed upon arriving was a dark figure sitting in the deep shadows nearby, and automatically took a battle stance. "It's me, don't worry," said Hermione's voice and he relaxed for a second, but then remembered his farewell kiss and froze, not knowing what to do or expect. Hermione emerged from her hiding spot, not showing any signs that something at all happened — making Severus doubt his sanity for the second time today — and hugged him tightly. "Thank God you're alright," she whispered in his shoulder before releasing him and continuing, "How did it go?" "Fine. He's happy and celebrating. The Death Eaters were summoned from the school, so it's safe for the moment." "Good. Let's go to the head office, everyone's waiting. You can tell the particulars there." Severus could only nod stiffly. Arm in arm, they hurriedly moved, but not toward the main entrance, as he thought they would, but a little deeper into the forest, stopping near a particularly thick oak. Hermione waved her hand once and the tree's bark on the side in front of them vanished, showing an opening of some narrow dark tunnel that Severus knew nothing about. But instead of immediately going inside, Hermione pointed somewhere above the entrance, prompting him to look in the same direction. At first Severus saw nothing but the bark, but upon closer inspection, it turned out that right along the edge of the entrance was carved a small snake. "I call it The Slytherin tunnel," said Hermione, but seeing Severus' blank expression, explained, "This is a secret tunnel to the dungeons, more precisely to what I presume was Slytherin head's quarters and to the secret corridors around the Slytherin common room and dormitories. I take it you really never were here, weren't you?" "No…" he replied, shocked a little. "Salazar Slytherin's rooms were lost for over three centuries now; five of my predecessors and myself lived in the quarters of our choosing near the common room. The last Head of a House who occupied the proper rooms died unexpectedly right in the middle of a lesson, taking that particular knowledge with him. Bloody Baron, among the rest of the ghosts, was of no help…" prattled Severus, silently casting Lumos and cautiously stepping into the tunnel. "How did you find it?" Hermione caught up with him and they walked calmly. "Accidentally, of course. I was looking around for something medicinally useful when I noticed the snake. I followed the tunnel to the corridor around the common room, checked the door to the quarters — it's heavily warded — and left because there wasn't much time for breaking and entering." "I see. How do you know that the corridor is built around the common room? It could be literally anything. Even the Chamber of Secrets." "Oh, you'll see," chuckled Hermione. Severus narrowed his eyes on her. "I don't like the sound of it." Hermione just shrugged. "By the way," he continued, "why are we taking this tunnel and not the usual one or simply going through the main door? It's almost midnight, if there are students in the hallways, most likely they were clever enough not to get caught, which means, they are hiding." "This one was closer, plus I wanted to show it to you. And we can't go through the main door because Harry is about to return from his excursion with Dumbledore, so we — I mean Ron and myself — are near the gates. We could disillusion ourselves, of course, but — again — I really wanted to show you this tunnel." Severus stopped and stared at her, ignoring a sudden pang of something he didn't want to name, in his chest. "So this is your second turn?" She stared back. "Third. Don't ask now, please. It's an incredibly long story and we have little time." The rest of the way to the corridor they didn't speak; just once, when they passed by another branch in the tunnel, Hermione mentioned that it led to the Slytherin's quarters, to which Severus only nodded. He was curious, but not overly so. It could wait. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts about her turns. This fact in itself didn't prove that she did kill the Headmaster, she could've been doing anything really, but what was more important than the war? It was hard to imagine, try as he might. After about ten minutes of walking, he stopped short, staring through the transparent wall at the mostly empty common room. Unbelievable. Life would've been so much easier if he knew of this before. Meanwhile, Hermione walked to the door, leading into the dungeon hallway and stood still, waiting. "It's the door out. It can be opened only from this side, I couldn't even find it in the hallway, even though logically I know where it's supposed to be. There's simply no trace of it," said Hermione, distracting Severus from watching his students. "Fascinating, really." "It is, it is…" he murmured in response. "We have to go, dear, the Order is waiting." "Don't tempt me. They could wait forever, for all I care, to be honest. They always tolerated me because Dumbledore said so, now…" sighed Severus, walking toward Hermione, "now I imagine I won't receive a warm welcome." "I imagine my suddenly appeared adultness won't impress anyone either," she chuckled sadly and took his hand. "But you know what? At least we'll be there together. You can always count on me to cover your back. And I explained everything to Minerva, she's on our side too." "Minerva was one of a few who never doubted my loyalty," replied Severus, feeling warmth spreading inside him. After Hermione placed the usual spells on them both just in case, they slipped through the door into the corridor and — arm in arm, so they wouldn’t lose each other while invisible — set toward the upper floors, but not five seconds later, Severus stopped. "You can always count on me to cover your back too," he said quietly, looking in Hermione's direction. Not surprisingly, the fact that they couldn't see each other, made it easier. "I know what you did, Hermione. Well, it's just a guess, obviously, but…" Silence fell for several long seconds. "Would you be angry at me if I confirmed your guess?" whispered Hermione. She sounded nervous, even afraid a little, and Severus realized all of a sudden how hard it must be for her to admit this to him; it made his heart clench with guilt with renewed strength. "I'm not angry, Hermione… No, I am, actually, but not at you. At myself. I shouldn't have put you in this position. No amount of begging for forgiveness would ever be enough, I know it. But still… I am very sorry. And very grateful. You should know that." He wanted to add some sort of explanation for the kiss, but couldn’t find the strength to open his mouth. They started moving forward. Severus hoped she wouldn't reply to any of his words, and feared it at the same time. A completely strange mix of opposite emotions. "You don't need to ask for forgiveness, dear. I did it because I wanted to help you, true, but also because it needed to be done regardless. So… Let's not talk about it now, please. We have an Order meeting to live through first." "We do," he thought, but said nothing. Only pulled his Occlumency shields tighter and hoped that Hermione did the same as they quickly and silently strode through the dark castle. They got to the office without any more stops as fast as they could, but still, when they finally arrived, the meeting was already on. Pale Minerva sat on Dumbledore's place, looking at pacing Moody. Kingsley and Aberforth loudly debated about something, Lupin, Tonks, Hestia Jones and Dedalus Dingle sat behind the prolonged desk, quietly watching the scene, and Arthur was trying to calm down crying Molly and hysterically sobbing Hagrid. The appearance of Severus and Hermione shut them all up, plunging the room into deadly silence, until Lupin exclaimed loudly, “Hermione! Is that you?” which raised another wave of chaos. Almost everybody seemed outraged, especially Moody who yelled the loudest of all. After about ten seconds of it, Minerva, looking pissed off, stood up and placed a silencing spell on the room. “Will you all shut up and sit down!” she barked, pointing at the desk. “It’s after midnight, we’ve just lost our commander, our enemy is most likely planning something even more awful, and you lot are clucking like chickens and wasting precious time, which we do not have, me more than you, since I’m a bloody acting headmistress now and have a staff meeting to run first thing in the morning and a whole bunch of kids to inform at breakfast! If you would just allow her to speak, she’ll explain everything!” Everybody at once looked at Hermione, including Severus, but she only raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his own way of doing it and silently sat down on the nearest chair. Severus took the cue and also sat down beside her. The rest of the present members of the Order followed shortly. Hermione showed her time turner and started her tale for the third time this day, only now it became even shorter than before: only dry facts and numerous legal aspects. She wasn’t going to confess her sins to strangers, or to discuss her reasoning and wisdom of her choices with them. So yes, this time turner was tinkered with by Dumbledore and could travel in time years instead of hours. Yes, in 1993, at the age of fourteen, she started her turning first to pass the Category ‘A’ Tests (which was a German equivalent of NEWTs) under her own name, then officially change said name to Elizabeth Northon and train as a mediwitch for the next two years (jumping back in time for twenty-four hours every day), and after that stay permanently in Germany, working for a year as an intern and another three as a surgeon. Yes, in October 1999, at the age of twenty-two, she jumped back to September 1993 and moved to France, legally changed her name to Viletta Rivett and started her apprenticeship under the famous in Europe DADA Mistress and a cursebreaker Françoise Belmont that lasted for three years, two of which she lived in France permanently and during the last returned to Hogwarts for the fifth year and once again jumped back every day. Yes, her younger self is still living and working in Germany. No, she doesn’t know how or when the war ended, she deliberately was not looking, not that there was much time for it. Yes, at the beginning of last July, at the age of twenty-five, she jumped back several months, travelled to America, changed her name to Mary Birmingham and started a new apprenticeship in arithmancy, jumping back every day during this school year. Yes, she turned twenty-eight yesterday, and “thank you, Molly”. No, she’s not going to continue the scam now when they all know. No, she’s not afraid of Azkaban because all her actions concerning time turning have been and still are consistent with the official permission issued by the ministry that she signed in 1993, and “Minerva, would you be so kind as to expel me from this institution today, please?” Severus listened in complete awe. He already knew some of the story, including many details that Hermone didn’t mention, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t rip his eyes from her small figure, couldn’t help but catch her every word, admiring her ability to command the audience. What was happening with him? When the topic of Hermone’s age was finally exhausted, everybody turned their attention to Severus, so he had to report his last news of the Dark Lord’s activities and plans, which didn’t take long because there wasn’t much to report. The explanations about why Draco Malfoy was even mentioned by the Dark Lord took a lot more time and effort from Minerva’s side to keep some semblance of order because, “Of course, the saint Dumbledore couldn’t have possibly done something so foolish…” It was already after 1 am when Tonks brought pouting Potter into the office. Upon noticing Hermione, the stupid boy froze for a second, and then exclaimed angrily, “YOU!” And then stubbornly refused to speak while she or Severus were present. What a fool. Minerva looked apologetically at them both in turns, and opened her mouth to no doubt ask them both to leave, lest they would still be sitting here come morning, but Hermione beat her to it. She rose from her chair and glanced at Severus who followed suit. “I’m exhausted, aren’t you, dear?” she asked, smiling at him. It made Severus’ heart rate jump, but he forced himself to keep it together — ignoring astonished faces around — and agreed. “Let’s go then," continued Hermione. "Minerva, we’ll talk tomorrow.” “Uh, yes, of course. I’ll keep you updated. Thank you both for understanding,” replied McGonagall, and then turned to Potter brat, “At least somebody's acting according to their age.” The murmurs of the general agreement, Potter’s protests and the rest of the conversation were lost, as Severus and Hermione exited the office and slowly stepped onto the moving staircase. Hermione put her hand into the crook of his elbow and took a deep breath. “You have no idea how glad I am that I don’t have to listen to that story,” she paused for a moment. “But even more so that this bloody day is finally over.” “Can image…” “No. No, you really can’t.”