Hermione plopped down her textbook in Transfiguration lessons the following morning and sighed wearily. She took her seat and leaned her face onto her hand, glancing up to the front of the classroom. Professor McGonagall was busily discussing something with Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. Behind her, a piece of chalk was writing something on its own upon the blackboard. Hermione narrowed her eyes and read,

'Advanced Human Transfiguration - Alteration of the features.'

She groaned a little, thinking back to the previous year when they'd spent ages on the topic. Human transfiguration was enormously difficult, and Hermione remembered how much trouble they'd all had with the topic. She glanced down to her desk and for the first time noticed the tarnished silver hand mirrors at each workspace, and she groaned again under her breath.

Neville Longbottom came into the room and slumped into the chair beside her, and Hermione greeted him grumpily, pointing up to the chalkboard and frowning.

"Oh, no…" Neville scowled. "I'm no good at all at Human Transfiguration. I'm never in a million years going to pass this N.E.W.T. Professor McGonagall is just too difficult…"

Hermione pinched her lips and decided to read over the topic in her textbook before lessons got started. She lifted up her book and opened it up, scanning through the pages in search of the section on Human Transfiguration. She let out a quiet little gasp when a small note fell out from in between the front cover and the first page, and she set the book down and looked and the scrap of parchment.

'H - I truly am sorry for being a beast yesterday in lessons. Meet me after dinner in the clock tower, and I promise I shall make it up to you. - S.'

Hermione flicked her eyes about the Transfiguration classroom, lingering beside her on Neville, who was engrossed in his own textbook. He was trying to figure out how to turn his hair blonde and curly. Hermione swallowed heavily and re-read the note four times before folding it into a small square and tucking it into the pocket of her robes. She was suddenly far less concerned with anything Professor McGonagall could throw at her than she had been before.

Truly, she was not still angry with Severus for how he'd embarrassed her in Potions lessons the day before. No one had mentioned it today except for Pansy Parkinson. The Slytherin girl had confronted Hermione on the way out of Transfiguration lessons and sneered,

"Nice work fixing the slope of your nose, Granger. Too bad it's only temporary. Would have been one thing to make the Headmaster happy, eh?" She and Millicent Bulstrode had laughed cruelly, and Hermione had flat-out ignored them.

She'd frowned a bit, though, as she'd freshened up before dinner. She thought back to how he'd cocked his eyebrows at her in the Potions classroom, being deliberately condescending in front of everyone else, how he'd exaggerated the seriousness of her mistake. It was all so that he wouldn't seem to be granting her any favoritism, he'd said, but of course it had instead been terribly unkind and insulting. Hermione's bottom lip poked out in a small pout as she raked a comb through her messy hair and tamed it into a low ponytail before washing up.

She thought of Ginny, of how a clock was ticking on her friend's life, and she wondered what was happening to the girl at this very moment. If only Hermione had some reassurance that Ginny was all right, or at least that she was alive. But there were no reassurances anymore, Hermione knew, and the sooner she started to accept that, the sooner she'd stop crying and fretting like a bloody fool.

She slipped her loafers back onto her feet and made her way up to the Great Hall, taking her place among her fellow Gryffindors and poking absently at her mince pie. She found she had little appetite tonight, for she felt acutely nervous. She glanced up to Severus more than once, and every time she did she caught him staring down at her thoughtfully. He always flicked his gaze away the moment she made eye contact with him, but Hermione wondered what the devil he was thinking about, and what it was he had planned in the Clock Tower.

When at last Severus dismissed the students from their meal, she lingered behind and let everyone else make their way out before she gathered up her things. Severus had briskly walked from the Great Hall and snuck out a back doorway, and Hermione knew he would already be up in the Clock Tower by the time she got there.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she made her way to the Clock Tower entrance. She skirted around the massive swinging pendulum and spared a glance toward the portrait of Damara Dodderidge - the same portrait she'd spoken with over a year ago, the night she'd encountered Severus when she'd been sneaking down to the kitchens.

She began trekking up one of the wooden sets of stairs, climbing ever higher past the slowly swaying rod of the pendulum. She passed the landing that led to the Hospital Wing, continuing upward to the fifth floor, the deserted landing that was filled with huge iron clock mechanisms. Here were the gigantic bells, gold and copper, and the large round gears that turned slowly to power the clock.

Severus was silhouetted against the twilight where he stood, his blackoutline a shadowy, eerie figure in the dusk. Hermione swallowed resolutely as she walked toward him, her heart still pounding from climbing the stairs so quickly. His face came into view in the dim purple light of the sunset as she neared him, though there were shadows cast upon his face by the gears and bells behind him.

"Hello," she greeted him in a murmur, and he nodded in return with no discernible expression upon his stony face. Hermione shrugged and pulled the paper from her pocket, the one he'd slipped into her Transfiguration textbook. "I got your note."

Severus snorted and rolled his coal-black eyes. "Obviously… or else it could be presumed that the Clock Tower is a place you frequent nightly. I thought you might fancy a change of scenery."

Hermione chewed her lip at his slight, and then she said rather forcefully, "So I'm here for an apology, then?"

She didn't let him know that she wasn't still angry with him. After all, he'd just been rude. Again. He nodded once more and reached into his own pocket, pulling out a small clear glass phial and holding it up into the dim evening light.

"What's that?" Hermione pressed nervously. Severus cleared his throat and answered,

"Argutoserum. Perfectly brewed, I might add… I finely chopped my moondew petals and everything." He smirked down at Hermione, who frowned as she wondered how exactly taunting her with an example of 'I'm-better-than-you-at-Potions' could possibly serve as a proper apology. But then Severus plucked the cork from the phial and tipped it back into his mouth, downing the serum.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in surprise as she remembered the description of the Argutoserum from the textbook. 'The consumer of this potion is liable to blurt out statements which happen to be true, but are quite embarrassing and are things the drinker would not say without consuming Argutoserum.'

She suddenly realized he had secrets that she might not want to hear. The things he might 'blurt out' on Argutoserum went far beyond an 'apology.' This seemed foolish. It seemed dangerous. Hermione gasped and said quickly, "I'm going to leave now, Severus. Goodbye."

She turned to hurry away from him, afraid of what he might say. But Severus reached out and grabbed her wrist hard, whirling her back around to face him. She stared up into his face, searching for evidence of intoxication or lack of clarity in his mind. He looked sober and serious as he cupped her jaw in his palm and touched his calloused lips to hers.

"I thought I knew what it meant to be in love," he murmured, and his fingertips reached around to pull Hermione's tie from her hair. He combed out her ponytail and raked his fingers through her waves as he continued, frowning, "I thought I was in love with Lily. I loved her. Truly, I loved her, so much that my Patronus is the same as hers. I'm not sure if I ever told you that. But I wasn't in love with her, because she did not love me back. She never could, you know, and I scarcely blame her. I have absolutely no idea what is wrong with you, that you love me. Perhaps you're lying, and you don't love me at all. Or perhaps you're just a little fool. I don't know."

"Severus, please don't do this," Hermione begged, feeling hot tears searing in her eyes. A pain was coming over her, real and awful, and it belonged to him. "This isn't apologizing, and, anyway, I wasn't angry. I'm going to go to the library; I've an essay to work on…"

"I only joined Dumbledore to try to save her," Severus said, and then his eyes went wide as he realized what he'd said. Hermione felt her mouth open further, and then a look of odd relief crossed Severus' face. His voice changed a little and Hermione realized it was not the potion making him speak as he clarified, "I promised Dumbledore I would do anything to protect Lily… when I realized the prophecy was going to get her killed. I defected to save Lily."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione heard the weakness in her own voice, felt herself take a step backward, away from Severus. She shook her head and said forcefully, "You told me to come up here so that you could 'Make it up to me.' What are you doing, Severus?"

He blinked quickly, looking confused with himself. But more truth began spilling forth, and his hands reached for her wrists to keep her from leaving. "I joined the Death Eaters so that I would finally feel as though I were a part of something. Accepted. Wanted. I'd never felt that, never in my life. I didn't have an active hatred of Muggle-borns, but I went along with it for my own selfish reasons. I liked the Dark Arts. I still do. There's an allure to them, Hermione -"

"Stop it, Severus!" Hermione ripped her wrists out of his hands and stumbled backward so hard that she fell onto the ground. She scrambled quickly to her feet and made to dash from the Clock Tower, pointing an accusatory finger at Severus. "Do not follow me. I don't wish to speak with you anymore tonight," she insisted, and Severus obeyed her, stopping dead in his tracks and halting where he stood.

As she turned to go, Hermione felt hurt tears boiling up and out of her eyes, cascading down her cheeks, and she had to pause to wipe them away so that she could see well enough to descend the steps. Behind her, she heard Severus' low, velvet voice say,

"You should not be surprised by any of that, Hermione. It's all unpleasant, and it's all true, but you should not be surprised. You've known me for years, and there's no use glossing over… in any case, there's a single truth I've wanted to tell you for some time, a truth I have not had the courage to voice without the rather puerile assistance of a truth serum."

Hermione turned around to look at him, having difficulty making out his face now that distance had once again silhouetted him against the dark purple light of the sunset. She watched as he stalked toward her like a cat, and his face came into focus, sharp and cold. He stared down at her for a brief moment and then he slowly put his hand to her throat, stroking the skin there with his calloused fingertips. Hermione shut her eyes and shivered as she listened to him speak, his voice hoarse and uncontrolled as the Argutoserum dissolved all his filters.

"The first day I touched you, I knew I was terribly in love with you. Even before then, I was attracted to you, and I felt guilty for it. There was a night - I doubt it matters as much to you as it does to me - but there was a night that Gryffindor beat Slytherin in a Quidditch match. You were upset because Lavender Brown was off snogging Ronald Weasley."

Hermione felt a clutch of pain in her chest at the mention of Ron, at the memory of jealousy over Lavender's relationship with him. She vividly recalled hiding out in a classroom, trying not to let anyone else see her adolescent agony. She nodded against Severus' hand. "I remember," she whispered. "You burst into the room with your wand drawn and you stared at me for a very long time. I thought something was the matter with you…"

"And all I could think about was that, somehow, when I wasn't looking, you'd turned into a dreadfully beautiful woman." Severus' voice cracked uncharacteristically, and Hermione opened her eyes worriedly to see him lick his bottom lip and let out a shaking breath. He continued stroking her throat, and then his fingers trailed down to her collarbone and began brushing over the skin there, back and forth between her shoulders. He spoke again, more steadily. "And I invited you to do wandless magic lessons because the things I was hearing at Death Eater meetings made me terrified for you. Of course, any Muggle-born would be affected by the new policies, but your face was all I could imagine whenever some new horror was mentioned. I had to teach you to protect yourself. You were more than able, I knew, because you're a brilliant witch, Hermione. And indeed you were, from the very start… throwing a damned hex at me so that I was bent over in the most delicious agony a man has ever felt… do you know what that was like, by the way?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and Hermione felt a tear worm its way down her cheek as she laughed guiltily and shook her head, remembering the day she'd cast the Interminagaudens hex at poor Severus. Her cheeks colored even now with embarrassment. "No," she admitted, shaking her head. "I can't imagine… I'm so sorry."

"Endless gratification, so delicious it was almost painful, and at your hand, no less. Then minutes later I was kissing you. I couldn't help myself. But it had nothing to do with the hex. I was impressed with you. And I was in love with you, even that day."

Hermione flicked her eyes downward and saw a bit of tenting in the material of Severus' black trousers. She was unsurprised that he was erect; she could feel arousal swirling back and forth between them at the memory of their first kiss. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and took a step nearer him, putting her hands upon his frock coat. She knew this potion did not act the same was as Veritaserum, that it was not an interrogation potion, but she could not keep herself from asking him,

"Did you like it? The first time you took me?"

He let out a quivering breath and dropped his head, almost in defeat. He nodded and raised his black eyes to her seriously. "Of course I liked it," he murmured, "and every touch of you since then has kept me alive, more than food or water or air. I can not live without you, I'm afraid, and it's nothing to do with the Magnum Verbum Honoris. I feel weakened by my addiction to you, and yet strengthened by your presence. It is an odd paradox, one I can not quite reconcile. All I know is that I love you - I am in love with you - and at very long last I truly understand what that means."

Hermione felt a sudden sharp pain in her left arm, and she glanced worriedly up at Severus to see him wince in discomfort.

"I have to go," he said, and he pulled a small bottle of truth serum antidote from his frock coat, quickly uncorking and downing it.

Smart, Hermione thought absently, to bring that with him, too. But, then, Severus is a smart man.

He stood there for a long moment and gazed down at Hermione before saying, "Today is Saturday."

Hermione frowned. "No, it isn't. It's Wednesday."

Severus rolled his eyes and huffed, "Of course it's Wednesday, you silly girl. I needed to make sure I could lie before I leave."

"Oh. Yes, of course," Hermione nodded, clearing her throat as she felt him press a careful kiss to her forehead. Then she watched him descend the wooden stairs from the Clock Tower, his black robe billowing majestically behind him.

The pain with which Severus' Dark Mark was burning was more intense than he ever remembered. He could not recall a time when the summoning had been this strong, this angry. So it was with deep apprehension that he made his way across the grounds of Malfoy Manor, which were quickly fading into autumnal wilt.

He opened the front doors, decisively moving through the entryway and climbing the stone stairs as the pain in his arm mercifully began to fade. He stepped into the dining room to see Voldemort sitting at the head of the table. Also seated were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley and Rowle. Severus silently took a seat and waited in uncomfortable quiet as Thorfinn, Rosier, Macnair, and a few others filtered into the room. He watched as the snake Nagini slithered up onto the table.

Throwing up all of his Occlumency defenses at once, Severus remembered that the snake was a Horcrux - or, at least, he was relatively certain that the snake was a Horcrux. He began contemplating how the snake could be killed. He could think of no easy way of separating it from its master.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, his voice a low reptilian hiss. He sounded more angry than usual tonight, a fact that filled Severus with a great sense of unease.

"My friends…" Voldemort began, stroking Nagini's head with an odd grace, "Earlier this evening the Manor was paid a visit by a special guest."

Severus felt a sinking feeling as he wondered whether Potter had dared to come to confront the Dark Lord, to try to fetch Ginny Weasley himself. Or, he thought, had Molly Weasley come for her daughter? In any case, his veins ran cold as he waited to hear what had happened.

"Narcissa, dear, tell me how it is that the House-Elf 'Dobby' left your employ." Voldemort shot Narcissa Malfoy an almost bored expression, continuing to stroke Nagini. Narcissa, her eyes flashing with terror, gulped and said,

"My Lord, years ago, L-Lucius was tricked into handing the elf a… a sock."

"A sock." Voldemort repeated. Around the table, Death Eaters tittered and laughed as they realized the disgraced Lucius Malfoy had been tricked into freeing his own Elf. But Severus knew better, and he watched silently as Voldemort gave an angry hiss around the table. "Silence!"

The snickering died at once. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes went wide and she swallowed visibly again. "My Lord," she continued, shaking her head minutely, "It was Potter. He tricked Lucius into handing Dobby a sock, and the wicked little creature attacked Lucius immediately."

"I see." Voldemort nodded. "And so now the Elf belongs to no one! He is a free House-Elf! But, the little thing undoubtedly bears great affection for The Boy Who Tricked Lucius Malfoy Into Handing Him A Sock. No doubt whatsoever about that. It is my understanding that Dobby the House-Elf has been employed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past several years… so I am told by the Carrows. Is this true, Severus?"

"It is," Severus admitted, "though I am made to understand the Elf has been seen in the Hog's Head, drinking butterbeers with Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Ah! Then this next bit should come as no surprise, either!" Voldemort said. His voice grew soft and menacing as his pale eyes made contact with every pair around the table. Severus wondered if he was using Legilimency on each Death Eater as he spoke, and he strengthened his mental defenses. Voldemort said, "Earlier tonight, there was a great commotion in the room where Ginevra Weasley was being held. When the door was thrown open by the guards, who was seen Disapparating straight out of the room but Dobby the House-Elf, taking dear Ginny Weasley with him. 'You shall never have Harry Potter!' the little House-Elf cried, and with a snap of his little Elven fingers, he and the girl were gone! Where they have gone, no one can say!"

A low murmur erupted around the table as everyone seemed to realize at once that their prisoner had escaped, that Potter had managed to manipulate his allies into fetching his girlfriend from the Manor.

"Mulciber, Thorfinn, and Rowle," Voldemort said smoothly, "I want you to go straight to Hogsmeade. Bring me Aberforth Dumbledore. I wish to know precisely how many butterbeers little Dobby has had at the Hog's Head recently… and whether Aberforth knows anything about Potter's whereabouts."

Mulciber, Thorfinn, and Rowle quickly rose from their seats and dashed from the room, leaving the rest of the table in stunned silence. Severus struggled to keep his face impassive and blank, to show no emotion whatsoever. He tried not to demonstrate any alarm when Voldemort turned to the Malfoys and said,

"Lucius… the day you handed that damned House-Elf a sock, you sealed your fate once and for all. I've shown you mercy so many times I could properly be labeled a fool for it. Your family has proven to be nothing but a burden to me. Except for this…" He gestured around at his luxuriant surroundings and mumbled, "I shall keep the house, and everything and everyone inside of it. But as for you, Lucius… any usefulness you bore me was exhausted years ago. You are now utterly pointless to me."

A look of deep fear crossed Lucius' prematurely aged face as both he and Narcissa (and everyone else at the table) realized that Voldemort was about to kill him. But then Severus saw a dull gaze of consideration in Voldemort's eyes. The Dark Lord was anything but merciful, but he was shrewd and intelligent. If he outright murdered Lucius Malfoy, he would enrage Narcissa, who was the sister of Bellatrix (his most loyal follower). Lucius was also a longtime friend of most of the most useful Death Eaters. A Killing Curse pointed at Lucius Malfoy tonight would be counterproductive at best.

Voldemort sniffed a little and waved his hand dismissively. "Get out of my sight, Lucius. I do not wish to sully my field of vision with your morose face. Go. Leave me."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius whispered, pushing his chair backward and quickly rising, stumbling from the dining room with a mixture of drink and terrified relief.

The morning of Hallowe'en dawned with a cold rain that cast an unfriendly gloom all over the grounds of Hogwarts. Hermione felt the wet chill go straight to her bones as she marched in silence down the slippery staircases from Advanced Arithmancy lessons and made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. Her mind was numb after a particularly challenging lesson with Professor Vector.

The last month had passed in relative quiet, with only the occasional jolt of terrible reality. Every now and then, a student for whom Hermione bore some level of good will would be assigned detentions, and in the New Era of Hogwarts, that meant unholy curses and tortures of the worst kind, usually at the hands of the Carrows. The school had come down with a desperate sort of malaise that seemed to cast shadows into every nook and cranny.

Hermione felt tired, as though no amount of sleep were sufficient. She felt weak, as though energy were being constantly sapped from her. And she could see the same in Severus - the way the bags beneath his eyes had grown darker and heavier. He was looking older by the day, she thought… more weary. Today, more so than most other days, the despair was heavy and oppressive.

She slipped on a patch of wet slime on a stone step as she descended a spiral staircase from the Arithmancy classroom and landed square upon her bum, sliding down five or six stairs painfully. She grunted with exasperation as her books went flying, sending parchments sailing through the air like snowflakes before they settled upon the wet steps and absorbed water. She gasped and snatched at them, hurriedly trying to dry them with spells from her wand, but it was no use. Four or five sheets' worth of ink were irreparably blurred, and the work would have to be redone.

Hermione was in a properly sour mood, therefore, when she yanked out the bench at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and tossed her bag down beside her.

"All right, Hermione?" asked Neville Longbottom carefully. Hermione scowled until she saw the look of genuine concern upon her old friend's face. Beside him, Seamus Finnigan glanced up from his meat and potato pasty, also looking alarmed. Hermione tried to soften her expression, realizing she must look awfully snippy in her foul mood. There was no helping the wild frizz atop her head in this rain, she knew, which probably was only helping her look less sane.

She sighed and said gently, "I'm sorry, Neville… I'm fine. I slipped and fell on the stairs, and -"

"LUNA LOVEGOOD!"

Hermione whirled around her shoulder, her eyes going wide in shock as Alecto Carrow came storming into the Great Hall and thundered her way toward the Ravenclaw table. All conversation in the Hall fell immediately silent as the stern-faced Dark witch snarled and held up a copy of The Quibbler, the wizarding tabloid published by Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood. Hermione felt her heart sink a bit.

Xenophilius Lovegood had always published some mad articles in The Quibbler, but it had always been harmless drivel - until this year. Of late, she understood, his articles had become radically dissenting against the New Order… dangerously so. Xenophilius was actively speaking out in favor of Harry Potter, and against Lord Voldemort. It was going to put Xenophilius - or Luna - in serious danger.

Sure enough, Alecto Carrow, jabbed her bony finger at the cover of the tabloid and hissed loudly, "You stupid girl! Have you any idea what your idiot father has gone and published now?"

"Well, Professor Carrow," Luna said with a preternatural calm, setting her fork down and swallowing the bite she had been chewing, "I had not discussed this issue with him… but I can read the cover. 'SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NIGHT HARRY POTTER DEFEATED YOU-KNOW-WHO.' Hmm. Yes… that wasHallowe'en, all those many years ago, wasn't it, Professor Carrow?"

Luna looked almost nostalgic, giving a serene smile to Alecto Carrow, and Hermione felt a surge of fear trickle through her veins as Alecto growled and whipped her wand from her robes. She Vanished the copy of The Quibbler. When she spoke, the entire Hall could hear, for the place had gone deathly silent.

"You would do well to tell your treacherous father that this filth has no place being printed, you little fool," Alecto said, and she pointed her wand at Luna. "Crucio!"

Hermione gasped in horror as Luna crumpled to the floor from the Ravenclaw bench, convulsing and shrieking in a manner Hermione had never heard from the perpetually gentle girl. Her pale, smooth hands curled into claws, clutching at the floor until Hermione could hear her nails scraping against the stones hideously. Her long, blonde hair fell in front of her face, partially obscuring the demonic expressions of pain crossing her usually sedate features.

Hermione's mind screamed for it to stop, and she nearly flew from the bench in a misguided effort to save Luna. She looked up to the Headmaster's Chair for Severus, but then her eyes flicked around when she saw he wasn't there. He was, in fact, already making his way toward the scene at the Ravenclaw table, and he silently flicked his wand at Luna Lovegood to release her from Alecto Carrow's Cruciatus Curse.

"I believe that will suffice, Professor Carrow," he said smoothly. Alecto frowned deeply at him and huffed as she turned on her foot, but Severus stood his ground and stared at her imperiously. The Great Hall stayed silent for a long, interminable, painful moment as hot tears of shame and rage boiled up into Hermione's eyes. She just wanted all of this madness to stop, for there to be no more awful pain or death for her friends or for anyone else.

She watched as Severus silently held out a hand, watched as Luna Lovegood struggled to stand, listened as she proudly but quietly murmured, "Thank you, Professor Snape."

And then she heard her husband sneer, "Do tell your deranged father that it would be in his best interest to immediately cease publication of his insane and scandalous tabloid, Miss Lovegood."

Then, with a haughty snap, Severus adjusted his sleeves and sauntered briskly away from Luna, leaving her standing with a bloody lip and a bruised cheekbone in the middle of the silent Great Hall, with hundreds of hushed faces ogling her.

"I don't see how that could possibly work, Severus. No one is in the mood for it. Not at all."

"I realize that. It was not my idea." Severus poured a rather liberal amount of Elf-made wine and sipped at the blood-red liquid, savoring its woody tones.

"Well, whose was it?" Hermione held out her empty glass to him, and he poured hers only halfway full. She cocked an eyebrow and stood waiting until he added another inch of liquid to her glass with an impatient sigh.

"Horace Slughorn's," he admitted finally. "The old man said he could no longer stand the gloom around this place. 'The school's gone properly funereal,' he told me… he said when he 'fell asleep' the place was fine, and when he woke up it was as though Dementors had gotten to everyone."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Well, I can see what he means," she said, taking a long sip of her wine. Severus watched her drink, staring at her as she gazed into the fire. A little of the glint in her chestnut eyes had gone out the past few weeks. She looked world-worn, he realized, as though the combination of Ronald Weasley's death and the stress of worrying over Harry Potter had taken its toll on her very being.

Then there had been the fact that she'd stayed up long nights fretting over whether there were more Horcruxes, and, if there were, where they might be. She had many ideas, she'd told him, though she'd seemed reluctant to share until she was more certain on how to find and destroy them. Right now, she'd said, she had only loose hunches, nothing concrete. She'd also been obsessively reading her copy of Ende of Deth. The only thing of note in the past month to come of that book had been an illustration of the Elder Wand, which Hermione had noted looked remarkably like the wand Albus Dumbledore had always used.

But even then, they weren't yet entirely sure what to do with that information, and Dumbledore had been interred with his wand. So, they'd just ruminated on more hunches, more gut feelings, letting the facts and notions and ideas and dreams seep into their veins and wear them down. They were both tired, very tired, and frustrated. He knew she was frustrated; he could feel it in his bones, shot into him straight from her very core. And he knew that she could sense how exhausted he was from having to perpetuate his image as a loyal Death Eater. Not only pretending to be a wicket Headmaster, but actually carrying out the deeds of one… it was truly draining, both for him and for her.

For the first time, Severus had to wonder if he'd done Hermione an enormous disservice by making the vow of Magnum Verbum Honoris. They were exhausting one another with their mutual fatigue, their shared depression. They were wearing on one another instead of building one another up.

And now, just today at lunch, two rather awful things had happened which conspired to make Severus' life even worse. First, Alecto Carrow had confronted Luna Lovegood - and tortured the poor girl - without asking Severus' permission. He'd freed the girl from the Cruciatus, but he'd still had to maintain a cold distance. Of course, all he could think of as Luna Lovegood had writhed in agony on the ground was the day in Diagon Alley when he'd disguised himself with a youth potion, when Luna had been the only one to recognize him with Hermione.

'I am not sure if I'll ever know all the details, sir, or the truth at all. But I know you're not a murderer, sir.'

Then Severus had been cruel to her; he'd shot back sarcastically, 'Thank you, Miss Lovegood. Your confidence means everything to me.'

Now, standing in his quarters with Hermione, he found himself sipping his Elf-made wine awfully quickly as he thought back to how poorly Luna Lovegood had been treated, by a great many people, very often by himself. The way she'd looked with her face contorted in agonizing pain. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine and sipped again.

"How exactly does Professor Slughorn think that a ball is going to cheer anyone up? Has he ever met teenaged girls? All they do at balls is cry about their dresses, and about their dates. This is a terrible idea," Hermione scoffed and swigged at her own wine, plopping down into a wingback chair.

Ah, yes. The damned ball. That was the other awful thing that had happened today. Horace Slughorn had come storming into his office, unannounced and uninvited. The old wizard had only been out of the hospital wing for a few days, but he still didn't seem entirely right in the head, if Severus was honest. Slughorn had complained about the dour state of Hogwarts, about how his sour-faced students were performing worse-than-usually in Potions lessons.

"What we need, my dear boy, is a good party!" Slughorn had insisted, and Severus had been unable to conceal the unmitigated disgust on his face. Behind him, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore had cackled rather gleefully and agreed,

"Oh, quite right, Horace! I do think some merrymaking is well-called-for just about now. These poor students have had little joy, I'm afraid."

"I do not recall asking your opinion, Headmaster," Severus had sneered over his shoulder, and the portrait of Dumbledore pinched its wrinkled lips in a shame-faced grin. Severus had turned back to Horace Slughorn and shrugged. "I fail to see how that will 'lighten the mood,' and why that should even be a primary goal. And, anyway, I do not care for such events."

"But it isn't for you!" Slughorn had insisted. "It is for the students! And, come now, you know I enjoy such events. Allow me to plan it! It shall be just like my Slug Club parties, only scaled up so all might attend! I've been in a deep slumber for some time; I should enjoy the opportunity to have a rolicking good time at last."

Slughorn had flashed him a simpering smile then, and Severus had frowned deeply. Beneath that grin had been a reminder that it had been Hermione to cause the cauldron to fall upon Slughorn's head and nearly kill him. You owe me this damned party, Severus Snape, Slughorn's shit-eating grin seemed to say. So Severus had rolled his black eyes and grimaced and nodded.

"Well," Hermione prodded, "when is this ball, then? I need to get my dress in order."

"Two weeks," Severus told her. Then, just like he'd done earlier, he rolled his eyes and said, "Please do not go overboard with attire. I certainly shan't be."

"Oh, no… I wouldn't expect you to do so." Hermione sipped delicately at her wine, and Severus scowled at her, shifting his weight upon his feet.

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Oh," Hermione said tightly, looking up at him as though she had just noticed him standing there. She took another sip of wine, scanned her eyes up and down the length of him, and said, "I just mean… well, you wear the same thing every day, essentially, so…"

Severus felt his cheeks color. "That does not mean I am incapable of dressing formally," he clipped. Hermione grinned and held out her empty wine glass to request a refill. Severus flicked his wand boredly at the wine bottle and directed it to pour Elf-made wine into her glass, sighing gruffly, "I own very formal clothing, you know. I have dressed quite poshly in my day."

"Well, of course you have," Hermione agreed, downing her wine in three big gulps. She spoke condescendingly, and Severus pursed his lips, feeling irritated. She didn't sound very convinced, after all, and it bothered him for a reason he couldn't pin down. She thought he was boring, and, worse that that, she thought it was funny that he was boring. He sighed.

"You just wait, little girl." Severus set his wine glass down on the mantle and put his finger beneath her chin, tipping it up toward him. Suddenly her chestnut eyes went wide, and he marveled to see the old familiar glint come back to them all at once, the old heat. He smirked and said, "You put on your pretty little dress and your high-heeled shoes. You do hair hair up in shiny curls and put on your lipstick. And you just wait until you see your husband. Hmph."

He lowered his face as though he meant to kiss her, and he heard her breath quicken in her nostrils. But then he let out a soft little laugh and pulled his face away, hearing Hermione whimper in disappointment.

"Do me up, would you, please, Parvati?"

Hermione had returned to the Gryffindor girls' dormitory to prepare for Professor Slughorn's Autumn Ball. She'd talked to Lavender and Parvati about it a few days earlier and had asked the girls if they'd mind terribly helping her with her hair and makeup.

"Of course, Hermione!" Lavender had said happily. "Just because you're a married woman doesn't mean friends can't help you primp yourself up!"

Hermione had smiled gratefully, but had thought it odd that Lavender had referred to herself and Hermione as 'friends.' Perhaps they had been 'friendly,' Hermione thought, but even after (or perhaps especially after) six years living in the same room, she and Lavender and Parvati did not exactly share a deep and abiding sisterhood.

If Hermione was honest, it was Ginny Weasley's advice she wanted tonight as she got ready for the ball. Ginny, after all, had never been one to agonize between the subtle differences between shades of lipstick. But Ginny had always managed to look nice for events - classy and pulled-together. Hermione missed her tonight more than she'd done in weeks, and a bitter tear wormed its way to her eye as Lavender said,

"Now suck your cheeks in - like this!"

Hermione watched as Lavender pulled an odd face to demonstrate how to emphasize one's cheekbones for proper blusher application, and Hermione furrowed her eyebrows but mimicked the odd motion. Lavender dabbed a giant fluffy brush over Hermione's face, and once again Hermione wondered where Ginny and Harry were. Where they together? Had Dobby managed to get Ginny to wherever Harry was? Where they alive? Safe? Healthy? And how the blazes could she help them? After weeks of searching her mind and her books, she felt that she'd hit dead end after dead end… that she was useless in the quest to vanquish Voldemort.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She turned her distracted face up to Lavender, who was holding out a rhinestone-encrusted mirror to Hermione for approval. Hermione looked at her reflection and felt a bit of relief come over her. Her face didn't look bad. In fact, it looked quite nice. Lavender had done her eyes in a smoky, charcoal sort of look. Her eyeliner flicked out in a cat-eye appearance, and her mascara was heavy and serious. Her lips were a matte red, with a prominent Cupid's bow shaped carefully by Lavender's experienced hand. Her cheeks had just the right flush of color.

For her dress, Hermione had chosen an off-the-shoulder, black gown made of a metallic-woven silk. It fitted her frame perfectly and then slunk to the ground heavily, with a rather scandalous slit working its way up her thigh. She wore high-heeled black velvet pumps and a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her hair had been tamed into a sleek cascade of waves around her shoulders.

"Hermione!" Parvati gasped as she walked into the girls' bathroom, "You look like a… a… what do the Muggles call it? A 'bombshell'!"

"Oh, I think your husband's going to be very pleased," Lavender giggled, and Hermione gasped and swatted at her shoulder playfully. The other girls looked very nice as well, having donned formal attire and an obscene amount of makeup and jewelry.

But as Hermione made her way to the cleared-out Great Hall for Slughorn's party, she couldn't help but wonder what her friends would wear if they were here. She thought back to the Yule Ball in their Fourth Year, to the way Neville Longbottom had struggled so hard to learn to dance, only to clumsily step all over Ginny's toes once the night came. She thought of how both Harry and Ron had put off asking dates for so long. She thought of how poor Ron had been forced to wear old, moth-eaten dress robes that had humiliated him.

She sighed wistfully as she heard the strains of music coming from the Great Hall. She could still see them, all of them. The boys, looking awkward and unsure, and Ginny, her red hair swirling furiously as Neville spun her around. That night hadn't ended well… she wished it had ended better. It didn't matter now. None of them were here with her. And, far worse, she was not there for them.

At the very least, Slughorn had seemed to be right about the ability of a party to raise the spirits of the students who were at Hogwarts. Hermione watched as couples and groups of friends made their way into the Great Hall, grinning and giggling in ways she had not seen in months. Most of them ignored the fact that Amycus and Alecto Carrow were standing guard outside the Great Hall with sour frowns upon their faces. They marched right on by the Death Eater professors, proudly strutting on into the Great Hall in their formal finery, lured inside by the music.

Hermione held back and watched as a group of fourth-year Hufflepuff girls practically skipped into the Great Hall, all wearing brightly colored gowns. They didn't seem to have dates, and they didn't seem to care. They were reveling in one another's friendship, and that was enough to make them happy, if only for tonight. Hermione was simultaneously fiercely jealous and deeply relieved. It had been difficult to see Hogwarts dissolve into such doldrums over the past month. Still… seeing such blissful expressions of amiable relationships made her green with envy.

Finally, Hermione decided that the Headmaster's wife ought to make an appearance at the Potion professor's autumnal ball. She wondered distantly as she walked toward the Great Hall whether Severus was going to dance with her at all, and whether he would like her 'pretty little dress.'

Just as she was about to go inside, she heard a timid little voice behind her.

"Oh… hello, Hermione!"

She turned round to see Luna, who flicked a fearful glance far over Hermione's shoulder at Alecto Carrow before looking with feigned confidence back to Hermione.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione said kindly. "You look lovely!"

And, truly, Luna did, in her own unique way. She was wearing a rather oddly-shaped white dress that was fitted through the hips, and then billowed out into a series of poofs, each one a different color than the last. Her pale hair had been placed over one shoulder in a single thick braid, through which iridescent thin ropes had been woven. She wore glittery eye makeup and a silvery sort of lip shimmer. She looked almost as though a unicorn had met an alien, Hermione thought, though the results were oddly pretty.

Luna stepped close to Hermione and lowered her voice, smiling gently. "Have you been sleeping with the moss agate I gave you near your head?" she asked.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows but nodded fervently. "I have," she affirmed, "and I haven't been having nearly the nightmares I might have thought. Thank you, Luna. Truly."

Luna nodded knowingly. "I can tell you're sleeping at night," she said, "even though you look very tired. There are many types of exhaustion, you know. There's the kind where your body's tired, because you're not sleeping. But that's not what I see in your eyes. Your soul is tired. You're not having nightmares while you sleep, Hermione. You're living them during the day."

Hermione took a step backward from Luna suddenly and scowled deeply. "Luna," she began, shaking her head, but Luna continued,

"I know. I know what it feels like. Helpless." Then Luna sighed heavily, with not an ounce of tremble in her breath, and she smiled again at Hermione with an odd, preternatural calm. A peace came over her pale eyes as she said, "It was very kind of Professor Slughorn to throw this party for us. To distract us. Don't you think? Let's go inside and enjoy it!" And she held out her arm for Hermione, who took it and followed her friend into the Great Hall.

Hermione flicked her eyes around the expansive room searching for Severus, for his characteristic long cloak or the lines of his frock coat. For a good long moment, she couldn't find him among the crowd. She frowned a little as she wondered where he was, and then suddenly a smartly-dressed man turned round from a conversation with Professors Vector, Slughorn, and McGonagall. And there was his face - there he was - her husband.

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed happily beside Hermione. "The Headmaster looks very dignified tonight, doesn't he? Do you remember last year when I told you that you ought to dance with him at Professor Slughorn's party? Hm… perhaps tonight you shall!"

She smiled very warmly and patted Hermione's arm, and then she walked quietly away toward the long table filled with a series of floating chocolate fountains. Hermione felt her mouth drop open, and for a moment she watched Luna go before turning in awe back to the figure of Severus, who was gliding smoothly toward her.

It was as if there was no one else in the Great Hall, though of course there were many other people there. Hermione could see only him. He wore a perfectly tailored tailcoat, a crisp white dress shirt, a white waistcoat and bow tie, and slim-fitting dress black trousers. An asymmetrical black hip-length wool cape hung askew to his right side - the "wizarding" touch on his otherwise completely Muggle-style white tie ensemble.

Hermione stood stock still in place on the edge of the space that had been cleared for dancing. As Severus approached her, a few of the couples of dancing students paused or slowed to watch the Headmaster pass, giving him odd looks. Everyone else seemed just as surprised as Hermione to see him "out of uniform."

"Good evening, Ms. Granger," Severus said in a slick tone, flashing Hermione the smallest bit of a smirk as he stepped up to her. He was pretending, she could see, that he did not realize the eyes of the whole room were on him, were on her.

Hermione licked her bottom lip and whispered dryly, "You look very handsome tonight, Headmaster."

He cocked his head to the side rather slyly and quirked up one side of his mouth. "Not a bad effort from an old man who owns one set of clothing, eh?"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "You are not old," she mumbled, "and I happen to know you have an entire wardrobe full of clothing."

"Yes, well…" Severus said quietly, taking another step toward her but maintaining enough distance for public decency, "you look… splendid, Hermione. Beautiful."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled a little. She flicked her eyes to the side and saw Luna Lovegood standing at the snack table, filling a small glass with bubbling punch. Luna smiled and raised her glass happily to Hermione, who sighed wistfully and turned back to Severus. She chewed her lip. "You know," she said, "I'm not sure whether you recall or not. But about eight months ago, Luna Lovegood tried to convince me to ask you to dance up in Professor Slughorn's office… at the party."

Severus cocked an eyebrow. "How could a man possibly forget awkward Disillusioned swaying in a corridor?" he demanded.

Hermione nodded in conciliation. "Fair enough. I… would you care for a repeat performance?"

"More awkward Disillusioned swaying in a corridor? No." Severus shook his head firmly. "But I should like very much to take you out on this dance floor, as my wife, for a proper waltz, if you'll have me."

He held out his hand to her then, and Hermione felt a flutter of affection for him. She stared down at his hand for a long moment, and then up at his angular face, and in his black eyes she actually saw a glint of uncertainty, as though she might reject him. She smiled a bit and put her fingers in his palm delicately, and she followed him out onto the dance floor.

She knew every single person there was watching them as he confidently eased her right hand up to his chest height and wrapped his slender fingers firmly around hers. Hermione shivered and breathed through unwillingly parted lips, trying not to look like a wanton little girl with a crush as she stared into his dark eyes. She felt his right hand rest gently upon the small of her back, and she somehow managed to put her shaking left hand upon his shoulder. Then he started moving them in an elegant pattern upon the floor to the beat of the music, and Hermione whispered,

"Everyone is staring at us."

"I find myself utterly bereft of concern for their opinions, Ms. Granger," Severus murmured gently. "I have far too many important things to occupy my mind at the present time. You are aware of most of them… serious things, of course. None of them quite so serious as the matter of getting this blasted dress off of you the moment this accursed social event is over."

Hermione giggled quietly and tipped her head forward against his sternum, struggling to keep her movements fluid with his. She looked up at him again, admiring the way he'd managed to keep his face so grim even through his joke. She tried to erase her smile and she nodded gravely. "Yes," she agreed. "That is a serious matter indeed."

She danced three songs in a row with Severus before they both decided it would be best if they split up and conversed separately with people for a while… for appearance's sake. Hermione chatted with Neville, Luna, Hannah Abbott, Cho Chang, and about a dozen other students who were nothing but friendly to her. She talked with some of her professors - even a few of the ghosts who had made appearances. She was very grateful that Professor Slughorn had thought of trying to cheer everyone up, and she was shocked that it had worked. She was grateful that Severus had let Professor Slughorn throw his foolish little party.

And she was dreadfully heartbroken at the faces who weren't there to enjoy it.

The end of the night came too soon. The small string ensemble packed up their instruments, and the House-Elves' magic made short work of what was left of the snacks and beverages. Students filtered back to their dormitories in a slow but steady stream.

Hermione had been right, of course. There were plenty of fifteen-year-old girls crying because of 'boy problems,' and a great many young pubescent males scowling at one another, jealous over a girl. She found herself rather glad to be done with all of those adolescent dramatics. She watched her teenaged classmates leave in clumps, and she felt a great disconnect from them. Then she glanced back across the Great Hall to where her husband stood, resplendent in his white tie attire, watching over the room imperiously. She felt a tug toward him, and her feet carried her across the darkened expanse in his direction quite against her own will.

Her high heels clicked on the floor - clack, clack, clack - sounding obnoxiously loud now that the music had stopped playing and the conversations had died. She held her fluid black skirts up in bunched fists at her sides so she didn't trip, and she tried to walk with the grace of a woman as she neared Severus. He did not cross his arms over his chest as he so characteristically did; that would have pulled awkwardly at his fitted tuxedo jacket. Instead, he clasped his hands together in front of him and cocked his eyebrows in her direction as she approached.

"Extended curfew begins in ten minutes, Ms. Granger," Severus said in a low purr. "I suggest you make your way downstairs now."

Hermione felt her heart quicken in her chest a bit. She glanced beyond Severus, to where Professor Flitwick was arcing his wand about elegantly, taking down Professor Slughorn's autumnal decorations. The Great Hall was quickly returning to its normal state, and the general merriment the ball had brought on was fading fast. Somehow, Hermione thought, she wanted - needed - to preserve the momentary bliss that the stupid dance had given them all.

"And what time is the Headmaster's curfew?" Hermione asked playfully. Severus snorted and rolled his eyes a bit.

"You may expect me when my duties up here are completed," he pronounced in a bit of a clip. Then he jutted his chin toward the large wooden doors and said again, "Go. You are not exempt from the rules."

Hermione frowned a bit at him but nodded. She turned to leave, and then heard his silky voice again from behind her.

"Hermione."

She turned round, feeling her stomach quiver as he said her first name for the first time that evening. "Yes?" she whispered, still only a few feet from him. Severus stared down at her for a moment before he murmured, so softly that Hermione knew she was the only one who could hear him,

"Leave the dress on. I want to be the one to take it off."

Hermione stood in the small bathroom and stared at her made-up face in the mirror for a long moment. Her black-rimmed eyes were heavy with tiredness, and her lipstick had smudged a bit. She thought about touching up her cosmetics, but then she decided against it. Undoubtedly, Severus was only going to mess them up further.

She put the little rubber stopper into the drain of old white porcelain sink and filled the basin with warm water, submerging a white washcloth a bar of soap that smelled like lemon and sage. She swished the soap around until the water was cloudy, and then she wrung out the washcloth. She dragged it over her bare arms and shoulders and sighed with relief at the feel of it, of taking the day's grime from her skin.

She dipped the washrag into the filled basin of the sink again and wrung it out, watching as the milky water drizzled and plinked from the terrycloth. She shut her eyes and coursed the cloth over her face, letting at least some of her makeup stain the cloth as the warm water steamed her tired skin. Then she just stood, for a long and silent moment, with the warm cloth covering her eyes, and she let out a quivering breath.

Where was Ginny? Where was Harry? Were they alive? Were they safe? Were they together? Tonight she would be with Severus; would Ginny and Harry at least find comfort in one another's presence to sooth the terrible pain of Ron's loss? Did they even know that Ron was dead?

In the weeks since Ginny had escaped Malfoy Manor with Dobby, Severus had only been summoned once by Lord Voldemort. And at that singular meeting, the focus had apparently been on the happenings of Dolores Umbridge's atrocious wand confiscations through the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Only once had the subject of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter come up, when it was revealed that Aberforth Dumbledore was being held and interrogated. But, apparently, Severus was not to be privy to any more information than that.

So Hermione knew nothing. She did not know where her friends were, if they were still alive.

If they knew that Ron was dead.

She dunked and wrung the washcloth once more and dragged it softly around her face, trying to rid herself of the black blots from smeared mascara and the red shadow of old lipstick around her mouth.

How many Horcruxes were there? And where were they located? And what was the significance of Ende of Deth, the tome that contained multiple illustrations of what seemed clearly to be Albus Dumbledore's distinctive wand? Hermione's mind reeled as she cleaned her face. She reached rather anxiously for the stopped inside the sink and watched the cloudy water disappear in a swirl down the drain, listening to its final desperate gurgle as the basin emptied. She dabbed on a bit of cream to keep her skin from drying out, and then she stared into the mirror again, wondering how she was supposed to help. Whether she could help. Whether she was useless.

Then she heard the gentle sound of a door opening and closing - the door that led from their private quarters to Severus' old office - and she knew Severus was back from his duties upstairs. All he'd had to do, she thought dryly, was stand about and glare at everyone as decorations and food were Vanished, as students were safely tucked away into dormitories, and as other professors started rounds of the corridors. But, of course he'd made it sound as though he was going to be terribly busy before coming downstairs. Hermione knew better. She knew he'd been standing up there itching to make his way down to the dungeons, anxious to tear her dress frantically from her body and ravish her. She'd been able to see the hunger in his eyes all night.

She was a bit surprised, therefore, to see the calm in his dark eyes when he appeared in the threshold of the bathroom. He was still wearing his full white tie tuxedo, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat a little to see how handsome - how sexy - he looked in it. She huffed a bit to herself and turned back to the mirror, scrubbing at her face with the washcloth to remove a stubborn smudge of mascara from beneath her left eye.

In the mirror above the sink, she could see Severus' fingers go up to his neck and smoothly unfasten the button of his dress cape, which he unfurled from his form and lay gently across the edge of the claw-foot tub. He leaned rather nonchalantly against the doorframe and raked the fingers of his left hand through his raven hair as if relaxing for the first time all evening.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" Hermione asked finally, folding the washcloth and setting it down. She put her hands on the edge of the sink and raised her eyes up to the mirror, looking at Severus' reflection for an answer. He chuckled silently and shook his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

"Not nearly so bad as I'd feared," he admitted. He pulled himself from the doorjamb and stalked, cat-like, toward Hermione, his reflection growing larger as he approached. Then she could smell him, and she was intoxicated. Herbs and spices and wood and leather, all mingled together in a manly aroma that was just him, and Hermione felt desire boil up in her throat. She knew he could sense that she wanted him… or perhaps she was sensing his desire.

She had long since determined that their arousal was very usually mutual and therefore it didn't matter whose was whose. Almost immediately within an encounter, their wants became shared and tangled and amplified each other's.

Hermione could feel her breath grow shallow and quick through her nostrils as the heat of his taller form pressed against her back. She stared at their reflection in the mirror above the sink to see his onyx eyes coursing over her form. He reached down and took her right hand in his and raised them up, bringing her knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently. Hermione shivered as he murmured against their hands,

"I would have been utterly miserable tonight, to be certain… except that I was entranced by the presence of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Hermione watched as her own eyes suddenly rimmed red with unsolicited emotion, as all the sentiment she'd been stifling for the entire night boiled up and let itself out. A lone tear glided down her cheek. Just as it was about to tumble from her jaw, Severus released Hermione's hand and reached his slender fingers out to catch the tear, brushing it away and cupping her jaw in his palm.

"You said you weren't going to 'go overboard with attire,'" Hermione teased him gently, and she leaned back meaningfully against the crisp white dress shirt that sat so smartly beneath his tailcoat. Severus smirked.

"I didn't."

"That's a right load of bollocks," Hermione giggled softly. "You look as though you were hosting a state dinner… it isn't fair. To show up dressed like that and dance with me the way you did and tell me I have to act decently around you."

"I'm certainly not telling you to act decently now," Severus said smoothly.

He dragged her hair aside and lowered his lips to touch her neck, sending a shiver of want straight to Hermione's core. She watched in the mirror as his slender fingers curled around the straps of her gown and pulled gently downward, tortuously slowly. She wanted to watch him bare her skin, wanted to watch him kiss her neck, but she was utterly powerless to the way her eyelids fluttered shut. The image in the mirror vanished, and a surge of heat overtook her.

"Severus…" she whispered rather desperately, feeling her hands grip the sides of the sink to keep her from crumpling to the floor as he knees went weak. His only response to his name was a soft sigh against her neck, a warm exhale of breath that just made her want him more. His tongue gently, slowly lathed there, and he nursed and suckled her delicate skin. His hands continued pulling her dress down, revealing her strapless bra and her navy cotton knickers that were immodestly cut for the evening gown.

Eventually the black liquid material of the dress gave way entirely and fell with a soft thud to pool around Hermione's feet. She shivered in the cool air of the bathroom, and then again when his hands began to roam around her newly exposed body. His lips released her neck so that he could stare at her in the mirror, and she felt one hand slip behind her back and deftly release the clasp of her bra. Her breasts were mercifully freed and the bra went cascading to the ground.

Severus' fingers delved beneath the waistband of her knickers and were about to start urging them downward, but then he murmured, "Evanesco," and Hermione felt an odd sort of tingling on her skin as the knickers were Vanished into non-being. Her eyes shot open. She gasped softly and said with feigned anger to Severus,

"Those were my favorite knickers!"

"They weren't. Your favorites are the white ones with little pink roses printed on them. You wear those more than any others." He was matter-of-fact in this pronouncement, and completely unapologetic for wandlessly taking away Hermione's underwear. She felt her cheeks color with a blend of embarrassment and arousal, and her lips parted as her breath quickened again.

She stared into the mirror and watched as Severus' left palm cupped around the bottom of her breast. His fingers curved and caressed her there, and he dragged the pad of his thumb carefully over the peak of her nipple. Hermione felt herself buck backward against him, the bare cheeks of her bottom pressing against his woolen tuxedo trousers.

His face was stony and expressionless as his right hand pressed itself flat against her stomach and dragged downward, until his fingers made contact with the wet heat of her womanhood. Hermione gasped aloud and gripped the sink so hard her knuckles hurt.

"Severus!" she cried helplessly, for he was pulsing his fingertips against her clit now as he watched her face in the mirror. She was struggling mightily to keep her eyes open, not to moan wantonly, but all she could see in the mirror was the image of a tuxedo-clad Severus worshipping her body with his hands. It was too much. "Please… please, take me to bed," she said softly, and she was abruptly whirled around to face him.

She was staring straight into his sternum, at the white pearl buttons on his pressed dress shirt. She let her eyes scan over to the shiny lapels of his black tailcoat, and she reached her hands up to push the jacket from his shoulders. It landed on the ground carelessly, and Hermione reached up then to work on the white silk tie at his neck. Once she'd unfurled that, it fluttered to the ground like a flag, and her fingers set to the buttons of his shirt.

Then, unexpectedly, his mouth pressed onto hers. He kissed her not with the desperate ferocity he sometimes did, but with a sweet sort of depth that made Hermione throb and ache for him. He groaned quietly into the kiss, his rough hand reaching up to cradle her jaw and steady them. Hermione melted against his palm and fingers, letting the power of the Magnum Verbum Honoris work its full effect. She could feel him, and he her, at the most significant of levels. It was not just that she wanted to make love to him. Right now, she could feel him - every single ounce of his being - through his kiss, and it was almost frighteningly powerful.

His magic thrummed into her, not from his lips, but from his bones and his veins and the part of his core where his power lived. She felt a strength building inside her with every second of the kiss that passed, and then Severus groaned again, more loudly this time. Suddenly he yanked his mouth off of hers, panting a bit, and whispered hoarsely,

"Can you -"

"Yes," Hermione nodded rather frantically, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the ornamental buttons on Severus' dress shirt. She swore under her breath and felt her fingers trembling as she tried to undress him and failed, and then suddenly his hands reached up to gently guide hers away from the shirt. She realized quickly that he'd been dealing with small buttons on his everyday attire for decades, and she watched as he deftly unfastened the little extravagant pearls. He wriggled out of the open vest and shirt and tossed them aside, and then he flicked at the buttons on his trousers before shoving them downward and kicking them aside. He kicked off his dress shoes and socks and stood towering over Hermione in nothing but a rather revealing pair of black boxer-briefs. Hermione swallowed heavily.

He was lean and wiry, not the most muscular of men, to be certain. And he was pale with a dusting of dark hair upon him. He was no Greek statue. But as Hermione flicked her eyes up and down him, her gaze settling upon the prominent bulge in his underwear, she felt warm and dizzy. Her shaking fingertips reached out and brushed gently over the lump between his legs, and Severus grunted in the back of his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he hissed quietly,

"I believe you asked me to take you to bed?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Very well, then." Severus nodded stoically. He reached sleekly beneath Hermione's knees with one arm and the other cradled her upper back. He hoisted her off the ground and she let out a little oof of surprise. Then he carried her from the black-paneled bathroom out into the firelit space and placed her carefully upon the duvet of their bed.

Hermione tried to gracefully situate herself against the pillows, but Severus did not allow her the time or space. He was atop her in an instant, sliding smoothly up onto the bed like a predatory animal. He hovered above her, bracing her beneath her with his arms and legs caging her in. He dipped his face and his inky hair fell down around her, tickling her cheeks.

"Kiss me, please," she pleaded, her voice crackling in the stillness of the room. She only had to ask him once, and then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue exploring her with a fiery sense of want. Hermione could not help but to squeal quietly against him, and her hands flew up to hold fast to his shoulders. Finally he pulled away to breathe, when the electric oscillation of magic between them became almost too strong to endure.

He lowered his hips and ground his firm bulge, still bound by his underwear, against her thigh. Hermione cried out and drove her head back against the pillow, thrashing a little as she bucked her own hips up to him.

"Take them off," she begged. "Please take them off."

But Severus shook his head rather insistently and slid his hand between their bodies, resting his weight upon one elbow. He said in a liquid, low voice, "It shall be far easier for me to keep myself from simply driving myself into you… if there is something stopping me."

Hermione frowned at him and asked confusedly, "Why on Earth would you want to keep yourself from -"

"Because," Severus explained with condescending patience, and then his fingers touched her wet entrance again, causing Hermione to gasp and clutch at the sheets furiously, "Because I want to watch you first. I want to feel you first."

"Oh…" Hermione moaned, feeling as though she'd quite gone mad from it all, "all right…"

Severus chuckled under his breath at her helplessness, and Hermione wondered distantly how he was managing to stay so calm and controlling. Then she remembered what a gifted Occlumens he was, and she knew that one could apply those skills not only to blocking memories from others, but also to putting up emotional and perceptive walls. He was, even now, exhibiting an enormous amount of self-control - more than almost anyone else was capable of managing.

It irritated Hermione a little that he was able to do that, to manipulate his own mind and body so that he could wield such power over her. She felt a sudden, strong urge to test just how much control he had over his own mind, over his own desire. She knew he could feel everything she did - not as strongly, perhaps, but the essence of her sensations became his.

So she writhed a bit beneath his touch, consciously savoring the way his rough fingertips pulsed against her clit. She thought to herself, If he keeps this up, I'm going to come. I'm going to come, hard and powerfully, and it's going to feel delightful. Just the thought of that, coupled with the very real feel of his hand against her, sex a fresh flush of warmth between her legs. She moaned his name and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and shut her eyes.

She raised her hands up above her head, where he could see them, and her right hand moved to fiddle with her wedding ring. She absently fingered the green stone, swirling the ring around her finger as she sighed, "My chest, Severus… touch me there, please…"

She heard his breath getting husky and shallow as she felt his free hand cup one of her breasts and begin to massage her rather roughly. His right hand started to lose its steady rhythm on her clit as she knew he was struggling with his mind, with his ability to shut out their powerful mutual desire. Hermione tried not to let her mouth curl up in a self-satisfied smile. Her voice was low and silky as she asked him wantonly,

"Do you want to take me, Severus? Are you hard for me right now?" She opened her eyes and stared up at him, and she saw a flash come over him, a momentary loss of concentration. His cold, dark eyes looked almost glazed for a split second, and then quickly regained their sharpness. His hands stilled on her when he heard her filthy words, and she smirked. She lowered her hands to cover his and urged him to move again. "Don't stop. You're going to make me… oh, yes, Severus… more. Like that."

She kept watching him and arched her back a little against his hands, feeling more turned on by the second as she watched his stalwart mental defenses crumble. He was sitting up on his knees, staring down at her, and she could clearly see the way his hardened cock was straining desperately in his black boxer-briefs. She almost had him, she knew. He couldn't hold out much longer. He blinked slowly and pursed his thin lips, and Hermione watched his chest tremble as it rose and fell.

Then suddenly, without warning, she was tumbling from her peak, her pleasure crashing around her like a broken pane of glass. Her ears were hot and ringing, her head spinning like she was drunk. She was saying his name, again and again, and her walls were clenching hard around his fingers. She heard him grunt and the sound spurred her on even more.

Then he tore his hands from her as if he'd been burned, as as Hermione recovered from her ecstasy she looked up to see that he'd balled them into white-knuckled fists. He was breathing through clenched teeth and he'd wrenched his eyes shut, and Hermione wondered for the briefest of moments if he wasn't finishing himself, right then and there, taken too far by their shared arousal.

But then he managed to reign himself in, and he pressed his right hand to his hips and muttered a spell to Vanish his boxer-briefs. Hermione giggled fiercely.

"Well, that's all the underwear gone, then."

Severus glared down at her as if she were a misbehaving child, and he moved to hover over her. "You teased me," he said accusingly. Hermione shrugged, not bothering to look very apologetic. She feigned a narcissistic aloofness and said dramatically,

"I know you want to ravish me… you said I looked beautiful tonight, and you did look very handsome. Why pretend? Why use your defenses against me? Why tryto keep yourself off of me? Why not just -"

"Ms. Granger."

She stopped short when he growled her name, and she looked up into his face with wide, petulant eyes. "Yes?" she whispered, suddenly meek.

"For once in your life, would you please stop talking?" Severus cocked an eyebrow at her, and Hermione tried very hard not to smile up at him as she nodded and blushed. She colored even more deeply when Severus said, in a delicate and luxurious sort of mumble, "Turn over… please."

Hermione felt a new rush of excitement as she felt him lift off of her just enough to allow her to rotate her body onto her belly. She started to hoist herself up onto her hands and knees, but Severus gently placed his hands upon her hips and kept her low to the mattress. He urged her thighs apart, and Hermione swallowed heavily as she waited the seemingly endless moment before he entered her.

When he did, it was as if there had been a burst of energy in the room. His pleasure rippled through her, and hers into him. Then there were the physical sensations; he was palpably throbbing after being neglected for so long, and he felt hard as stone and thick as he worked his way into her soaked entrance. He hissed and groaned as he sank into her, and Hermione burrowed her face against the sheets desperately.

He stayed still for a long moment, settled inside of her, and Hermione just absorbed the sensations of him throbbing in her body, of his breath steadying behind her. Finally, he asked in a gentle murmur, "Do you like having me inside of you?"

There was something about the way he'd asked the question that nearly sent Hermione tumbling again. She nodded against the sheets and, her voice muffled by fabric, said, "Yes. I like it."

He pulled himself out, very smoothly and steadily, and Hermione gasped at the feel of his rigid member sliding against her clit. Then he pushed back in again, slowly filling her once more, and then his velveteen voice said, "Tell me what you want."

He was back to being fully controlled now, Hermione could sense, and it once again irritated her thoroughly. She growled and curled her fingers on the sheets. "I… I want you to claim me. Take me. Please, Severus. I'm yours."

He grunted again then, and his hips bucked a little against her backside. There, Hermione thought. A fracture in his control. She gathered her wits and kept going.

"I want you to fill me with your cock until you spill yourself inside of me, and then I want you to do it again later tonight. And tomorrow. And the night after that, and every night until the end of time, because I'm yours, and -"

"Stop," Severus said suddenly, gliding his hips smoothly in an out of her in a languid but rhythmic pace. His voice sounded unhinged all of a sudden, breathless and hoarse. "No more words."

He kept up his smooth pace for a good long moment, and it felt delicious to Hermione. But then he abruptly grabbed at Hermione's hips and pulled out of her. He rather roughly turned her over, flopping her onto her back. Hermione stared up at him, wide-eyed and surprised, and opened her mouth to speak. He was positively panting now, and he said desperately,

"I need to see your face."

He parted her thighs with his hand and drove himself back into her, rolling his hips quickly atop her as his black eyes looked down. Hermione felt her own eyes burning with tears. She could not readily identify the root emotions of them - were they happy tears, tears of love, or some other kind? It didn't matter. She was overwhelmed by him.

Suddenly his hips stopped moving, and the throbbing girth inside of Hermione pulsed harder. Severus' angular face twisted into an expression that looked almost like one of intense pain, and he trembled fiercely. Hermione felt a jolt of pleasure shock through her - his pleasure - and she came again within seconds. Her second climax was less shattering than her first, but more intimate, since it was mostly shared with Severus. She gasped and whispered his name, and her hands instinctively reached up to cup his cheeks.

Hours later, as she lay curled up against his naked form, she thought back to what it had meant to her to dance with him, in front of everyone. He had not been ashamed of her. He had proudly taken her hand and waltzed with her as though it were the most natural thing in all the world for him to do.

She realized in that moment that she wanted nothing more than the end of this madness - this conflict and war and death and chaos - if for no other reason than to live in safety and happiness with the man she loved. Of course, there were so many other reasons she so heartily desired peace. But, selfishly, Hermione wanted nights like tonight to be 'normal.' She wanted to take Severus' hand and dance with him, and to not care who watched. She wanted to bear him children someday, to work alongside him in some smoky Potions laboratory on a new invention as a hobby.

She wanted to discover, with him, what it meant to live a normal life free from fear. It had been so long now that Hermione herself had lived in intense fear that she could no longer remember what peace truly meant. But she wanted to find out… with Severus.

There were Horcruxes to be destroyed, and somehow she would have to figure out how she could help Harry… even though, at this moment, she had no idea where he was. There were lost friends already, and certainly more who would fall to the war effort. But Hermione knew she had to fight. She had to fight for Ron, and for Ginny. For Remus Lupin and Tonks and their baby. For Harry Potter.

And, she thought, sparing a glance to the sleeping form beside her, she had to fight for the man she loved with every ounce of her soul.

A/N: Hello, faithful and beloved readers!

In The Shadow Of Your Wings is currently sitting at about 200,000 words and, frankly, is NOWHERE near done.

Here's why. The first part of the story essentially told the story of an entire school year (in the vein of the actual HP books). Currently in the storyline, we are at October 31, 1997 and there are still Horcruxes to be destroyed, Hallows to contend with, and, of course, a proper ending that must be had. And who's to say MY Severus and Hermione "end" after the 7th school year? I know I've said "50,000" words left, but, if I'm honest with myself, then this story is not even half done. Honestly, it's probably not even a third of the way done.

Therefore, I've officially decided that In The Shadow Of Your Wings will be the first installment in a series. The series is to be called the Psalmody Series, and the next installment will be called Knit Me Together. Each installment will be titled after a line from a psalm that that fits the overall arc of the installment.