Author's Note: A birthday gift fic for Sekdaniels, who requested mermaids and astrology and dreamy Pisces things. And a little bit of sexytime spiciness for those looking for a nice, long diversion.

After a long deliberation, I've decided this is going to be a multi-chapter fic, so stay tuned for Chapter 2!

Also, many thanks to HollowG1rl for looking things over! :)

Chapter 1: A Secret in Silence

Severus Snape was dying.

His blood ran, hot and thick, down his body without any sign of slowing. His throat made a terrible whistling noise as he struggled to breathe. For a short time, he'd been paralyzed, but the Dittany he'd managed to pour down the front of himself using wandless magic had thankfully fixed that problem. Still, he knew that he would perish from blood loss if he didn't get back to his potions lab immediately. Severus cursed himself for not grabbing the antivenin before meeting with the Dark Lord and Nagini. He'd worked tirelessly on developing it in secret, but it had to be stored in a specific container at a specific temperature and could not be shaken or jostled too abruptly or it would nullify the effects. He'd been working on a solution for that when his time had run out.

He closed his eyes. There was nothing for it.

If Sirius Black had been there, he'd probably have said something cruel, like "There's no way you're going to slither out of this one, Snivellus."

A small gagging sound escaped his lips that would probably have been the tiniest of laughs had his throat not been in ruins. Imagine, thinking of Black, his long-dead nemesis, at a time like this! He should be thinking of Lily…

Green eyes.

Memories seeping down his cheeks.

Voldemort's cruel look.

Nagini.

His eyes shook in their sockets with horror as the realization dawned upon him.

The snake. The SNAKE. THE SNAKE!

No. The boy would die. The boy would die in vain if Nagini was not destroyed.

With an almost Herculean effort, he flopped over onto his side, reached inside of himself to touch the magical core that burned hot and white in the center of his being, and he thought HOGWARTS with as much determination as he could.

With a sensation much like being pulled inside out, he disappeared moments before a fireball smashed into the side of the Shrieking Shack and set it ablaze.

Hermione wanted desperately to be alone.

Now, this seemingly simple problem was much harder to solve than one might think, especially when one was the newly appointed Deputy Headmistress and Potions Professor at Hogwarts. No matter where she went, it seemed like someone wanted her to drop everything and do something for them. Even worse was her penchant for doing just that, which led to a marked decrease in her precious time for herself.

She flinched as Flitwick turned the corner and squeaked out her name excitedly. Hermione stifled a groan. Why couldn't this wait until Monday? It was the weekend, for Merlin's sake!

Hermione fought the urge to run in the opposite direction and forced a smile onto her face.

"Ah! Hermione! Just who I wanted to see!"

"Filius," she said as evenly as she could muster, "what seems to be the matter?"

"I was hoping to invite you," he replied excitedly, standing up on tiptoe and handing her a golden envelope, "to join us for our weekly game of Wizard's Bridge."

Hermione stared at the envelope as he tried to press it into her hand and tried to keep the petulant whine that was threatening to rear its ugly head in check. "But honestly, I'm sure someone else would be a better fit. I mean, I don't know how to play!"

Filius gave her a shrewd look, then nodded. "Don't tell him I told you this and if you do, it was confessed under duress, but it's all a plot by Weasley to get you on his team."

Hermione stiffened. She'd been on the outs with Ron romantically since he'd gotten drunk at one of the Ministry gatherings after the war and made out with half of the eligible single witches at the party, many of whom were far more slender and well-coiffed than Hermione would ever be. But that hadn't been the worst part. No, the worst of it had been that, when the embarrassment had finally faded, she actually felt relieved. Relieved that she wouldn't have to listen to him prattle on endlessly about Quidditch and then get interrupted or have him disappear conveniently the moment she talked about her own interests. Relieved that she wouldn't have to listen to his criticisms of her cooking, when he refused to do any of it. Relieved to know that she wouldn't be disappointed in the bedroom by his inattention to her body beyond what gave him pleasure.

Sure, Ron wasn't some sort of mustache-twirling villain, but Hermione knew that was precisely why he was dangerous. When he wanted to be, he was just nice and sweet and cute enough for her to try and convince herself to try again with him, and she did not, under any circumstances, want that to happen again.

"Hermione?" Filius adjusted his glasses and looked up at her with a concerned expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Hermione said. "Don't give me that look, I'm fine. I just need to...clear my head."

"It's a nice day for a walk," Filius responded cheerfully.

Hermione took one look out the window to confirm that the sun was indeed shining and that the students were out enjoying it in droves. Panic rose in her chest and she swallowed thickly.

"I think I forgot something in my classroom," she said hurriedly, and fled down the stairs towards the Potions classroom before Filius could ask her anything else.

There was darkness and cold all around him.

The unforgiving water would have shocked the breath out of him had he able to breathe. He sank deep, deeper into endless, watery night.

A soft hum reached his ears, and his eyes beheld the softest of lights coming closer through the murkiness.

Here lies dying a man of the land,

Who saved a child of the sea,

He breathes no air or water,

He is wretched as can be.

Take my hand, dear wizard,

And we shall do our best,

It is not yet time for you to go,

And meet eternal rest.

She appeared with a fan of translucent fins surrounding her face like a halo.

Severus closed his eyes again and waited for his judgement.

Hermione had never been afraid of crowds as a child. She'd loved the semi-anonymity of taking the train or walking in a crowded shop. She enjoyed slipping through the hustle and bustle of people living lives that had nothing to do with hers. She loved, too, being outdoors whenever she wasn't sitting about with her nose in a good book.

But then the war had come.

And Hermione had been chased through busy streets by men who'd wanted to kill her or worse.

And she'd had a taste of what worse meant under the knife of Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor.

And sometimes she still woke up gasping through a silent scream and it would be terrifying moment after moment trying to catch her breath.

The scar on her arm ached in pins and needles whenever it got cold. St Mungos had been unable to do much for a wound created by a cursed knife beyond sealing it back up again.

And so, the scar remained, as did its twinges. It would always remind her of the woman who'd hurt her.

In the castle, it wasn't so bad. Crowds could only get so large in the hallways, and though it was a bit upsetting having to hear the chatter in the Great Hall, she mostly stayed up at the Head Table and did not have to interact with many others. She used the Muffliato charm to soften the sounds around her when the din was far too great for her to bear.

Every time she used it, she thought of Snape, and wondered if he'd ever used it while sitting up at the Head Table.

It was hard not to think of him. He was like a ghost that silently haunted the castle, forgotten by all but herself. Everything in the Potions classroom had been his, or, rather, had been touched by him. There were few items that seemed to specifically be his personal property, but whenever she found a caldron or stirring rod with his initials carved into the side, her chest would jolt and she'd see the image of his blood-soaked body lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and she would have to stop and breathe deeply until the memory of the smell of blood and the sounds of him choking on his own blood finally faded once more.

She knew this wasn't normal, but she knew she couldn't tell anyone. They'd make her take a break from her duties, maybe check herself in to St. Mungo's, and then she'd have nothing to distract her, nothing to take her thoughts off of the horrors that would edge their way in here and there despite all that she did to banish them, and she knew that she would go mad.

No, this was her burden to bear, for the alternative was unthinkable.

Severus had been gathering gillyweed and other marsh-dwelling potions ingredients when he heard a screech that chilled his very soul. His understanding of Mermish was very limited, but he knew that sound.

The sound of a mother going out of her mind in fear for her child.

Severus dropped the basket on his back into the cold, shallow water, careful to affix the strap with a Sticking Charm to a nearby rock, and ran towards the sound despite a voice in his head telling him that this was not at all any of his business.

"Oh shite," he muttered as he saw the mer-child in the grips of a mountain troll. The stupid thing had gripped the poor boy by its tail like a fish and was swinging a large club around at the other merfolk that were flopping about on land in an ungainly fashion, desperately trying to reach the child. Their teeth were bared in a feral display that reminded Severus more of a snapping turtle than a human person, and their slitted eyes were wide and full of fury. The troll kept swinging the child wildly as though trying to snap his neck, but its swing was far too slow due to its ungainly size. Two older Mermish lay on the ground, their bodies bruised and bloody from having already been struck by the club.

Severus pulled out his wand and transfigured a fallen tree branch into a length of rope. It wasn't a particularly perfect job, for small leaves and a few buds still protruded from the weave, but it would have to do. Severus knew already that most spells did not affect trolls very well, as magical creatures had some degree of immunity to magic. Plus, there was the safety of the mermish child at stake. He could not risk hitting the lad with a stray strongly-cast curse.

Chanting quickly in a low voice, he imbued the rope with an invulnerability charm and then levitated it towards the troll.

"Incarcerous!" he shouted, directing the rope around the trolls massive legs.

Additional bonds began to sprout from the ground, pulling the troll into the earth below it. Severus jumped into the air, allowing his thoughts to send him flying, the way that he and Lily had figured out how to do all those summers ago. He'd sworn never to use it again, not after he'd taught the Dark Lord the damned spell to secure his place among his cursed followers, but there was a child in danger and Severus knew he had no other option. The troll was falling too quickly. With a quick Stinging Hex to the troll's fingers, the creature let go of the mer-child and Severus grabbed the squirming boy, who scratched at him wildly, keening like a furious kitten all the while. The troll fell with an earth-shattering thud behind Severus as he landed and handed the boy to the mer-woman who had run towards him, her mouth open silently with shock and lingering fury.

She grabbed him away and he nodded his head, making the few signs with his hands that Dumbledore had taught the staff to explain that he was a member of the Hogwarts faculty and that he meant them no harm, only to help.

The mer-folk still looked at him warily, but they nodded, signing back their understanding. The troll bellowed behind them and Severus turned back, scowling. Then, he muttered a few very ancient words, hoping that the Old Spirits were listening. The troll yelped as though bitten and Severus knew they had heard as he watched the ground form a jagged, toothy mouth and pull the troll into its earthy maw with a terrible growling, slurping sound. In moments, the teeth knitted together, leaving the ground undisturbed as though it had never happened.

Severus then pulled a phial of Dittany and Blood Replenishing Potion from his robes and attended to the injured mer-folk, helping them to the water as soon as it was safe.

The mother and child stayed above the water longer than the others, her slitted eyes filled with a silent gratitude that Severus could practically feel emanating through the air.

As a professor, I am at your service, he signed with his hands, bowing his head.

With a nod, she wrapped her child in her arms tightly and then turned with a splash and disappeared into the depths of the Black Lake.

Severus thought nothing of his actions that day. It was his duty as a Potions Master, after all.

Hermione reached the Potions classroom without encountering another soul. Thankfully, the nice weather along with the weekend had made her descent into the dungeons bearable. She flitted along the rows of potions ingredients, her fingers lingering on them as though this would calm her nerves.

Why couldn't Ron leave her be?

Ron wasn't a professor, but he'd been temporarily assigned by the Aurors to stay on at Hogwarts to ensure student safety. Mostly, he used this as an excuse to hang out at the quidditch pitch with Madam Hooch and drink too much Firewhisky when classes were done for the day. Or he'd play Wizard's Chess with Professor Sinestra, since she was the only one who he had trouble beating with his advanced tactical abilities. She was suspicious that there was more to his presence than he was letting on, but if there was, her desire to avoid him was far greater than her desire to know the truth.

I just need a place...a secret place...a place where I cannot be found…

Lost in her thoughts, she pressed a finger against the lip of an empty and extremely dusty jar near the back of the shelf, slowly tracing the rim until it made a soft humming noise.

A soft noise across the room startled her out of her reverie, and she rushed over to a long, floor-length tapestry; one of several that lined the dreary and windowless stone room.

Peeking behind it, her eyes widened as she beheld a small black door that had not been there before.

A heavy knock sounded on the door to the classroom and Hermione whirled, her heart in her throat.

"Mione?" Ron's voice boomed under the crack in the door. "You in there? Filius told me you'd be down here in Creepyville, so I've come to drag you back into the light. Oi! Mione!"

She froze as she heard the handle jiggling. She knew she'd locked the door, that she was safe, that Ron wasn't trying to hurt her, but her body seemed to disagree.

"Of all the ridiculous—Alohomora!" Hermione felt as though time had stopped as the door handle began to turn.

Without thinking, she dove behind the tapestry and pushed on the black door, which opened silently and easily to the touch, then stepped into the darkness, letting the door close behind her.

In the darkness, Hermione felt no panic, no fear. The air was surprisingly fresh for a passageway that smelled strongly of dust and had obviously not been used in a long time. The darkness seemed to encircle her like a comforting blanket, and she could hear no sounds from the other side of the door, which had gone flat and was now no more than an outline carved in the stone when she held her lighted wand tip up to examine it.

Stone steps wound downward, and Hermione followed them, feeling a mixture of relief and curiosity beating in her breast. When she finally reached another door, she merely pressed her hand around the outline of the doorknob and felt it bulge out into three dimensions. Turning the door knob, she pushed open the door, and her eyes went wide at what she beheld inside.

It was everything she'd ever dreamed of, and more.

The room was cozy, with a fireplace against one wall, and a thin bed with a green silken canopy tied back elegantly with silver cords. There were several tall bookcases on either sides of the fireplace filled to bursting, and a tall, black wingback chair on the rug nearby, along with a matching ottoman that still bore the faint impression of a heel in the center of it. A narrow circular table stood nearby with a pair of folded glasses and a fountain pen in the middle. As she looked to the right and left of where she stood, she realized that there were a few other doors against the wall that she'd entered the room from. Two of the doors were open part way. One appeared to be a small bathroom, while the other seemed to be a brewing room, and there were two closed doors.

But that wasn't what had caught Hermione's attention.

A massive glass window stretched across the wall before her. It bathed the room in a faint greenish glow and as Hermione watched, a shoal of silver fish darted past, chased by the Giant Squid. She placed her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes.

She had found the lost quarters of Severus Snape.

After the war, there had been many attempts to find his personal quarters, but other than the few things they'd found in the Headmaster's Office that could be attributed to him, every attempt had turned up fruitless. It was as though Severus Snape had never slept anywhere at all, which led to a number of jokes about him having hung from the ceiling in the dungeons like a bat.

Whispering the charm to light the candles, Hermione dropped a log into the fireplace and set it ablaze with her wand, watching with wide eyes as a cheery glow grew in the room.

Hermione ran her fingers over some of the titles on the bookshelf and bit her lip when she noticed the rarity of some of the titles. This room was a gift, that much was apparent, and she was not going to share it with anyone unless she absolutely had to.

She walked over to the chair and pressed herself back into the distressed black leather. It conformed to her body fairly well, but she knew that it wasn't her shape that it had acclimated to originally. She grabbed the glasses and tried them on. Snape had reading glasses? She squinted and took them off again. The prescription wasn't all that strong. She placed them back on the table and grabbed the fountain pen. The side was engraved with his name on it, and she wondered when he'd received it. Was it a gift for graduating from Hogwarts? Had it been a present from an old flame? A birthday present from Lucius Malfoy? A gift from Voldemort himself?

She placed the pen back on the table, suddenly disturbed at the thought that Voldemort himself might have touched it at some point.

She got up from the chair and walked around, exploring. The toilet was clean and simple. She smiled at the shaving kit in the cabinet behind the mirror over the sink, and smirked when she saw the cornucopia of shampoos and conditioners on a shelf next to the bathtub.

She opened his closet and was hit with the thick, herbal scent of his robes. With a sense of wonder, she ran her fingers over the soft cloaks and robes that hung within, feeling a lump of sadness welling up in her throat as she remembered that he would never wear these anymore.

Even with the fire at a respectable size, it was still cold in the room. Hermione supposed that even with charmed glass that the depths of the Black Lake would still suck heat out of the air. On impulse, she grabbed one of the robes and brought it over to the bed, covering herself with it. The fabric was thick and warm to the touch. For some reason, the scent combined with the comforting soft light in the room lulled her into a light sleep.

She dreamed that she was lying in the bed, her eyes closed. She couldn't move, but she could still see and hear everything going on around her, and for some reason, she felt a deep sense of ease fill her body. Snape paced in front of the fire, his robes billowing out behind him yet never touching the flame. He ran his finger across the spines of the books on the third row of the book case, then chose the third one from the end. He opened it and pulled a thinner leather-bound volume from it, then brought it to the table and summoned a quill pen. He scrawled a few lines of text, then looked up, towards where Hermione lay, but did not seem to see her at all. His expression relaxed, and he went back to writing. As he did so, he hummed absentmindedly, and the sound of his voice led her deeper and deeper into a dreamless sleep.

She awoke to a dying fire and near-darkness. The sound of someone humming as though from far away still filled the air before fading away completely. Hermione stood and searched the room, but thankfully she was still alone. The green light from the depths of the Black Lake had disappeared, leaving the uncanny impression of a black mirror. As she lit her wand tip, she realized belatedly that there were long, velvet curtains pulled tight to one side. Perhaps he lowered them at night to keep some of the chill out of the room. She checked her wristwatch. Damn. She'd missed the evening meal and it was nearly time for her to patrol.

Memories of the dream stuck with her, though, and she found herself standing in front of the bookcase. She slid her fingers down the row of books as she'd seen Snape do in the dream, stopping at the third from the end. Slowly, and without realizing she was holding her breath, she pulled the volume from its place on the shelf.

Inside, was the little leather-bound volume, just as she had dreamed. She replaced the larger book and turned the smaller one over in her hand. It opened easily and as she looked at the yellowish page, words in dark blue ink began to appear.

Hermione dropped the book with a cry. The book landed with its pages open, and she watched familiar spidery writing appear. Once the book appeared to finish populating the words etched into its parchment, however, it did nothing else. Suspicious, Hermione cast a few hex-revealing and curse-revealing spells just to make sure. The book was free of enchantment.

She picked it up gingerly, as though diffusing a bomb, but she needn't have worried. The book was just...a book.

"No," she breathed aloud, pressing the lighted tip of her wand into the pages so she could see better. "It couldn't be."

But it was.

His name was written in a surprisingly legible cursive on the inside cover with a line surrounding it. There were tiny notes on every other inch of the inside cover, some musings, a few quotes (a few uncredited), what looked like a recipe for cookies, and notes on a new charm for making footprints glow. There were little doodles too, including one of a tiny bird not much bigger than her thumb that was so intricately shaded that Hermione could see the individual feathers.

"Severus T. Snape," she read aloud, then, "Notes and reflections. His personal journal."

She jumped with surprise as something thudded to her right and turned to look.

Large, inky-black eyes stared down at her.

Hermione squeaked with surprise and fell backwards onto her arse in a most undignified manner, her wand spinning forward on the polished stone until it came to rest against the bottom lip of the window. The book slid in the opposite direction, coming to rest near the foot of the bookcase. The face disappeared from the glass abruptly and she could see a large shadow moving down towards where the tip of her wand shone brightly on the floor. It was a shape that was less fish than man, but still one that was decidedly inhuman. It slowed as it reached its destination, and as the murk began to clear and Hermione's eyes began to adjust, she could see that the creature was one of the merfolk that lived deep in the Black Lake...only...not. The mer-people had fin-like legs that were more tail-like than feet-like. They could hop on land in an ungainly manner if pressed to do so, but they were unable to move with anything resembling grace.

The merman (for his chest was not covered in woven water-grasses the way that the female merfolk she'd seen at the Triwizard Tournament had worn), was a mottled smoky gray on most of his body with small bluish white lights that pulsed down both sides of his body as he turned in the water. A webbed dorsal fin jutted out from his lower back, and she could see gills ringing his neck and throat. His huge eyes were dark and round in his pale, bone-white face, and it seemed that they were all pupil, but at the moment they were focused on her wand and not her. Though his legs moved together like fins, and his feet were webbed the same as his hands, his legs were more like that of a human. She blushed as she realized with a bit of embarrassment that her eyes had wandered down towards his lower torso and she could see the shape of his testicles rather clearly due to him wearing nothing at all, but the rest thankfully appeared to be hidden by some manner of inventive merfolk biology. The thing that struck her as the most unusual, though, was his hair. It was long and dark and fine and swirled around his head like a living thing. Most sea-dwelling creatures did not need or have long hair, and this filled Hermione with curiosity. She made a mental note to check the library for books on the subject.

He was upside down in relation to her, but she supposed that perhaps in the weightlessness of water, she would be the upside down one. It was all perspective, after all. She moved forward and knelt down, her hand unconsciously extended until she finally pressed her palm against the cold glass. Instantly, she could feel his eyes upon her.

"Hello," she said. The sound of her voice felt flat in the dark, cosy room. She watched with fascination as he slowly began to move one of his hands to press upside down against the other side of the glass. His face grew closer, as though he was trying to see her more clearly, but just as Hermione leaned forward expectantly, a glowing gray streak popped through the far wall and startled them both.

"Hermione! Where have you been all afternoon?" Minerva McGonagall's voice sounded slightly exasperated but unconcerned as it emerged from the silvery patronus cat that had materialized on the floor. "Have you fallen asleep with your nose in a book again? At least get yourself some proper supper in the kitchens. I don't like to worry about you, as you well know. Once you're sorted, send a patronus to confirm that you haven't met an untimely end. I shall be most displeased if I have to go through a hiring session this early in the year."

The patronus disappeared and Hermione snickered at Minerva's deadpan humor. She grabbed the book from where it had fallen and placed it back in its hiding place. When she finally turned back to the glass, all that she could see was the murky darkness of the water.

She was alone again.

Severus floated aimlessly in the darkness as his body shifted and changed. His fingers brushed against the ruins of his throat as they knitted back together leaving slits— gills. He moved on, disturbed by the thought of what was happening to him; what had happened to him.

He pressed his fingers against his lips, remembering the shock of the freezing water, and then...

A mermaid's kiss.

He'd known her at once, even with his sight distorted by blood loss and the dark water around him. She had followed the scent of his blood in the water. Her teeth were sharklike as she grinned at him. He would have laughed had he any air left in his lungs. He had been poisoned, stabbed (by a snake), drowned by his own ambitious attempt to Apparate in his sorry state, and now this.

Well, at least my corpse won't go to waste like my life has, he thought darkly.

But instead of going in for the kill, she circled him, her tailfin shining like silver where it hit the light of the moon. Or at least he thought it was the moon. His mind was sluggish, fading. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was still lying on that wretchedly dirty hardwood floor at the Shack.

But she had taken his head in her hands and gently pressed her lips to his, and he could feel the water vibrating all around him as she hummed a familiar song— a song of healing, of change, of freedom. Something warm and bitter passed from her mouth and into his. It slid down his ragged throat as though it had a mind of its own and he shuddered in her arms.

"Sleep, now, Se-ver-us," she sang, and she was right. He was tired.

She tucked him onto a sandy outcropping, covered him with long grasses, and kissed his forehead like a doting mother would kiss her son. Severus was struck by the nostalgia it evoked inside of him. She smiled her sharky smile and he realized that he had been wrong.

It was not menacing at all.

He slept.

"Hermione! There you—oh come on! Stop running away!" Ron Weasley frowned as he sat down in Professor Sinistra's chair and blocked Hermione's escape.

"Ron." Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Morning."

"Seriously? I invite you to Hogsmeade, you tell me you have grading to do. I stop by your office with a snack because I know you work yourself into a stupor and you lock your door and hide from me! I've even been trying to call you by your full name because I know you don't like being called by that nickname. I thought we were best friends, Hermione."

"We...we are friends, Ron," Hermione started, trying to think how she could say what she felt without sounding like a total arsehole.

"Best friends?" he pressed.

"Um, well, you don't just defeat Voldemort with a casual acquaintance, now do you?" Hermione replied with a nervous laugh.

"Hermione, I practically know you better than you know yourself. I know that you've been lonely. I know that we've both done some things that we're not proud of—"

"Ron…"

"I freely admit that I let my fame go to my head a bit, and—"

"Ron."

"All I'm saying is that—"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, then clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Some of the students and most of the staff was beginning to stare. She blushed and lowered her voice. "I'd prefer not to make a scene."

"We can talk about this later," Ron said, his expression strained. He placed his hand over Hermione's briefly, and she had to force herself not to flinch.

She breathed a discreet sigh of relief when he finally stood and walked back over to his customary place near the other end of the Head Table.

Hermione did not want to talk about their relationship. Not at a later time. Not in a different place. Not alone with Ron. Preferably...never. Even though she knew that perhaps she'd be able to be friends with him at some point, she knew from experience that any little concession she made would be considered proof that she would come back to him in a romantic manner as well.

She just couldn't risk it.

While she taught her classes, Ron would patrol the halls of the school as well as the outside grounds for "suspicious behavior." Hermione had her own suspicions about why the Aurors had stationed him at Hogwarts, but most of them were conjecture. The official word was that an Auror ought to be on hand in case a Dark item or Dark creature were discovered left over from after the final battle. Hermione could understand the logic, for she knew of situations where unexploded mines from World War II had been discovered many decades later. Still, the Aurors had gone through the entire area quite a number of times before students had been allowed back at Hogwarts, and Hermione was sure that this was not the real reason.

Of course, it was also possible that Ron had requested to be stationed at Hogwarts and leveraged his status as a war hero to get his way. Hermione knew that his preferred method of strategy was to wear down his opponent until they lost. Still, Hermione hoped that this was not true, for it would mean that Ron would be an exceptionally poor loser if he didn't get what he wanted…and Hermione was not about to be anyone's prize.

Then there was the third possibility. Maybe Ron had been sent to Hogwarts to look for something. But what was it? And would he tell her what it was if she asked him? Probably not. And anyway, that would simply lead her back to the danger of getting his hopes up for reconciliation when she had no intention of doing so.

Hermione pulled back her bushy hair so that it was out of her face and then tied it up in a messy ponytail to get the heat and weight of her hair off her neck. She'd been finished with her classes by two in the afternoon, but there were still papers to grade and potions to check. Really, she was proud of most of her students this year. Even though many of them knew her from when she was in school (or perhaps because of this fact), none of the students gave her any pushback in class, and those that had trouble didn't hesitate to speak up so that they could get the help they needed.

She stood and stretched halfway through her grading. Most professors liked grading out of their offices, but Hermione liked how cosy the Potions classroom was. The dim lighting and dark stone only increased her love of it. She felt protected and safe, which was increasingly hard for her elsewhere.

Being cramped in a small tent for more than half a year while under the constant fear of being caught and tortured had changed her. Whenever she was forced to leave the castle, she always kept her wand held tightly in one hand and hidden by her sleeve. Her skin would practically crawl as she tried to stop herself from casting the protective wards she was so used to erecting around that damned tent. She would have nightmares of being chased through a bloody battlefield and forced to watch her friends and family lying on the ground dying or dead.

Then, Bellatrix would shout, "Crucio!" and Hermione would not be sure where Bellatrix's cackles ended and her own screams began until she woke covered in a cold sweat and spent the rest of the night brewing Pepperup Potion to keep her going the next day.

"If only I could get a truly good night's sleep," she muttered to herself.

But then she remembered that she had slept well only the day before. She could have kicked herself for forgetting. Of course! Snape's old quarters! A man as paranoid and careful as was had taken all of the precautions to make his room a safe place. Hermione had felt the runic wards brushing against her, learning her magical signature. She'd read about runic warding in her Ancient Runes classes. In the absence of their original master, they would learn the magical signature of the next witch or wizard to trip them, which meant that now, they should only let her enter without incident.

She retraced her steps and entered through the door as she had the day before, only this time with a quill and a formidable stack of student papers.

With a little charm work, she enlarged the narrow table to a respectable size, and Hermione was delighted to find that there were a number of food items in the tiny kitchen pantry that had been placed under a runic stasis charm field (which was built into the wood itself and had to have been obscenely expensive, but then again, that was typical for Slytherin House), and were therefore perfectly good to eat. Hermione was surprised at how normal the food was. Well, except for the can of kippers. She most definitely wasn't a fan of fish unless it was breaded and fried and came with freshly made chips.

"Crooks would like them, though," she mused to herself, placing them into her bag to give to him later.

She made quick work of her grading and set out to look at the bookcases. As she'd suspected, there were plenty of books she'd never even heard of before in his secret collection. Eventually, she settled down on the rug by the fireplace with a book on magical aquatic life, as the merman from the day before had sprung into her mind and filled her with questions.

There were, she discovered, a number of species of water dwelling humanoids. Some were more humanoid than others, but Hermione could not find any references to the features she'd seen the day before, especially not the bioluminescent lights or the long human-like hair.

Hermione stood and stretched, then went to use the small toilet, grabbing the teaching robes she'd used as a blanket from the bed on the way back. They were overly large when spread over her and she inhaled the herbal scent with a happy sigh.

Why had she never noticed how heavenly the professor had smelled?

But then again, she also knew there was no way she would have been capable of seeing a teacher in a romantic way while she was a student. Her mind was fairly black and white on that subject, after all. Teachers were teachers and students were students. It would have been like trying to imagine her parents as children when she herself was a child. She most certainly could not see any of her own students in a romantic light. The thought was laughable.

Now, though, she was an adult. She had all manner of adult responsibilities. And besides, Severus Snape was dead. It wasn't as though he would need any of this stuff ever again. She stood and pulled out the journal, her fingers fondly stroking the soft leather.

"Severus," she tried, testing out how saying his first name sounded on her tongue. It still felt weird, and she could feel herself blushing slightly. Minerva, Fillius, Pomona, and even Argus were all second nature to her by this point, but saying Snape's first name still made her feel like she was doing something deliciously naughty. Though she would likely never admit it to anyone, the feeling was rather intoxicating.

With the book in hand, she allowed herself to doze by the fire and she began to dream much in the same manner as she had before. She watched Snape pacing the rug next to her before flopping heavily into the wingback chair and studying through a scroll that seemed to leave him in a worse mood after he had finished it. He threw it to the floor when he was finished.

She watched him bury his face in his hands and, after a long moment where his body went taut as his control finally shattered, heard his muffled sobs, and her heart broke for him.

When she woke, her cheeks were damp as though she too had been crying.

She stood and stretched, then dried her face with her sleeve. She was refreshed and filled with renewed energy, despite her depressing dream. He may have passed on, but that did not mean that Hermione could not put his belongings to good use and honor his memory. She was the Potions professor, after all. And the room was technically connected to the classroom, which meant it was basically hers. She looked longingly at the other books she had yet to read.

"I think that this will be my refuge, Severus," she whispered, still feeling rather silly. "What do you say to that?"

A movement made her turn and she let out a squeak of surprise as the merman appeared again. She tried very hard not to stare at his nudity, but it was somewhat hard to do, seeing as he was floating in the water at least five feet above her head. Without thinking, she waved at him uncertainly, only for him to mirror her hand movement with his webbed hand. She stared at him and he stared back, his head tilted slightly to the side as though asking a silent question. Then, he pointed to himself and then her and made a talking motion with his hand.

"Severus?" She whispered, feeling a thrill run through her. "Is that...your name?"

The merman turned in the water and nodded.

It was impossible. Her mind refused to believe that this...creature...had ever been human. It was silly to think...maybe she was just imagining things. For all she knew, he couldn't hear anything she said through the glass barrier.

Hermione was struck with a thought. Mermish in the open air sounded mostly like screams and awful chainsaw noises, but underwater, it was like a song. Maybe she could sing something to show him that she wanted to communicate. She opened her mouth and tried to remember the words for the school song.

"Hoggy hoggy Hogwarts! Teach us something, please!" She sang, then stopped. No, that wasn't quite right. And her voice sounded terrible.

But when she looked up to apologize, the merman was gone.

"Well, now, Hermione," she scolded herself, "Cocked that one up good and proper, didn't you? At least that what Professor...that's what Severus would say."

Again, her cheeks flared with heat at saying his name aloud in an empty room, and she wondered if perhaps she was going a bit mad. Still, madness was preferable to eternally worsening nightmares.

She waited for a few minutes, but the merman didn't return. It was unbelievably cosy under the heavy teaching robes, and she dozed again for a bit, her dreams soft and featureless and peaceful.

When she woke, she stretched and checked her watch for the time. This time she hadn't slept through the evening meal. As she walked towards the Great Hall, she considered that perhaps there was another option.

I saw her again, Severus said, projecting his thoughts to Neffie, the merwoman who'd saved his life and become like a surrogate parent to him as time had gone on.

Did you, my child? She was busy cutting the fish for the evening meal in the air pocket built into the mer-folks' homes. She did not look at him. And what do you think of her?

She reminds me of someone I know. Knew. I'm not sure. He fidgeted by her elbow.

And who, among the air-breathers would you know? You are dead to them now. She pressed a wet strand of hair behind his long, feather-finned ears.

I don't fit in here. I am different from you. Just look at my hair, my skin. I am ugly. I cannot sing like the rest of your kind. Severus' mind-voice was bitter, but he didn't care.

You are alive, Severus. Isn't that what you wanted? To live? She smiled a shark-like smile, and Severus sighed.

I can't remember why, Neffie. I know my name. I know I chose your boon of my own free will so that I could survive the fatal blow dealt to me. I can vaguely remember things about my past, but I don't even know why I wanted to live in the first place!

The Gillyheart takes what it wishes when it gives your life back in new form. You know this, Severus. We have had this conversation many times. Neffie began to remove the pin bones with her deft clawed fingers, then placed the gutted remains over the smouldering lava rocks to smoke. Now scoot and find your brother. Supper is nearly finished.

Severus scowled, but he did as he was told.

Damnable mer-folk society and their damnable familial bonds, he thought to himself. Even though he was fully grown, he would still be treated like a child unless he chose a mate of his own and they built their own home under the waves, siphoning out an internal air-filled portion for cooking and sleeping, not to mention incubating and hatching young.

But Severus would never be able to do this, unlike his adopted brother Marlin, who was little more than a child but would, with the luck Severus tended to have, would probably find a mate first. Severus knew he was different. He was the only one with bright bioluminescent lights, for one. Even the Giant Squid listened to him when he flashed his light just so. Though he could communicate telepathically, he could not speak or sing, and he still looked far more human than any of the others. His legs allowed for him to move on land far more gracefully than the others as well.

He was lonely, and something told him that loneliness was something he'd known in his old life as well.

Perhaps I'm cursed, he thought, and this too seemed like a familiar sentiment.

He wallowed in his own angst for a time, then got bored and irritated at being unable to express it properly, for grindylows and fish were no great audience. He went to find Marlin. The fish would be done soon, and he'd be able to pretend that he was part of a family.

He could think about the mysterious girl later.

Hermione began to spend all of her free time in Snape's old chambers. In a fit of daring, she'd even begun to spend the night in the room, as she could fix herself something to eat in the morning instead of going to the Great Hall and still get to her classroom with plenty of time to spare. Even better, she didn't have to worry about being blindsided by Ron for most of the day. She was fairly certain that Minerva suspected that something fishy was up, but Hermione didn't particularly care. The cosy room in the dungeons had become her refuge, and she had another big secret.

Severus.

Not the Severus Snape who'd died on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, (at least that's what she told herself), but seeing the gray merman was synonymous with being in Snape's old quarters, and as he was the only one to visit the large glass window, she'd come to refer to him as such to honor the late professor's memory. Besides, she told herself, she'd never known Professor Snape as Severus.

Still the mere thought of daring to call the man himself by his first name in her imagination as he glared down at her in his voluminous teaching robes was enough to make her face grow warm. But it still didn't answer the question of why the thought of a dead man who had been near insufferable in life affected her so profoundly.

She knew that part of it was the journal. She'd begun reading it, and had learned things about Severus Snape that spanned from his school years to the day before his death during the final battle. Though the volume was deceptively thin, the pages were charmed somehow to continue onward almost infinitely. She read about a plethora of new spell creations and potions techniques that she knew had been developed through much trial and error (if all the crossed-out bits had anything to say about it). He always made sure to cross them through with a single line so they were actually still legible, ostensibly so that he could still read what had been there before and avoid making the same mistake twice.

When she was finally back in the hustle and bustle of the castle, she sometimes thought that she must be cracking up, but how could she be going mad when she was at her most content in that secret place with Severus bobbing nearby in the greenish-black water?

Her Severus.

If she was being honest, that was how she had come to think of them both, to some extent. How she thought of the merman who kept her company in the darkness and the one she'd met in the journal. A sad boy, a troubled teen, and the repentant, self-hating man he'd become later. The journal was filled with the all of the raw and honest things that he'd held inside, and the ugly bits of himself that he'd been terrified that others would find out about him. For someone so proud and strict, it was obvious that he cared more about his image than he would ever admit.

Oddly enough, he rarely mentioned students, but his rants about Lucius Malfoy's meddling and Dumbledore's increasingly extreme expectations took up pages as the years went on. Though he was long gone, Hermione felt her pulse race as he described the Dark Lord's ruthlessness and Bellatrix's scheming.

In that final year, when she'd been on the run, she began to read through detailed descriptions of torture, wounds, and treatments that he would catalogue like some scientist doing objective work on something outside of himself. She noticed how his potion alterations began to take on a depressingly practical tone. Gone were the intricate spells that spoke to a sense of whimsy and wonder, or potion alterations done to change the color or taste without diluting the effects. Nearly all were charms to protect or strengthen shielding or potions to speed healing or undo dark curse residue more quickly.

She smiled sadly when she saw that he'd trimmed the article about him being appointed as Headmaster, along with a moving picture of him standing with his arms crossed and scowling. Though it was obvious that he did not relish his new position, there was a sense of pride in how he'd so carefully trimmed and attached it into the pages of the journal, then folded it in a careful manner so as not to bend the magical photo.

The professor had also drawn a detailed map of Hogwarts and folded it into the most recent page of the journal like a bookmark. It didn't show student locations like the Marauder's Map, but it did have a runic dial so that one could see the castle's floors individually overhead, or together in a three-dimensional side cut that remarkably didn't make her dizzy to look at it. There were little marks on various parts of the map, and Hermione learned that a page number would pop up when she tapped her wand on one. When she went to that page in the journal, she would see that a location was mentioned, and realized that Severus had catalogued every moment he'd spent in the castle, with the same level of meticulousness as he had applied towards the rest of his life.

Every night before she fell asleep, she would read another few entries in the journal, or go back and read one of her favorites (one of the entries she enjoyed most was from his third year where he wrote about how the thestral foals were so fond of him to the point that Hagrid had asked him to help feed them, since they were wary of adults. Severus had continued to feed the thestrals all the way up to his death).

And, when she finally slept, she would dream of the man himself and her heart would ache with longing to comfort him.

Hermione wondered if places could keep memories as well as a pensieve could. It wasn't as though the room was haunted. But the dreams were so realistic, that she felt as though she were stepping back in time to the moment they had occurred. Oddly enough, this did not disturb her, and as the weeks went on and she began sleeping there overnight in the long, severe bed with no-nonsense cotton sheets, (sheets that he'd lain upon if her dreams were any indication), and she slowly began to know the secret side of the irritable and secretive man.

She did not notice that each night, a silent visitor floated forlornly at the glass, his eyes shut tightly as he dreamed along with her.

How does she know my name? Severus transmitted his thoughts with an anxious grimace.

It is supper time, Severus. We can speak of this later.

I am remembering things, Effie. You said that it would not be possible.

Effie patted her younger son on the smooth part of his head between the ridges of his fins. Go and play with the kelpy colts.

Yes Mama. See ya, brother! Marlin squealed with happiness and scooted from the table and into the water.

She turned back to Severus with a look of frustration on her face. You could have waited until Marlin was finished.

I've tried to talk to you about it. You've been avoiding me. Severus crossed his arms and gave her a steady look.

I said that it was unusual. Effie's gaze was steady as well. You are unusual. You saved your brother though you had no reason to do so, and in fact, humans rarely even give our kind a second glance. They think us...inferior.

What sort of human would turn away when a child was in need? Severus made a disgusted expression.

Not you, Severus. Which is why the Gillyheart gave you your wish. You wanted to live, but you also wanted forget your time on land. It is a cruel place for most, but your suffering was more than I have ever seen in my long, long life.

Severus shifted uncomfortably on the smooth marble stone where he sat. The witch—this Hermione—she calls to me. When she comes to the room that overlooks our waters, I can hear her voice from across the Black Lake and from any depth. I cannot help but heed her call. She accepts me in this flawed form, and I feel as though she would accept me in any flawed form. I dream of myself as I was as a man. I dream of her dreaming of me. I can feel the weight of my old life upon me, but if it means having her there alongside me, I feel I could bear it. I want to impress her. I want...I want…

Effie shook her head sadly. Severus, this is dangerous. The gift of the Gillyheart does not give without limitations. You were saved when you were close to death and your boon was granted, but if you choose this path, I fear that you will find only death awaiting you.

But is this really a life? Severus pointed at his throat and tried to speak, the wretched sound of gurgling and hissing the only thing escaping his lips. I cannot sing. I cannot speak. I cannot grow a fine silvery tail like yours. I can never fully be of your world.

Severus… Neffie's eyes were sad. Do you truly hate the home you've made with us?

Severus looked chastened. It has been an honor to share your home and to have a mother's love and a brother's company when before I am certain that I had nothing but abuse and silence. But I must know. I must be true to myself.

Neffie gave him a long look and finally flashed him the barest bit of her sharky teeth, but it was half-hearted at best. Fine, my son. If you truly wish it, I will give you the instructions to reverse it. But you must think on it for another two weeks until the moon is at its ripest and the wild magic is at its peak strength. I will tell you at that time, and you will decide which path to choose.

Thank you, Mother, Severus wrapped his arms around her and she did the same. He could not remember if his human mother had done so, but it didn't matter. Neffie was a good mother and if it were merely a decision between being a family or being alone, he would not have hesitated to stay in the calm beneath the waves.

I will always be here for you, Severus, no matter what form you take. Of that you must always be certain. Neffie ruffled his hair. Before, I never knew why the land dwellers had such an interest in this hair stuff, but I think I am starting to understand it.

Severus closed his eyes and smiled.

Hermione wasn't sure what she loved more; her secret room, the rare books, or seeing Severus.

Each time she found her way down to the secret room, he returned to her side to keep her company. He seemed to show up particularly quickly when she was reading aloud from the book she'd chosen from the library that night. Sometimes, she would mark papers and read aloud from the worst parts and make snarky comments. He would wrap his arms around his torso, throw his head back, and silently snicker until he was floating upside down when she said something particularly scathing.

When she was finished with her work, he would grow playful and often did acrobatic maneuvers as she watched. At the completion of each of these feats, he'd float vertically in the water and take a stately bow, millions of tiny bubbles fizzing up the sides of his head and making his hair whip around in the water. At first she felt bad for clapping as though she were the audience for a performing seal and tried to avoid doing so out of respect, but then he crossed his arms and scowled at her and she took the hint. His mouth turned up in a smirk when she gave him a round of applause and tried her hand at whistling through her teeth.

She made a habit of speaking aloud when she was in the room, even though the conversation was entirely one-sided. Sometimes he would point or gesture to make her re-read a section or tap on the glass to get her attention, but Hermione knew that this communication was rudimentary at best. And, in true Hermione fashion, she wanted to do better.

She owled Harry with a request to pick up a book on sign language from a Muggle shop, since he was her only friend who would have a remote idea of how to do such a thing. She tried to tell herself that it would be more efficient to do this, that asking for a day off on a weekend would keep her away from her many duties and she'd be too far behind when she returned.

She did not allow herself to think of the crowds and the stares and the sensation of paranoia that crept up her neck whenever she ventured out into public spaces, or the panic that, when left unchecked, made her freeze and go catatonic. Ron had told her to just get over it. She'd tried. She'd brewed so many Calming Draughts that she'd built up a tolerance to them. She was ashamed to admit it, but being with Ron meant being dragged into the limelight because he loved it. He soaked up the praise and the looks and the hushed whispers. Hermione, on the other hand, just wanted to be left alone. She hadn't helped Harry defeat Voldemort for praise or attention. She'd done the right thing because it had to be done. She'd been hurt, and she was still healing, even though most of the wounds she'd received weren't physical.

The book on sign language was fascinating. Hermione wasn't a natural at it, but she set her mind to it and memorized as many phrases and words as she could. Then, she duplicated the book and charmed it waterproof. One night she signed to him.

Book, she signed, pointing to the book.

Slowly, he mirrored her sign. Book.

Hermione beamed. "Excellent!" she said aloud. Then, she held up a quill pen. Pen, she signed.

He mirrored her sign yet again, and Hermione's heart soared. Perhaps he could learn! Unfortunately, most books on the subject seemed to be doubtful of the merfolks' intelligence to be much higher than that of a grindylow.

They got through a half dozen object signs that first night, and Hermione even quizzed him by showing him objects without the accompanying sign. He did beautifully on every single one except for the quill, which for some reason he signed as bird.

"Well, I suppose it is made with a feather," Hermione admitted.

His expression was a half-scowl of concentration, and he finally signed pen.

Then, he arched one eyebrow as he looked at the book, and something in Hermione's throat caught momentarily as she felt a sense of deja vu. She bit her lip and tried to dismiss the thought that had risen in her mind. Severus was just the name she'd given the merman. He wasn't actually—she couldn't bear to finish that thought or she was sure it would mean she really was going mad.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and steeled herself. The next part of her plan would be trickier, but she had to try. Trying was something Hermione was well-versed in, after all, even if things didn't always go according to plan.

She placed her hand against the glass, and Severus mirrored her movements, placing his webbed hand over hers as usual.

Hermione was not gifted in Legilimency. She was competent at the basics, but it was one of those magical abilities that seemed to require one to be a natural at it in order to become anywhere approaching proficient at it. Still, Hermione knew how to send mental images using a slightly less advanced spell. She'd been practicing with Luna, who was covering Care of Magical Creatures for the year in order to save up for the year-long expedition she had planned the following summer.

"The Tibetan Cloud Monks speak almost entirely in mind pictures and don't mind it if you leave the line of communication open, but sending a clear picture can be hard without a lot of training and meditation," Luna had said with a dreamy expression. "For the purpose of today's exercise, though, you must make sure to close the channel of communication, or you risk sending unintended messages. This is especially easy to forget when you have a Wrackspurt infestation like the one you have, Hermione. You ought to get that looked at."

Hermione disagreed about the Wrackspurts, but she was used to agreeing to disagree when it came to Luna's ridiculous invisible creatures. Needless to say, she'd been rather irritated when Luna had needed to remind her to close the mind link when they were done for the afternoon.

"Well, here goes nothing," she muttered as she drew her wand with her free hand, "Please, let this work."

Severus flinched, his free hand going to his side as though searching for a pocket that wasn't there, then he blinked confusedly and looked back up at her questioningly.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Mentipicitus."

The wand motion for the spell was a simple circle around the head and a quick slash up then forward towards the recipient. This created a glowing beam of light that would ideally connect the sender with the recipient. Of course, the hardest part about the spell was making sure to focus one's thoughts upon the intended image. Hermione had accidentally shown Luna a few thoughts that she wished she hadn't, but Luna was (very thankfully) not the sort to judge. Hermione had never tried casting it through glass, but she figured that the worst that could happen would be that it wouldn't work at all.

Besides, she knew that magic was more about willing something to be true than anything else. It wasn't precise wand motions that had saved her life when Death Eaters had tried to end it. It wasn't magic words that kept them safe all those months on the run. It was her heart, her mind, her soul, and it burned with the desire to make the impossible a reality.

She pictured the docks near the boat house where the first years would be led up to the castle with as much detail as she could. She imagined the gentle lapping of the waves against slimy, algae-covered wooden hulls. She could hear the occasional sound of wood against wood as the boats bumped into one another, then moved apart again. She imagined the tall, flat rock to the side of the dock, the one she'd seen many times before on her walks on the castle grounds as a student. It was fuzzier than she'd have liked, for she didn't dare venture out of the school often anymore, but she could see it in the dim light of the torches in her mind's eye. Then, she placed a book, the very book that she was holding in her hands, on that rock. She imagined the half moon in the sky, halfway set over the Forbidden Forest. It was the best she could think of to tell him what time to expect her. She replayed the image three times until the pressure in her skull built to a painful roar.

She opened her eyes, seeing double, hoping desperately that he'd understood.

His eyes were on her, intense and dark.

Book, he signed. Book, rock, night.

He pointed at her wand, then at his head, then repeated the signs over again and Hermione's eyes stung with relief.

Thank you, she signed, covering her heart with both hands, hoping that it conveyed her happiness.

He mirrored the motion, then moved forward and pressed his lips to the glass at chest level to her, his gaze unwavering and intense the entire time, and Hermione felt something shift in her heart and echo through her core.

Later, when the merman had gone, she sat nude on the corner of the bed, with the professor's soft, black robes draped over her shoulders. Her body was so filled with tension and unresolved frustration that she furiously rubbed herself to completion while thinking of the merman floating magically above her and tweaking her nipples with frozen fingers and kissing her with cool lips while the Professor spooned her from behind and whispered hot and needy things into her ear.

She came, gasping with her head thrown back and her eyes unfocused, the scent of her musk filling the small room, and fell into a dreamless sleep not soon after.

She did not see the fire burning in the eyes of the merman who'd returned to watch her in the darkness, his mind filled with the images she'd projected to him as loudly as if she'd shouted them across a room.

There is a link between us, Mother, he said, his mindspeak unsure and halting. I am more sure than ever that she feels as I do for her.

Effie reached out and grasped his webbed hand in hers. If you are indeed as linked as you say, then have you used your telepathy to tell her this?

Severus looked away, his hair floating over his eyes. She cannot hear me. I believe it must be something to do with how my thought speak travels in the water or reflects off of the glass barrier.

Or magic, perhaps? How about fate? Effie's mind voice was somewhat smug, and her grin was razor sharp.

She is teaching me hand language, Severus replied. This means book, and this means pen. There are many words that I have yet to learn.

Effie looked at the hand signs curiously and then copied them herself. How curious. I should like to learn more of these signs.

She has a book. It does not look like a wizard's book. I believe it is published by the non-magical humans. She says she will give it to me tomorrow. Severus smiled shyly, proud to have impressed her.

If it can be kept underwater safely, then it may indeed be a boon to our kind, Severus. Perhaps even the chieftain will take an interest. Effie playfully dove under Severus, spinning in slow circles around him with a lazy flick of her tail.

There may not be time for me to secure an audience with her. The full moon will be here soon, Mother. Severus' feathery finned ears flattened down against his head. My intentions have not changed. If anything, I feel more strongly than ever.

I see, my son. Effie's expression was gentle but sad. Then you must hurry and learn how to tell the human of the choice you must make when the moon is at its peak.

Severus could feel his heart beating frantically as he remembered the things that she had fantasized, her mind open to him like a book in its own right. He'd seen echoes of himself, and in each form, she had cared for, loved, and wanted him. A monster. If his dreams had anything to say about it, his past actions had rendered him a monster in more than one way, even when he had been human.

But later, when he was alone again, a nasty, doubting voice filled his head. Will she really want you when you are no longer a mere fantasy? Will you even survive long enough to tell her how you feel and who you really are? And more importantly, do you even deserve the chance?

Hermione had chosen the evening she planned to be out of the castle very carefully. From a couple of tense encounters earlier that month, she knew that Ron had become increasingly obsessed with patrolling, especially if he knew she was doing an assigned patrol that night. He behaved cordially with her, but there was an undercurrent of dogged determination that gave Hermione the sinking sensation that he was trying to wear her down. Each time they met, he was inviting her places, or worse, offering her things, which she politely declined each time.

She had to give him some credit for keeping his temper (for the old Ron she'd grown up with would have burst out in an angry tirade almost immediately), but the way his eyes had flashed when she told him no, no matter how gently she did it, made her feel deeply unsettled.

"Don't look at me like that," he'd said the last time they'd spoken, his voice somehow both hurt and angry.

"Like what?" She'd known exactly what, but she'd feigned ignorance anyway.

"Like I'm going to hurt you. I'm not the bad guy, Hermione," Ron replied shortly. "It's just tea at Hogsmeade on a Saturday."

"And I love tea! Really I do!" Hermione had insisted. "It's just…"

"You don't want to be seen in public," Ron replied glumly. "With me."

"No, it's not—"

"You know, one of these days, I'm going to stop asking," Ron said, and Hermione could tell that he meant to frighten her with the thought of him giving up on her. "And then where will you be? Alone with your books? Alone with your smelly potions in the dungeons like the Greasy Git before you?"

"Don't talk about Severus that way!" Hermione had replied before she could stop herself.

Ron's mouth had turned down in disgust. "Hmph. Severus is it? You barely call me by my first name anymore, yet speak of a dead man who treated you like garbage as though he were an old friend? I know how Harry feels about that man because of his mum and all, but I always thought you'd be the logical one. I guess I was wrong. Now, excuse me, but I have some patrolling to do."

He'd run off so quickly that Hermione was still attempting to process the fact that she'd said Severus aloud to someone other than herself. And, worse than that, it had been Ron. Hermione felt a stab of guilt for not being as forthright as she normally was with pretty much everyone. It almost felt as though she'd admitted to a great secret to an enemy even though Ron hadn't even touched her or overtly threatened her. All he could really be guilty of was being persistent.

Still, long after he was gone, Hermione felt on edge for the rest of her patrol with the sensation that Ron might appear at any moment and offer something more dangerous than a few unpleasant words. Later, when she wrapped herself up in Severus' old robes, breathing in the lingering scent of a man who was still more of an enigma than she wanted to admit, she began to feel a creeping sense that maybe she really was the problem.

Hermione had also begun to suspect that someone (i.e. Ron) had been breaking into her office and her classroom, though she had no clear evidence that it was him. She'd found things on her desk when she could have sworn they were stored in cupboards, or items rearranged in her stores. Her normally impeccable inventory was off, which could be attributed to sloppy student help, but her honors students were normally so meticulous.

Hermione had petitioned the headmistress to come up with some sort of diversion to keep Ron from bothering Hermione for the evening. "I'll have him supervise the detentions in the Great Hall this evening," Minerva said with a smirk when Hermione had explained her troubles with Ron. "Besides, he has to supervise the children at Hogsmeade the next morning, so he'll want to get an early evening."

Hermione wasn't so sure about that, but that simply meant that she couldn't linger. She didn't want to do so anyway, as the longer she was out of doors, the more panicky and stressed she tended to get. She'd worked herself into a shaking, crying meltdown at one of the Ministry functions she'd been forced to attend and Harry had only barely steered her out of the room in time.

She felt like she was simply going through the motions in each class, and the clock seemed to hardly move the whole day. By the time classes were over, Hermione was frustrated and full of nervous energy. She locked the door to her classroom and stole away to Snape's quarters, her body as tight as a wire. She lay down onto the rug with Severus' old robes spread out underneath her, pulled her skirt up, and slipped her fingers under her knickers, her mind focused on an incredibly inappropriate fantasy that had been on her mind all morning. When a shadow passed over her, it took her a few moments to react and when she finally glanced up, she saw a very curious-looking merman staring down at her.

"Eeep!" Hermione froze and her face went scarlet at having been caught. How could she have been stupid enough to forget? She scrambled to put herself back to rights, even as she noticed the intensity of his gaze upon her.

No, that's not possible. You're being silly, Hermione. Surely he's got...a mermaid girlfriend or something. He probably doesn't even know what I was doing.

Still, as she rushed to re-fasten her buttons, she noticed how his mottled gray skin had gone a bright bluish green. She'd never seen this particular display before, and even he seemed surprised by it. He held up his webbed hands and stared at them, then looked back at her with an expression of incredulity.

"You're...beautiful…" she said softly, moving closer to the glass.

He floated closer to her, his bioluminescence making her skin glow softly. Slowly, he placed his hand over his chest. Then, his hand began to sink lower, and lower, until...

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Surely...no, surely she was simply misunderstanding.

She was staring, transfixed, as his fingers began to caress the scales on his lower abdomen when Minerva's patronus flew through the wall much as it had all those weeks ago, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Hermione," the glowing tabby said, her tone very serious, "We have a problem. I can't find Mr. Weasley."

Ron Weasley had been in the business of causing trouble (or at least in close enough proximity to it) long enough to know when someone was up to something.

Hermione was definitely up to something, and Ron didn't like it one bit. It used to be that they had been best friends. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs, but they'd trusted each other and helped each other and never given up on one another. Hermione had been scarred by the war in more than one way. So had he. So had they all. But they'd been lucky enough to survive and now was the time for thriving, not hiding away. Hermione was prone to being a shut-in on a good day and Ron knew it would do her no good to encourage this. He'd been trying for months to unsuccessfully bring her out of her shell, but she'd done her damnedest to foil his attempts.

It didn't hurt that she was still easy on the eyes when she wanted to be and Ron was always up for a challenge.

The problem, then, was how to find her. Hermione had gotten particularly good at evading him, and even worse was that when he set out to find her, he quickly found himself stymied. The entire reason he'd gotten Harry to assign him to Hogwarts was so that he could get Hermione back. Well, that and finding Snape's old quarters. According to Harry, it had simply disappeared, and might be full of all manner of Dark magical objects that should be catalogued or destroyed.

Preferably destroyed out back behind the Auror's Department building with the lads after a few rounds of ale.

After Hermione had treated his offer to visit Hogsmeade like chopped liver and actually said the Greasy Git's name aloud (in a fond manner no less!), Ron was getting to the point where he was beginning to believe that Hermione had encountered some sort of Dark object in Snape's old office or his classroom to make her act so oddly. He'd already gone through both places while looking for her, but had never spent the time to really sift through everything looking for Dark objects. Here too, he found both rooms oddly empty of Hermione (which made them easy to sneak into for extended periods of time), and when he staked out her quarters under the Invisibility Cloak, he found she didn't often return there.

For awhile, Ron was convinced that she had a secret lover, but when he could find no evidence, he discounted that possibility.

Hermione was playing coy, but Ron was sure that he knew what was best for her. She just had to be shown how fun and enjoyable it was to spend time with him, and maybe then their friendship and romantic relationship would finally have the chance regrow.

He thought of what it would be like to marry her, to see her swell with his child, to wave to their children as they boarded the Hogwarts Express when they were old enough to go.

It would be a fine life, a life for the history books.

He'd gotten Stebbins to proctor for the detention. He could smell a diversion a mile away, and his bullshit detector could tell that the Headmistress had been trying to ensure he was indisposed for the evening.

"And, if Hermione isn't willing to take that first step, maybe it's up to me to be the man and do it for her," Ron muttered to himself as he slipped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders.

After all, the Weasley family was known for being incredibly fertile and accidents were known to happen.

Hermione made her way back to the Potions classroom with a sense of unease boiling in her belly. The charmed sign language book was stowed away in her robes, but she'd been careful to stow Severus' journal in the hidden book compartment back in her secret room. She'd taken to carrying it around in her robes at all times and sneaking readings of it when she was alone, but something told her that this would be a bad idea to keep it with her tonight.

The sun had nearly set over the horizon and the moon was beginning to rise. Regardless of her feelings on the subject of Ron's disappearance, Hermione knew that she couldn't waste much time or she would miss her rendezvous.

Part of her wondered if she was being far too nitpicky, but she quickly reminded herself that there were all manner of magical and non-magical creatures out by the Black Lake that would find an unattended book to be an exciting plaything.

She and Minerva searched for an hour without finding him, they finally gave up.

"I'm not about to make you search all night for him," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Perhaps he had to report back to Auror headquarters unexpectedly."

"Hmph," Minerva sniffed, "Who wants to bet that he merely got out of detention duty so that he could go out somewhere and goof off? I'm not sure what you ever saw in that lazy boy. He's not particularly bright, but he could have been in the upper ten percent if he'd only applied himself."

"It's funny," Hermione replied, "but even though I could honestly never see myself with Ron romantically again, I still think highly of him, and I'd dearly love to be close friends again someday. But I just can't take the chance that he'll think that my kindness means that I'll include...well...everything. I can't give that to him, and I can't risk breaking our friendship forever. I just can't."

"And no wonder!" Minerva said slyly, her lips curling in a catlike grin. "You may not have said a word about it, but I know you. I hope you don't mind my audacity in asking, and you may feel free to completely disregard my request, but who is it, then? Who has stolen your heart?"

Hermione thought back to the look on Severus' face when he'd seen...her...doing...that. She thought of how she'd begun to think of the mysterious merman and the professor in the journal as one and the same, no matter how mad the thought actually was when she actually allowed herself to think it.

"Your face is practically vermillion, dear girl, and I shall take your silence to mean that you're not ready to say." Minerva clucked her tongue and glanced at her head in a nostalgic manner that made Hermione think that she'd been in a similar situation at some point, then curled down into her silver tabby form and padded back towards the stairs to the Headmistress' office with her tail held high.

Hermione was left in the darkened hallway, her heart hammering in her ears, wondering if Minerva would be nearly so copacetic if she knew the truth.

Ron had hung back while Hermione and the Headmistress had been talking. He'd nearly thrown the Cloak off and run to her, telling her that she didn't know what she was talking about, that he wasn't like that, he just knew her better than she knew herself, that she was being silly, she just needed more time…

But then he'd seen Hermione's face. Heard those words…

There's someone else…

And then, Ron knew down to the soles of his boots that this was the true reason for why they'd tried to ensure he was indisposed.

He watched Hermione standing in the darkened hallway, her expression lost in thought, and he wondered what she would do if he came up behind her, placed his arms around her, and began whispering hot things in her ear. But the thought of her betrayed and horrified face, the disgust when she realized it was not her mystery lover but Ron Weasley, the boy she'd always overlooked until the end, gave him pause. No. He would not confront her here. He'd follow her and see them together and then he would know if it truly was a lost cause.

He gripped his wand tightly in his fist as he turned to follow her down the stairs.

Of course, if it came to it, there were plenty of things that an Auror could be justified in doing with his wand.

And, well, if someone happened to resist and ended up seriously injured or dead, there were plenty of ways for a war hero to avoid consequences.

Ron's smile was sharp and did not reach his eyes.

Hermione kept turning to look behind her, but she didn't see another living soul on her way down to the lake. There were, of course, the paintings tittering inanely in the hallways, and the ghosts flying too and fro. Even though Hermione had been part of the Wizarding World for many years, she still hated when Nearly Headless Nick accidentally flew through any part of her body. He was the worst offender because he rarely ever looked where he was going. A shrouded womanly figure barreled through one of the walls and Hermione had to jump out of the way to avoid her. Part of the ghost's transparent burial shroud passed through one of her ankles and she grimaced. Touching a ghost always left her with a cold and unpleasant slimy sensation that made her shiver.

Still, she continually had the odd feeling that she was being followed, and she doubled back through the hedges in the outer gardens using only the moonlight to find her way. She could have sworn she heard someone curse, but then the wind picked up again and the light was nowhere good enough for her to see much of anything.

The book in her pocket kept knocking against her thigh in a steady rhythm, and Hermione doubled her resolve to get to the appointed place before the moon began to set. She cursed herself for spending so much time looking for Ron. For all she knew, he was off at Hogsmeade telling a gaggle of winsome witches one of his "war stories" that glorified his actions and minimized the number of times he'd screamed like a girl. The part where he'd abandoned both of his friends would, of course, never see the light of day.

"What am I even thinking about? That's all over and done," she muttered to herself. The best part about walking around at night was that her feelings of agoraphobia didn't threaten to send her into a panic attack. The darkness made her feel cozy, protected. Logically, she knew that this was more of a delusion than a reality, but her body was far more relaxed with the cold night air kissing her skin than anytime during the day.

Still, she kept her hand on her wand in case anything unfriendly popped out at her

She needn't have worried.

When she finally reached the docks, the moon had only barely begun to set. The cold water of the Black Lake lapped softly against the mossy planks of the wooden support beams, and Hermione stopped to look up at the blanket of night sky above her. Somehow, the stars seemed close enough to touch, though she knew that wasn't possible.

A noise drew her attention at the water, and Hermione froze. Even with her limited vision, she knew the shape of Severus even as he neared the surface of the water. His bioluminescent lights pulsed with a rhythm that she recognized as happiness, excitement.

He was glad to see her!

The thought fluttered inside of her chest in a wholly inappropriate way, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from staring. He pulled himself up onto the edge of the dock and hung with half of his body still submerged, then looked up at her with his wide, dark eyes, his hair limp and lank against his head.

"Severus! I'm so glad you came," Hermione said, making sure to speak more softly when he winced at the volume of her voice.

She bent down on one knee, facing him, and retrieved the book from her pocket.

A soft rustle behind her made Severus's attention focus on something behind her, but before she could turn her head to look, something painful and sharp had hit her in the back and she was falling forward, her vision growing dim. The book flew forward and slipped into the water with a splash, and she felt as though she was reaching towards him in slow motion as he was hit with a bright red flash of light and instead of falling back into the water, his mouth pulled back in an inhuman snarl of long, sharp teeth and she could feel the force of his movement as he lunged over her—

And then, Hermione knew only darkness.

Severus couldn't see the intruder who had so cowardly hit Hermione in the back with a spell, but he could smell them. The book fell into the water, but he had other priorities. He wanted to tell her...something. But his ruined body would never allow him to do so anyway. As a jet of red light hit him, he was suddenly enraged. How dare this unknown assailant harm Hermione and keep him from meeting her without a pane of glass to separate them? How dare they try to hit him with a spell like some dumb beast? How dare they?

Severus vaguely realized that the lights on his body had begun to glow a seething red, and a sudden surge of rage filled his body. He practically flew over Hermione, his nose sniffing out his invisible foe.

Ah! There! He turned, abruptly, his eyes narrowed and full of hate. He could not make a single sound, but he knew that his jaw, as wide and toothy as it was, would be horrifying enough in the light of the half-moon. His fins rose and shook threateningly, making a wet rattling noise that seemed to unsettle the intruder, who began to smell fearful.

Severus glanced back at the form of Hermione lying face down on the dock. If he could incapacitate the man, for it smelled musky like a human male, then she would be freed.

His sharp fingers curled into claws and he advanced quickly upon the man, who threw off a cloak of some sort at the last minute and hit Severus full-force in the chest with some sort of implement that quickly covered him with three layers of incredibly strong netting. He tried to bite through it to no avail, his mouth opened in a snarl silent frustration.

A freckled face looked down at him with disdainful eyes and a sharp kick to his ribs made him go all fuzzy in his head.

"Looks like I caught myself a little freak, didn't I?" Ron said with a sneer. "Say, you don't look like the rest of the fish fucks that live in the lake. Looks like you were about to assault that pretty lady, and you know that I just can't help but spring into action when I see people in trouble. You are Trouble with a capital T. If you think that I would let you place one slimy finger on my Mione, you've got quite another thing coming. And hey, if nothing else, the boys down at the Department of Mysteries will love taking you apart to find out what makes you tick."

Severus struggled, trying desperately to free himself, and one of his nails snagged on a part of the net and was able to cut through one of the threads. Ron looked furious at this and pressed a button. Something flared to life with a sizzling whine and Severus knew only pain and the searing shock of electricity running through his body. He jerked violently, his mouth opened in a soundless gasping scream, before going still.

Ron kicked him again, but checked to make sure that the creature's chest was rising and falling.

"Wouldn't want you to die on us so quickly," he said, his smile grim. "After all, we're just getting started."