Albus sits behind his desk, Hermione across from him. I can't get close to her without wanting to wrap my arms around her, so I skulk around the back of his office. Better to look a git than a fool.

"What's the last thing you remember, Hermione?" he asks in that gentle, grandfatherly tone he calls up so easily. It makes my skin crawl, to think how smoothly he slips back and forth between roles. Even so (and I hate to admit it), I am glad to have him there, mediating. The thought of being alone with her is…unsettling.

"I believe an Imperius Curse was placed on me, Headmaster. I came to consciousness in the rose garden, and saw him," she gestures at me over her shoulder, not sparing me a glance, "performing obeisance to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was praising him for his service."

Albus flicks his gaze at me, just in time to watch me help myself to a dram of his firewhiskey. He thinks better of soliciting my participation in the conversation.

"Does it not seem odd to you, Hermione, that you were brought to that exact location at that exact time?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but cuts herself off before any words issue forth. I can almost see her thoughts ticking away, trying to make sense of things. It's the same look she'd get when we were working on our potion. When her hair would slip forward onto the surface of simmering brew, and I would gather it up in my hands, and tie it back at the nape of her neck.

Albus takes advantage of her silence and continues his query. "What's the last thing you remember before you encountered Severus in the garden?"

"There was an attempt on my life."

Funny thing, obliviation. Tricky, very tricky. Easy to go too far. Easy to take too much.

He sighs before he continues. (Soft-hearted now, old man?) "That was several months ago, Hermione."

"That's impossible. I remember it like it was yesterday."

She seems to have forgotten my presence. All her attention is trained on the man in front of her. I roll the firewhiskey in my mouth, and swallow the burn. The war is over. I'll be able to retire now. Pursue alcoholism with gusto.

He's staring at me again. I don't know what he expects me to say, so I drink more. He doesn't take his eyes off me as he speaks.

"You've been living with Severus since the attempt on your life."

She remembers I'm in the room, now. The look on her face says she clearly doesn't believe him. I don't want to flinch under her gaze, so I take another sip. He continues to fill up the silence.

"He has been your constant protector, and your companion. A potion you created and perfected together contributed greatly to our victory tonight."

I can see a chink open in her skeptical armor. It makes me anxious.

"I have no memory…"

I don't care for her confused expression. It makes me feel guilty. I wish she'd find somewhere else to rest her bewildered eyes.

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, perhaps you should rest now. We can all continue this discussion tomorrow when we've had a chance…"

I don't know whether it's my frayed nerves or the alcohol, but I interrupt him more harshly than intended. "She has a right to know, Albus! Quit leading her apace and…" The feeling of deja vu is overwhelming.

I silence myself by taking a large swallow from my glass. I try not to cough as the pungent whiskey irritates my throat. I want to set it roughly on the table and be on my way.

She's squinting at me now, trying to work out the missing pieces. Trying to discern why I'm so wrong-footed. "What aren't you telling me, Headmaster?"

"You entered into a marriage of convenience with Severus six months ago."

She is startled, but has the decency not to give way into horror. Always so decent. So maddeningly good.

"A marriage of convenience?"

I set down my glass. Pick it back up. She just keeps staring at me. I clear my throat. "We were sending a message to the Death Eaters who intended you harm: that I would be by your side, protecting you. It was, for the most part, very effective." Not a lie. Perhaps not all the truth, but surely not a lie. Good enough.

She turns back to Albus, clearly ill at ease. She's a smart girl. She knows something's wrong. "None of this explains my missing memories, Headmaster."

Perhaps I spoke too quickly. Too gruffly. I just can't stand being in the same room with her like this. It feels, hideously, like I've killed the woman I loved.

And yet there she is, still questioning, still looking for the truth. Truth I am afraid she may no longer want. "Me," I tell her, throat dry. "That was me."

She continues her disconcerting stare, waiting for an answer. "I fully expected to die tonight, Miss Granger. I…didn't wish for you to mourn me."

She raises an eyebrow. Did she learn that from me? Has she kept little pieces of me inside her after all? "We'd become…close?"

Surely, I should acquiesce and leave it at that. Nothing wrong with two flatmates becoming close. Perhaps we could even be friends, one day. Better to leave it like this. There's no coming back from the mess I've made of things. But friends. Perhaps we could be friends.

"After a fashion. I didn't wish for you to feel you were responsible for my death. To feel guilty that the potion we'd crafted wasn't up to snuff."

"And yet here you are. Very much alive."

"After a fashion."

She is so quiet as she just keeps looking at me. The silence stretches on so long I can hardly bear it. "I hadn't intended to take so much from you, Miss Granger. I…miscalculated."

I exhale as she turns her scrutiny from me. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.

"So. How do we restore my memories?" she asks Albus.

"That's…complicated, Hermione."

"It's out of the question! You know full well the damage caused by breaking a memory charm, Albus."

"Perhaps a gentler method may yield results, Severus, if she's willing…"

"Gentle? Do I need remind you of the state Bertha Jorkins was reduced to when…"

Hermione's raised voice cuts through our argument. "I've lost my memory, gentlemen, not gone deaf and dumb! And honestly, I don't see why either of you believes you have a say in…"

"Quite right, Miss Granger. I don't have a say in what you do. I don't think I ever have. But trust me when I say that there is nothing so important in your memories of the last six months that would warrant the harm you risk in trying to recover them."

"What makes you so sure?"

"The war is over. You are safe. Move on, Miss Granger. I know I intend to."

One final slug of firewhiskey, and I turn on my heel. My life has been one monumental mistake after another. But this time there is at least a silver lining. I performed my duty. She is safe. She is young. In a matter of days she'll have forgotten to care that she's forgotten anything at all. She'll move on. She'll be brilliant. She'll have a wonderful life. And I'll continue to love her till the day I die. Simple, really.

But that meddlesome old bastard never could leave well enough alone. After all he owes me, he betrays me again, in a quiet whisper.

"Forgive Severus' brusqueness, my dear. He loves you very deeply."

I stumble to a halt at the door. Turn. Her eyes pin me to the wall like a pin through my heart.

"Is this true?"

My tongue feels swollen in my mouth. I'm parched, and I'm exhausted, and I just want this night to be over. But still I can't bring myself to lie to her again. "It is."

She doesn't laugh, as much as make a startled little noise that sounds like laughter. Or perhaps I just can't bear the thought of her laughing at me. I don't know what I know anymore.

Albus lays a hand on her shoulder, as if he fears she needs steadying. She doesn't. I feel as if I might. He leans in close to her, but I can still hear his voice across the room. "Hermione, I have every reason to believe you share his feelings."

Her cheeks color, and I think (though I can't be sure) I see a tear welling in the corner of her eye. They both stare at me, silent as the grave. Under the weight of her troubled gaze, I slink backwards out of the room.