It was clear that other students had received and read their newspapers, for there was a marked increase in the noise level in the Hall, both the rustling of many sheets of paper as the Prophet was passed round and of human voices as the students discussed this latest attempt by Voldemort to harm them.
Those younger students who had drunk the pumpkin juice on the train were looking a little green around the edges as they worried that perhaps the Ministry was exaggerating the case when they claimed that there was no chance they'd been exposed.
Hermione tried not to roll her eyes as she saw Scrimgeour's plan succeeding. He'd said the poison was slow-acting, after all, and she wouldn't be surprised if students convinced themselves that they had mysterious symptoms by the end of the day. They'd be only too happy to get screened.
She and Harry shared a brief glance, and she knew that he was as happy as she that she'd chosen sooner rather than later to work out the details of the Glamour for their blood. She'd used Arithmancy and a bit of trial and error to calculate what changed within their blood chemistry and magic to indicate that they weren't virgins, and then she'd created a spell to mimic that effect. She'd had to personalise it for herself and for Harry, then cast it over each of them and tie it in with her name rune so that no one but she could easily terminate it. It was a low-level Glamour, making no visible changes and only tweaking something most people gave no thought to; it was subtle enough that it was unlikely to be detected, the slight magic of the spell mixing with the inherent magic in magical people's blood.
The two of them had tested their blood with the illegal charm and both come up as non-virgins, so it seemed to be working just as it ought, suggesting that they'd be fine if they allowed themselves to be tested today. They were Gryffindors, however, and could be quite as stubborn as popular opinion would have them; neither of them had the slightest intention of volunteering their blood for any purpose of the Ministry's.
Five hours later, their class was escorted out of Charms and into the Infirmary because the testing had made it round to them. Hermione was the first to stall the line with a flat-out refusal to give blood.
"I don't need a screening done, Madam Pomfrey," she explained easily. "I didn't drink any pumpkin juice on the train."
Not true, as it happened, but she had tested her drink before she drank it, just as she tested everything before she ingested it, and surprise, surprise, no made-up poisons had been present.
"Be that as it may, Miss Granger, my instructions are to get a vial of blood from everyone," Poppy explained with what seemed forced patience. If she'd been doing this all day, Hermione sympathized.
"I don't see why the Ministry would want to waste taxpayers' Galleons in that manner," Hermione replied with seeming earnestness. "As I'm legally an adult and have no parents anxiously awaiting the results, no one could possibly benefit from the wasted effort."
Except exploitative Heads of M.L.E., but best not to mention that.
Poppy frowned before conceding with reluctance, "You'll have to take it up with the headmaster. Mr Weasley, you're next."
"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but my family has a mediwizard who does any blood testing for the lot of us."
Poppy huffed indignantly, and it took Hermione a moment to realize who this mediwizard must be. She forced a smile off her lips and thought she saw the hints of an answering one on Poppy's face.
"If you're determined to be difficult, Mr Weasley. Mr Potter, then," she said impatiently.
Harry looked at her for a long moment and then stated very flatly and clearly, "The last time someone took blood from me, it was used to resurrect Voldemort."
The mediwitch gave up.
They were, as it turned out, not the only ones to refuse. By the upper years at Hogwarts, everyone knew the sorts of nasty things that could be done with a vial of blood. Yes, the vast majority of it qualified as Blood Magic and was illegal, but since everyone knew of a long list of people to whom that would not matter, they let blood out of their sight with extreme reluctance. Not one of the sixth- or seventh-year Slytherins agreed to put their blood under Ministry control. It went about half and half for the Ravenclaws (who apparently didn't read enough esoteric and illegal books to know what they were getting themselves into) and the Hufflepuffs (who might have a larger-than-average faith in the Ministry or who might have felt they were stuck between a rock and a hard place because Susan Bones's aunt was the Minister for Magic). The Gryffindors all followed the trio's lead.
Albus had to make an announcement at dinner.
"It has been brought to my attention that not all of our students chose to participate in the Ministry's screening process today. Allow me to remind you all that death by poisoning can be a very gruesome way to die."
"Blood Magic is worse," Harry leaned over to whisper in her ear, and she nodded.
The headmaster continued, "The Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Scrimgeour, wishes me to encourage you to reassure your parents. He has assured me that the Ministry only has your best interests at heart."
Neither Ron nor Harry dignified this with more than a snort.
She noticed that the headmaster wasn't making much of an effort; had he put his support behind the plan, he would likely have been able to sway many of the students, but it seemed that he didn't think that the Ministry should get an answer to the question of who the Pure Adults were, either.
"Should any of you change your minds, the screening will be available until the end of the week."
Those who had refused earlier looked at him with polite incredulity.
That evening, they managed a rare few hours with Ron, Harry, and Hermione all in their common room; no one had training or practice, and she was willing to put off her homework for a little while.
"I'd give him points for sheer bollocks in going through with it," Ron declared later, shaking his head, "but even I know it's completely daft to blame You-Know-Voldemort for a plot that you trumped up."
"If I were Voldemort, I'd certainly be wondering what was really going on," Harry agreed. "And Scrimgeour didn't even get the information he wanted."
She nodded. "It was definitely a miscalculation on his part. Given his position in the Ministry, the idea of a Dark plot of some kind does make the most logical sense, but he'd have done better to have chosen something we'd 'definitely' been exposed to, like a disease of some sort, so he'd have a good reason to force us all to be screened."
"Hard to explain why Poppy couldn't just check in the hospital wing, though," Harry pointed out. "She's more than qualified to handle any of the likely diseases. I guess esoteric poison gives them a leg to stand on for external testing."
"Wonder if they've asked the only Potions master in Britain for assistance in identifying this strange poison?" Hermione said, lips quirking up.
They all laughed at the idea of Scrimgeour asking Severus for help.
The problem with Scrimgeour dated back to last year when Voldemort had attacked Azkaban prison. Harry had collapsed screaming in the middle of Potions class, an event that had not occurred since the alarmingly similar occurrence in fifth year. Hermione had to wait until Severus had cleared everyone out of the room before she could get the pain-relieving potions down Harry's throat.
Once he could speak, he had informed them that Voldemort was at Azkaban but had cautioned them that the vision was very clear; he suspected that Voldemort wanted them to see it. They had speculated that the large number of prisoners would require a large number of Aurors rushing to the prison, leaving the Ministry relatively unprotected, and it was this piece of intelligence which they had brought to Albus.
It had nearly caused a coup in the Auror Department. Kingsley had listened to them and kept most of his forces in the building. Scrimgeour had overridden him and ordered the Aurors to Azkaban. This had left all of the Aurors caught between the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of their division.
A combination of events saved them that day: Albus had had the foresight to send the non-Auror Order members who could fight to Azkaban, Voldemort had been distracted by Harry, Kingsley was quick-thinking and had sent Tonks to Minister Bones the moment he got the Patronus from Albus, and the delay caused by Scrimgeour and Kingsley had prevented the Aurors from leaving in the timely manner Voldemort had anticipated. Before anyone had to declare their loyalties in a potentially disastrous way, the Ministry was under attack, and there was no question of anyone leaving the building.
Tonks had received an Order of Merlin, first class, for her defence of the Minister. She had been in hospital for almost three months afterwards, but she had kept Amelia Bones alive and relatively unscathed until reinforcements had fought their way to her side. Voldemort, whether or not he had had visions of being Minister, had at least intended to decimate the Ministry ranks; killing the current Minister would have been a victory indeed. Tonks had kept that from happening, even when it meant going up against her very insane aunt.
The young Auror mightn't have been so lucky if she'd gone up against Voldemort directly, but for the second time, the man had Apparated into the Ministry and not found what he expected. Instead of cowering Ministry employees and mass confusion, he had found Albus, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and half the DA. They'd taken out the Death Eaters they'd found in the Atrium, and they all had their wands pointed directly at Voldemort, who decided rather quickly that this was not the fight he wanted, although he hadn't been able to resist a parting shot.
"We will meet again, Harry Potter," Voldemort had hissed, "for the last time."
"Then you just decide the day you want to die, and I'll see you then," Harry had replied calmly.
Voldemort had tried to bring the ceiling down on them as he Disapparated, but she and Albus had dissipated the spell and the rest of them had shielded, and suddenly it had been over.
The debacle had proven to have the fortunate side effect of making Voldemort less suspicious of Severus. It seemed that Bellatrix had suggested that it was the Potions master's awareness of Voldemort's previous plans that had impaired their success. When this plan, too, had failed, Severus's credibility had risen, especially when he pointed out that had he been aware of the Dark Lord's plan, he might have been able to incapacitate Harry when it became apparent that the boy was not going to rush everyone off to Azkaban as Voldemort wished. Uninformed as Severus was, he had been forced to assume that events were unfolding as the Dark Lord desired, and he had thus let Harry report to Albus undisturbed.
It had also helped that Bellatrix had fallen to her niece's wand. The craziest of the Black sisters was no longer there to cast doubt on Severus's allegiances, and although Voldemort was angry to lose her, he couldn't reasonably blame it on Severus; it was other Death Eaters who'd escaped from the debacle who had borne the brunt of that punishment.
As for official repercussions, the Minister had let it come to a draw between Scrimgeour and Kingsley. Kingsley should have obeyed his immediate superior, but he had been proven right. Scrimgeour had been acting with the most accurate information he possessed—although Hermione thought he might have listened to Kingsley—but he had been proven wrong. The rest of the Aurors had been officially reminded of the chain of command, but no one had actually come out and told them that they ought to have obeyed Scrimgeour over Kingsley in this particular instance.
Scrimgeour was not considered to be in official disgrace—most people didn't even know what had happened—but the man had made it clear that he felt as though his authority had been questioned and his position weakened. To be fair to him, if it came down to the Aurors' choice between Scrimgeour and Kingsley for a second time, it was probably the latter who would be obeyed. Unfortunately, this was likely to make Scrimgeour dangerously determined about the Pure Adults, and that put her and Harry—and everyone else who got in the man's way—in danger.
There was not a single additional donation of blood over the week, but Harry and Hermione were pleased that it meant a week longer before Scrimgeour got definite negative results and decided to move on to a new plan. Most of the information would come from the younger students, making it totally useless for the Head of M.L.E.'s actual purpose, and Kingsley had assured Albus that he would do his best to ensure that the vials were properly disposed of so that they didn't have to worry about the blood being otherwise misused.
Voldemort had grown ominously silent since the newspaper article. Along with regular nightmares, Harry had twice suffered visions which necessitated her climbing in bed with him to help calm him. Although he was properly Occluding his mind and Voldemort therefore couldn't get information out of Harry, the snake-faced prat was broadcasting what he was doing; when emotions were strong enough, Harry felt what was going on whether he wanted to or not. They hadn't yet come up with a way to effectively block these visions; the connection between Harry and Voldemort was unique, and traditional techniques simply didn't work.
Fortunately, as far as they could work out—as it wasn't something that Voldemort discussed the details of, even with his Death Eaters—in order to capitalize on this connection, Voldemort wasn't fully Occluding his mind, and he had to be feeling particularly emotional to draw Harry in. Not fully protecting his mind was a calculated risk on the other man's part, and he had—sensibly, for once—therefore chosen to be selective about when he tried to torture Harry this way, not wanting to risk that Harry find out important information or be able to get the Order or the Aurors there in time to stop the Death Eaters.
There had been a handful of more minor attacks, too, ones at which Voldemort had not been present or which had not warranted an attempt to get at Harry, but since the end of September and that daft article not a single attack had occurred, and they were left wondering what Voldemort was waiting for. The possibility of his having suddenly decided to reform after being accused of a crime he hadn't committed was only good for a snort now and then; they wanted to know what he was up to, and Severus had nothing new to report.
The second Saturday of October brought their first Hogsmeade visit. Everyone was on tenterhooks; Aurors, professors, and Prefects were out in force to ensure everyone's safety. There wasn't so much as a sighting of a suspicious-looking rat to cause them alarm. The third-years were too excited about their first visit to the village to be overly concerned with phantom threats, and they managed to be enthusiastic enough that the life wasn't sucked entirely out of the visit.
Overall, the students spent the weekend hyped up on too much sugar, but Hermione supposed that was a small price to pay for a safe visit that let the lower years pretend that their lives weren't being dictated by the war being waged around them.
The days were slipping away at the especially frantic pace they seemed to acquire during the academic year, and Hermione didn't know how she'd be coping if she couldn't function with only four hours of sleep. They were training with Severus as often as four times a week, with Ron or Tonks joining them at least once, and she and Harry were patrolling as often as five. Tonks liked to stop by a minimum of once a week in order to get their feedback about her teaching.
New students were dealing with homesickness, returning students were dealing with the drama of school life, and they were all going to their Prefects. Prefects were trying to cope with their own increasing workload and were coming to Harry or Hermione, and it already felt as though the summer break had been years ago.
Hermione found herself trying to slip out to see her herd at least once a week. She suspected that Harry was becoming as curious as Severus about where she went, often in the wee hours of the morning, but since that first instance, she had not been caught either on the grounds or entering or exiting the building.
She was therefore disinclined to make any unnecessary confessions, and she certainly wasn't going to discontinue the practice, because she needed to visit the herd as much to acquire a dosage of calm as to actually nourish herself. Castina and the other unicorns found the students' flurry over academia quite amusing, and this perspective—so different from Hermione's own—came as a welcome relief in overstressed moments.
In their seventh year at Hogwarts, additional emphasis was put on the importance of original thought. They still had plenty of preparatory homework, such as learning how to perform a spell for Transfiguration or memorizing the proper ingredients and methodology for Potions. They also had to write papers expounding their views on any number of theories and subjects. But they had to be original in practice as well.
They were thus not only learning about plants in Herbology and putting forth their theories in essays, they were also creating their own hybrids. They were doing similar work in all their classes that had practical components, including Potions, Charms, DADA, and Transfiguration. There was still a lot of emphasis on what amounted to book learning and its practical components for the standardized N.E.W.T.s, but the wizarding world wanted creative thinkers heading out into its workforce.
The seventh-year bonus projects were an extension of this, as only examples of original thought would be accepted. They were strongly encouraged to run their ideas by their professor in order to ascertain that they were suitable, but it was not a necessity, and Hermione hadn't breathed a word of hers to anyone at the school. Because somehow, Hermione's group of little projects—for she had intended to do them for most of her subjects—had turned into one massive project: she was attempting to cure lycanthropy.
Numerous attempts had been unsuccessful over the years, and Hermione wished to publish her triumph not her lack thereof. Fortunately, since her professors had faith in her abilities, they were letting her get away with keeping it a secret. They had also assured her that as long as it was as large-scale as she had hinted, one multi-disciplinary project could count for several classes.
Hermione was fairly certain that this was about as large-scale as it got, and many people would think she was insane for even considering it. Remus was the only person who actually knew about the project, and that was because he had agreed to be her guinea pig.
While she knew that Harry's group could generally be relied upon for its discretion, she also knew that, strategically, it would be a great asset for the Order if they could offer the werewolves a cure. There was no way Hermione was risking letting word of the possibility slip out when it wasn't a cold hard fact. Besides, she wasn't doing this for the Order, she was doing it for the werewolves. She refused categorically to offer them what might turn out to be false hope because it gave the Order a political advantage. She had a great deal of respect for Albus, but he was a master manipulator, and she wasn't going to put her untried theory into his hands.
As a result of the project, Hermione now needed to stop by the greenhouse several times per day to check on her hybrids, which would be germinating in the next couple of weeks. She had been tinkering with the seeds all summer, running through huge series of Arithmantic equations, and her testing showed that these new modifications should finally produce the plants with the proper characteristics. Unfortunately, their growth couldn't be magically enhanced, and they wouldn't be mature until the middle of November; then, she would be able to have Remus over to test his reaction to the plant. Assuming that went smoothly, her trial could go ahead.
Mid-month, a week and a half after the screening period had ended, Kingsley reported to Albus. Although he had been there to see the blood destroyed, the vials were only about half as full as they should have been after the necessary test; it was highly likely that Voldemort now had the same results as the Ministry. Kingsley also gave them the list of the students who had submitted their blood, allowing them to cross more seventh-year students off the list as potential Pure Adults: Jacob (which they'd already known), Simon, Mandy (thus quashing Ron's idle speculation), Ernie, Susan (and again with the disproving of Ron's so-stellar deductions on the subject), Hannah, and Sally-Anne.
This left a little fewer than half of the students as possibly Pure Adults—at least as far as everyone who wasn't Hermione or Harry was concerned—with just under two thirds of these Slytherins. Grinning to herself, Hermione wondered if Albus had tried asking Severus to look into it yet.
The Potions master had been true to his word and had given up a corner of his private lab to her. Despite his attitude about giving her the time and space, it was entirely to his benefit to do so, as she had taken over the brewing of the Wolfsbane this summer. She continued it into the school year now that she had somewhere where she could brew it; she had finished this month's Wolfsbane for Remus a week and a half ago, and in her spare time—although the idea that she had any was at bit laughable—she was brewing most of the potions Poppy needed for the Infirmary.
On this second-last Friday of October, she was brewing a bruise salve. Severus insisted that the evenings that he sat in the lab grading while she was working on potions was to ensure that she didn't blow up his private space while unsupervised, but she cheerfully chose not to believe him. At moments when her potions were sitting, simmering, breathing, or otherwise taking care of themselves, he didn't seem unwilling to engage her in conversation, and they would often discuss the latest Ars Alchemica or Potions or Defence theories that had come their way from other sources.
She was always the one to make the conversation more personal, adding in anecdotes about her time at home, talking about her summers, or explaining some crazy stunt that she, Harry, and Ron had pulled. For the most part, Severus was receptive. It was not all that frequently that he reciprocated with a story of his own, but she relished the moments when he did.
Every once in a while, she would miscalculate his mood and ask a question that slammed up every shield he possessed, but these moments were growing fewer and further in between; she liked to think that it was both because he was opening up and because she was getting better at reading him.
She wished he understood absolutely that she just wanted to get to know him better and wasn't about to judge him or mock him or tell everyone she knew what he had divulged to her, but she supposed she couldn't really cast stones given the current secrets she was keeping from him. He didn't yet have enough reason to trust her, and the only way to earn that was to take the time to have moments like these and be patient. She was doing her best.
No innocent conversations would occur if others were present, even if it was someone as innocuous as Albus or Kingsley, and if she was really unlucky, she'd be relegated back to "Miss Granger" before she could blink. But for now, she was content that he would open up a little just to her. Little steps, she reminded herself, still made progress over time.
Even if he didn't feel the same way as she did about their time together, he appeared to have noticed that it differed from the time they spent elsewhere; it was here that he was most likely to make requests that strayed from the regular persona he had established. If he'd dragged her into his office, for example, she would likely never have agreed to give him access to her and Harry's quarters.
Since he had asked in the relaxed atmosphere of the lab in the context of his being the nearest professor and Order member to be able to render assistance should it be needed, she had added him to the wards. She and Harry would still be advised that he had arrived, as she didn't think Harry would stand it any other way, but the Potions master wouldn't have to stand out in the hallway waiting for them to answer the door. She hadn't quite gotten around to mentioning this fact to Harry yet, as she was still waiting for an … opportune moment.
"Do you ever eat?"
Startled, she looked up from extinguishing the flame under the bruise salve to find Severus watching her intensely from the other side of the room where he had set up all his grading on one of the long counters. She hadn't noticed the cessation of the sound of quill on parchment, and she was disconcerted to realize that she had no idea how long he'd been watching her.
"I'm sorry?" she said as she finally processed what he'd asked and was confused by the nonsensical-sounding question.
"I found you in here after your Defence class and it's now almost nine o'clock in the evening. Do you ever eat?" he repeated, enunciating the question clearly enough to show that he was getting irritated.
Bugger. When there were people who were likely to observe her, she tried to behave a little more normally.
"Of course I do." She smiled self-consciously. "I'm also prone to lose myself in my work, however."
He rose abruptly, making no move to collect the parchment that was scattered across the counter. "Come."
She went, following the swirl of his dark robes and wondering why no one else's robes moved quite as fantastically as his. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was leading her to his quarters and further astonished to find that when they arrived, he summoned a house-elf and procured them a meal. She evidently failed to keep her expression entirely neutral.
"Mr Potter would be a nuisance if I let you expire from hunger."
She snorted. "I suppose the paperwork would be a drawback, as well?"
He gave a noncommittal hum of noise that she took to be agreement.
Shortly thereafter, they were both seated in armchairs in front of the fire, each with plates of food. She was amused to note that while Severus's plate was positively piled with steak, potatoes and gravy, string beans and carrots, and two rolls, hers was a much more regular-sized portion of vegetables, fruit, and a roll. In fact, it was positively miniscule by house-elf standards, but it was perfectly suited to her needs. Her diet had become awfully peculiar since she'd achieved her Animagus form, but the house-elves seemed to be taking it in a stride.
Severus was eyeing their disparate portion sizes critically.
"You're either greatly in their favour or greatly out of it; I've never seen an elf do that before." He arched an eyebrow. "Or you're dying. I believe patients get special diets."
"I'm not dying—no more than every mortal is, anyway—but Winky may have been telling tales." It had taken her some time to work out what she wanted to eat while in human form, and she'd really only got it sorted over the summer when she'd had plenty of opportunity to feed herself and really contemplate her choices. Winky and Kreacher had been very accommodating. "It's as much as I'm likely to eat; this way, they don't waste food."
"You get along remarkably well with Potter's house-elves." His tone could hardly be called neutral, but at least it wasn't out-and-out rude.
"I've spent twice as much time in Grimmauld Place as he has since he's only come after his birthday the last two summers. Since I was the one always there, Winky came to me for direction, and we got to know one another quite well. And," she drew a deep breath and confessed, "I suspect she will always care for me because I was the one who bound her to Harry."
Severus's eyebrows rose towards his hairline. "I feel certain I must have misheard you."
Hermione sighed. "From the first moment I saw her during the Quidditch World Cup, all I was able to associate with her were negative emotions. She was terrified of being up in the stands, she was heartbroken when Mr Crouch dismissed her, and she spent her time in the Hogwarts kitchen inconsolable, utterly miserable, and drinking herself to death."
Hermione still couldn't really comprehend how someone could be that horrified by freedom, but a year-and-a-half's acquaintance with the elf had begun to blunt even Hermione's optimism that Winky would realize how fortunate she was.
"When Albus sent Winky to Grimmauld Place and she encountered Kreacher, it was like meeting a new elf. Two new elves, actually, as they were both happy for the first time in my memory."
That had been particularly disconcerting because she'd only just learnt from Harry the role Kreacher had played in getting Sirius to the Department of Mysteries. Her sympathy for the elf—although still greater than most people's—was at an all-time low, and then she'd been struck by this incongruous image.
"They're cousins, you see," she continued, "and Winky knew Kreacher in her youth, but when she was acquired by the Crouches, she was no longer allowed to associate with a creature who worked for the Blacks." She made a face, expressing her distaste for such high-handedness and intolerance. "Kreacher hadn't been out of Grimmauld Place in over a decade before the Order took over the house, and even other house-elves didn't know he was still alive."
She stared into the fire and refused to look at Severus as she finished, "They were overjoyed, and the prospect of Winky going back to Hogwarts and being miserable and Kreacher sinking back into depression at Grimmauld Place was grim indeed. They wanted to be together, and Harry was just as anxious for happy elves as I was, at least as far as these two went, so he consented to the binding. He's basically rubbish at research, as you know, so I'm the one who did it."
"It still seems a long way from SPEW," Severus said archly.
Given how unsuccessful her campaign had been, it still amazed her how many people had heard about it … and couldn't pronounce it like the acronym it was. She turned to face him once more.
"You sound like Harry and Ron when you call it that." She smirked at his moue of distaste and knew she'd cured him, at least, of the habit. She supposed she should be impressed that that was all he had to say about the matter. "And the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare stands; I've just become a little more open-minded about what that means. At the very least, I believe there have to be much clearer standards of behaviour for the humans who bond with elves, rights for the elves who are bound, and less stigmatization for those who desire pay, like Dobby."
"You certainly sound like a witch with a mission. Do you intend to advocate elf rights in the future?"
This was asked with only mild mockery.
"Well," she said with a smile, "I'll always advocate elf rights, but if you mean do I intend to make a career out of it, I don't have an answer for you. There are so many options and so many interests that appeal strongly to me; I'm undecided."
Severus's tone was off-hand. "You realize that Minerva will kill you if you end up minding a pub somewhere."
She laughed. "I don't suppose that would quite fulfill her expectations, but," she admitted with a shrug, "a lot's up in the air right now. I will stand with Harry until Voldemort is defeated, and then I'll figure out how I can make a difference with the rest of my life."
"I have no doubt that patrons would come out of your pub with enlightened notions on everything from elf rights to Muggle cinema."
That was, quite probably, the nicest compliment he had ever paid her, and this was fast turning into one of her favourite encounters with the man.
The two of them had occasionally run into one another in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place when no one else was around, largely because brewing at strange hours was involved on the odd nights that he stayed over in the House of Black. But that wasn't quite the same as their choosing to have a meal together, just the two of them. They'd had snacks, sometimes, if a training session went particularly long, but that was her and Harry and Severus and occasionally even Ron.
She wasn't delusional; she knew they were hardly sharing a romantic dinner for two. But it was quiet and companionable moments like these that convinced her that perhaps one day they could…. At least it gave her hope that he didn't think of her anymore as a twelve-year-old know-it-all attached at the hip to Harry and Ron.
With twin "pops", their empty plates suddenly disappeared and were replaced with two tall fluted glasses of—
"Demon elf!" she yelled into the air.
There was no response from Winky, but Severus gave her a pointed look of inquiry.
She pointed at the dessert now sitting beside her. "Chocolate mousse."
He only raised an eyebrow.
Hermione sighed. "Winky knows I love it but try not to eat it terribly often. If she brings it, I try to make her take it back again. She's apparently figured out how to get around that."
"But if you didn't eat it, she would never know."
"True." She eyed the decadent confection, and it was as though it had a Compulsion Charm on it. "But that would involve, er, not eating it."
He smirked openly at her. "Where has all that famous Gryffindor willpower gone?"
She gave in to temptation and scooped out a spoonful of chocolate bliss. "I'm afraid you're about to witness a moment of pure Gryffindor self-gratification."
The chocolate flavour exploded in her mouth, and she let out a small noise that she really hoped hadn't sounded like a moan of pleasure.
She spent the next several moments with very single-minded focus, savouring each spoonful of mousse until she was finally scraping the last bit out of the bottom of the glass and staring at the emptiness of the container with some disappointment.
It was only the particularly loud noise of a log cracking in the fire that recalled her to the room … and the man she was with. Raising startled eyes to his, she found that he was regarding her with a glittering gaze that was almost alarming in its intensity. She swallowed, licked her lips, and watched as he held out…. Her eyes widened.
"You wouldn't," she said helplessly.
His lips tipped up. "I couldn't possibly enjoy it as much as you."
She bit her lip, spent ten solid seconds trying to resist, and snatched up the second dessert as though Severus were going to change his mind and take it back from her.
The second one was just as good as the first had been, and Hermione found herself wondering if unicorns would be willing to give chocolate mousse a try. Light and mousse…. That didn't sound unreasonable, did it? She felt certain that she, at least, could exist on the two alone.
Severus's expression had turned mocking. "Now I know why she gave you so little dinner."
"She does appear to have conceived of and implemented her plan quite well," Hermione agreed, now struggling not to be embarrassed by the spectacle that she had just made of herself. "She and Kreacher probably ganged up on me again."
"Oh?"
"It's how they got away with cleaning and cooking at Grimmauld Place. I'd eat a lunch I made myself and would be about to do the dishes when Kreacher would have an important question about cleaning something in the library. By the time I got back from the library, Winky would have the dishes done. Or Winky would want my opinion on the drapes in the sitting room just before lunch, and by the time I made it to the kitchen, Kreacher had already had the chance to make the meal. It took me almost a week to work out that it wasn't coincidence."
"The consequence of elf rights," he observed dryly.
She smiled, suddenly cheered. "I do seem to have given them decided notions, don't I?"
"We'll see if Mr Potter thanks you for your part in the bonding in a few years, shall we?" There was dark amusement in his voice.
"Harry likes people who think for themselves or he would not have the group of friends that he does," she said with certainty; she could count herself amongst that number.
He inclined his head and then rose. "It's late."
She followed his lead, standing up and suddenly feeling awkward.
"I—" Thanking him outright for dinner seemed brazen and rather unwise. "Thank you. Harry will be pleased I've returned safe and full."
"I would so hate to disappoint Mr Potter."
There was some bite to this, and Hermione immediately regretted the loss of the earlier ease. She offered him a wan smile.
"I'll just decant the bruise salve." She gestured back towards the lab.
His voice was cool and dismissive. "You wouldn't want to keep Mr Potter waiting."
"Actually, if it's past half nine, it's too late for that," she suddenly remembered. "I'm supposed to meet him to work on our Charms papers."
Severus cast Tempus, and his expression softened slightly even as she winced; it was a quarter to eleven. Trust the man to be pleased that Harry had been forgotten.
"You had better go and make your apologies. I'll decant your potion."
"You're sure?" she asked uncertainly, pleased at the improved tone and not wanting to presume now and make things worse.
"I would not have offered otherwise," he said with a trace of impatience. "Go away, Hermione."
She smiled. "I'm going, I'm going." At the door she paused. "Thank you again, Severus, for everything."
Before she could see if he had a response to this, she forced herself out of the door, following the short hallway that linked his quarters to his lab, and then let herself out of the laboratory and into the rest of the school. It wouldn't do to have anyone seeing the Gryffindor Head Girl coming out of the Head of Slytherin's quarters, after all, even if he was her liaison to the faculty, and even if nothing untoward had occurred.
Still, she set off towards her own quarters feeling inordinately cheerful; Severus likely didn't dine with the majority of his students, and that meant he'd singled her out in some manner, even if it wasn't quite the way she wanted.
Harry was sprawled on the couch writing on a long piece of parchment when she entered, and he looked up at her arrival, an expectant look on his face.
"There was this Hippogriff which had an injured wing," she began, making her eyes wide and her tone earnestness personified, "and it was being chased by a Blast-Ended Screwt that had been doused with a particularly strong love potion. They ran riot all round the grounds and then burst into the castle. They were making a giant ruckus in the Great Hall, where a gaggle of helpless first-years got between them and were in danger of their lives, and I was the only person who could sort it out."
He rolled his eyes, a grin breaking out at the utter absurdity she had just spouted. "All right, idiot. At least we know the Veritaserum dosage isn't too high. Come over here and help me sort this out."
On Wednesday, Septima announced that they would be doing a project in assigned pairs, as the woman wanted a demonstration of their ability to work together and make their complex calculations understood by others. Hermione found herself partnered with Draco Malfoy, much to the evident displeasure of Tracey Davis, who was normally the one to pair with him in this class for any shared work.
Draco moved to sit next to Hermione without indicating whether he was pleased or displeased, which she was sure was what had made his father such an excellent politician. It was he, after all, rather than Tracey Davis, who had to put up with Hermione's presence, and she knew that once upon a time, Draco would have been making no bones about his disgust. He had grown up, however, and his pale, aristocratic face wore an expression of polite neutrality.
She gestured him into a chair when he actually had the manners to wait for her to indicate that he could join her. She didn't have a lot of experience with pure-bloods and such old-fashioned manners, and she hoped that this was his attempt to be genuinely polite rather than disconcert her.
"Should I be concerned about the death glares I'm receiving?" she asked mildly.
He regarded her with faint surprise, swivelled slightly so that he could take in the expression of his fellow Slytherin, and looked back at her with a faint smile.
"I imagine you are more than a match for her, Granger."
Cordiality it was; that had been decidedly complimentary.
Although they had survived all their classes together last year—and Muggle Studies was the only class she didn't have with him—he had always kept his distance from her, or at least from the golden trio.
Harry's raw grief brought about by the death of Sirius—which had turned into incoherent anger in the presence of just about anyone—had been assuaged by the time Harry started his sixth year, and the last thing he had wanted to do was make the mistake of blaming a child for his father's failings. Still, Draco Malfoy's father was in Azkaban and Sirius Black was dead, and putting Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in a room together had seemed like a foolish plan; since they were both Prefects for the first time ever, they needed to be in a room together with even more frequency than previously.
Hermione and Pansy had ensured that the two boys were properly insulated whenever possible, and to pretty much everyone's relief, months gradually passed with the growing understanding that peaceful coexistence was possible.
Since they were no longer arguing, fighting, and plotting one another's downfall, Harry had had time to notice Draco's good qualities—or perhaps it was his potential good qualities—and Hermione had watched as her best friend's gaze morphed until he was looking at Draco with something that wasn't loathing at all.
As she and the Slytherin settled down to a half-hour planning session that involved setting up three after-class meetings, Hermione, smirking to herself, wondered if Harry would have considered taking Arithmancy if he'd known of this particular benefit.