Hermione

This has been a really hard chapter to write, as my mind has been more on "Beauty and Sadness," an original fic I'm planning, and a Snape/OFC plot bunny. So any encouraging or constructive words would be helpful.

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Some time later Hermione sat eating toast at the Head Table at Hogwarts, with an ominously quiet Severus Snape at her elbow. School was not in session, but because of the Yule Ball, many students and alumni had stayed the night and the house elves were serving breakfast. As a past teacher, Hermione could sit at the Head Table, and Dumbledore had invited the others to join them as well. Harry looked ashen. Ginny had confessed quietly that Harry’s scar was bothering him again. This only served to make Snape look even more sour, if that were possible. It hadn’t helped that he had been forced to wait in Ginny and Harry’s room while Hermione showered and changed. Snape was now in the worst mood Hermione had seen him in since Gryffindor won the last School Cup.

After breakfast, Dumbledore rose and began to leave the hall. As he passed behind Hermione, he leaned in between her and Snape and said, “A word in my office, please." His blue eyes twinkled with a hard light.

Hermione was so surprised she could only stammer an affirmation and follow Dumbledore and Snape out of the Great Hall.

Some moments later, she stood with Snape in Dumbledore’s familiar office. The headmaster made his way laboriously to his desk. He looked terrible. His face was tight and gray, and his wrinkles seemed to be consuming his very identity. He walked stiffly, and he was not smiling.

“We do not have much time,” he said.

“Headmaster,” Snape began, “let me—“

“But Dumbledore held up a bony hand. “There is no help, Severus, and no cure. Please don’t pretend we’re doing anything more than palliative care at this point.”

Hermione’s throat suddenly constricted until she wasn’t sure she could breathe. Thick tears started in her eyes.

“We all know who is at Malfoy Manor now, I hope,” Dumbledore said, fixing Hermione with a piercing stare. She nodded mutely, not daring to blink lest the tears fall. Voldemort was at Malfoy Manor. Who else could it be?

“I have armed you, Miss Granger, with two weapons I thought would help you get into the house, but I see now that no one but an insider can get in there now. So,” here he paused, seeming to have to catch his breath.

“Sir—“ Hermione began, desperate to help him.

“So,” he cut across her pleasantly, “I’m sending Severus with you.”

Hermione could only stare in stunned silence, her tears running unheeded down her cheeks.

“You’ll have to go right away, as there are spies at the Ministry. Kitty Crouch, for instance.” He gave Hermione another of his piercing looks, and Hermione noticed Snape’s unreadable black eyes also on her. She nodded.

“I know about her,” she said. “I saw her—with Lucius Malfoy once.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Poor girl. A Squib, eager to show her father that she had some worth. It was easy for Lucius to bend her to his will. But there are other spies as well.”

Hermione nodded again, slowly. “Simon Putnam. He’s in my office. Keeps too quiet, knows everything I say or do. He knows I’m close to you and to Harry.”

“Not to Severus, I trust?”

The words were said lightly, but Hermione felt herself blush. She shook her head, not daring to look Snape’s way.

Dumbledore smiled at her benignly. “All will go as planned. I’ll make your excuses at the Ministry. I am still head of the Wizengamot, and that has its uses. Severus?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“You must go over to the Dark Lord and his followers. When will they come to try to take over Hogwarts?” He said the words casually, and Hermione felt her throat closing again.

“Soon,” Snape bit out.

“The you must be there by tomorrow. This undertaking will involve a great deal of personal risk on your part. I shall have to trust and defer to your judgment on many matters, as will Miss Granger.”

Snape nodded assent, took Hermione’s arm, and swept out of the office. Hermione was full of questions, but she saved them. Snape pulled her down the moving spiral staircase and to the dungeons.

When they reached his office and the door had clanged shut with grim finality, he rounded on her. “Are you coming with me?”

His eyes glittered, avid yet difficult to read. Hermione’s throat was still constricted. Her whole body felt full of unshed tears. The terrible night between them of mingled pain and pleasure, wrong and lust, anger and apology, seemed petty in the face of the almost certain death before them. Hermione reached out and laid tentative fingertips on Snape’s thin cheek.

“I’m coming.”

To Hermione’s surprise, his eyes closed briefly in a kind of profound relief. But when he looked at her again, it was with his usual impassive gaze. “Pack,” he said.

She turned to go, making a mental list of what they might need, and he began adding detail. “We’ll be going to Wiltshire. We’ll Apparate to outside of Gloucester, then start on foot, no magic and no fires. I don’t want us seen. I’ll bring shelter. Go get warm clothing, some food, and Dumbledore’s gifts. Pack light, and come back here quickly. We haven’t much time.”

“What are you—“

“I’ll explain more later,” he cut in impatiently.

Some moments later, Hermione knocked at Snape’s office door wearing her warmest cloak, several layers of clothing, and the rest of her supplies stuffed in the toe of a sock then crammed in her jeans pocket. She had twisted her hair into a bun and pinned it low on her neck, hidden under her hood. The door creaked open a few inches to reveal Snape’s tall form and forbidding face. When he saw Hermione, he moved aside to let her slide by. His eyes traveled over her quickly.

“Where’s the rest?”

She produced the sock. Snape opened it, took quick stock of its contents, and handed it back. He looked her over once more and gave a quick nod of approval.

“If we’re lucky, this may do.”

“Why no magic?” she couldn’t help asking.

He looked her full in the face, giving away no expression. “I want a full day and night uninterrupted with you.”