Assassins and Lovers

"Black?"

Sirius turned around to face Severus Snape. "What are you doing in my classroom?"

"Calm down, dogbreath. I assure you that I have not come to gloat over your demise."

Sirius stood up and said nothing.

"Nor am I here to solicit aid. I have no intention of breaking the rules of this stupid game. I certainly am not wasting my time thinking about it."

"Yes, that's why you're constantly wandering through secret corridors."

"I don't like running into students on the way to class."

"I'm sure they share your sentiments."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Enough, Black. I wanted to ask you about something."

"Well, ask away."

"I just thought you might have more experience in this sort of thing. It's kind of odd my coming to you. But well, I didn't really know of anyone else."

"Severus? What is it?"

"I was thinking of asking a woman out."

"I think you should wash your hair."

"I wanted serious advice."

"And you got it. I don't know as much about this as you obviously think I do. I haven't kissed a woman in the longest time. Well, except..."

"Delacour. I know all about it."

"Yes? Well, be on the alert. You don't want to be her next victim."

"Clearly, Black, you fail to understand me once again." He turned to leave.

Sirius smirked. He thought he began to get the point.

-----

Minerva McGonagall was finding it rather difficult to stay awake. Ever since that all-nighter with Albus she still hadn't caught up on her sleep. It took every muscle in her neck to keep her head from falling straight onto her office desk. She had to grade these Transfiguration papers...

She heard a knock at the door. "It's Albus."

She perked up considerably. "Come on in, old man."

He was carrying a carafe. "I brought you coffee. You looked exhausted this morning."

She smiled in thanks.

"I fear I am to blame," he added. "If I hadn't kept you up all night playing games, you would be well-rested now. I forget what it is like to have classes to teach. You see, I slept all afternoon yesterday."

"Lazy old man."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I'm not your father, you know."

"Oh, I know."

He gave her a devious look. "I'm not related to you at all."

"As we thoroughly established in that last round of Six Degrees..." She took a generous swallow of coffee.

"Why didn't you use the time turner to take a nap?"

"I'm too tired and stupid to have thought of it. Incidentally, I mapped out my plan for using it tomorrow on Hooch..."

Another knock at the door. "Who is it?" Minerva asked.

"Rachel Lancaster."

"Come on in, dearie."

Rachel timidly opened the door. "Professor Dumbledore! I didn't think you'd be here."

"Ignore my presence."

Rachel smiled. "I'm not sure that will be entirely possible. You are a fairly formidable object."

"Who? Me?" He looked puzzled.

"Stop feigning modesty, Albus," Minerva said. "It isn't at all attractive." She had trouble maintaining her stern expression while telling such a blatant lie. "Rachel, how have your first few days gone? Are you comfortable at Hogwarts?"

"My classes are going great. Some of the students are wonderfully talented. It's a pleasure, it really is."

"But..."

"The location of my classroom is sometimes not entirely, um, conducive to concentration."

"What? It's a wonderful location, everyone says so. Professor Weasley loves it. He was just in here an hour ago telling me how pleased he was with the location of his classroom."

"Was he?" Rachel asked. "But he's not anywhere around now, is he?"

"Of course not, dear. Really, what is the problem?" she asked. "Surely there isn't any animosity between you and Bill?"

Rachel shook her head. "No..."

McGonagall glanced at Albus. "Or," she suggested slyly, "is there an attraction? I know you two knew each other before..."

Rachel looked terrified. "Please don't say anything. I'm sure he doesn't feel that same way."

Albus seemed concerned. "Forgive me for interrupting, but are you so very sure?"

"I don't imagine that--"

"You don't imagine. But you don't know. You seem to be a wonderful young lady, if you don't mind my saying so. Weasley would be quite a lucky man, I think, and I know he's an intelligent one. It does not seem improbable at all."

"But really, what do you expect me to do about it? I can't go on seeing him every day like this, but I just can't put my heart on the line like that."

"I understand," Minerva said. "I really do. I don't know what to tell you."

"I'm not sure. You Gryffindor people aren't like this."

Albus shook his head. "Sometimes we are. I've known many Gryffindors who laughed in the face of the gravest dangers, but were too afraid to tell people how they felt. It's hard to put us into boxes, though the Sorting Hat does an admirable job."

"He's right, Rachel. You know Bill is a Gryffindor, right?"

"Of course." Clearly, her knowledge of Bill Weasley was fairly deep.

"Don't expect him always to be as brave as you'd like to be yourself."

"I try not to have illusions about anyone. Thank you, Professor McGonagall. And Professor Dumbledore. I should be going now."

"What are you going to do, Rachel?" Minerva asked.

"Nothing, right now. But I'll think about it."

She left.

Albus was the first to speak. "There seems to be an exceptionally large amount of romantic tension among the current faculty. Have you noticed?"

"It's rather obvious. Bill and Rachel, of course--it's hard to advise one of them without breaking the other's confidence."

"I suppose it's natural that they come to you for such guidance, instead of their trusty Headmaster. Am I frightening, Minerva?"

She looked at him. "You're scary as hell sometimes, Albus."

He laughed. "I didn't think so. I also thought I picked up on something between Sirius Black and Hermione Granger."

"Really? Your discernment is better than mine. I hadn't noticed that yet. It's a fairly significant age difference."

"Ah, but what it comes to love, what does age matter?"

"You're rather a sap when you try to be poetic."

"Are you always so cold, Minerva?"

"Of course not."

"Indeed. But, as I was saying, he clearly feels something for her, but does not suspect that she could value their friendship as much as he does."

-----

"Hermione?" Sirius knocked at her bedroom door.

"Yes? Is that Sirius?"

"It is. May I come in?"

She opened the door. "Yes."

"You're my friend," he said.

"Yes, of course. We've established that, honey," she smiled.

"Yes. That means a lot to me. You know," he added, "I would die for any of my friends."

"I know you would," she said, rather ashamed of how touched she was. "Your friendship means a lot to me. Would you like to sit down?" She gestured toward a cozy sitting area in front of the fire, just beside her large mahogany bed.

"Yes, this looks so nice. Gryffindor colors," he smiled. "Well, I brought you something. Because we're friends."

Hermione sat down in the chair next to him and looked at him in surprise. "Thank you, for whatever it is."

"Here it is." He handed her a brown bag.

She opened it. It was a book. "The Unauthorized Biography of Godric Gryffindor? How did you find this? I've been looking for it for ages!"

"I know. Harry told me. It was in my family library."

"Now I'll finally have a chance against Dumbledore and McGonagall at Six Degrees... Thank you so much. Wow... You deserve a big hug for this."

He smiled--for a moment, his gray eyes entirely lost the lingering look of deadness--and held out his arms. Hermione stood up, and he followed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. As she felt his arms close tightly around her back, she was momentarily taken aback by her desire to feel his skin. She cupped her hand behind his neck, then quickly removed it and stepped back. This was entirely not right. He was Harry's godfather, after all...

"I had one of the house-elves make you some hot chocolate," he said, smiling shyly and conjuring a warm cup.

"They're still using slave labor here, I see."

"You're still crusading for house-elf rights? I thought SPEW ended ten years ago."

"I was only joking," she said defensively.

"I know. Don't think that I misunderstand you. I think I catch your tone fairly well."

"I will allow that you always seem to know what I'm trying to say."

"Our styles of communication are not entirely dissimilar."

She leaned back in the chair and sipped her chocolate. "Of course not. And you know that I'm not really the bossy little hag that Fleur Delacour thinks I am."

"Yes, I knew exactly what you meant when you yelled at her this morning for leaving the door open. You really meant that you loved her like a sister," he said, trying to refrain from smiling.

Hermione wondered what it had been like when he kissed Fleur. "Of course I didn't. But you see, I knew that you didn't really mean that. Sarcasm suits you."

"It's a very effective communication device for cynical former convicts."

"You've cleaned up a lot since you were a convict."

"Oh yeah? I look much more handsome with my hair short, don't I?"

Hermione hoped that her blush wasn't obvious in the firelight. "I don't know. Long black hair really turns me on."

"Like Snape's?"

"Heavens, no. Actually, I think Daniel Day-Lewis looks rather nice with long black hair in The Last of the Mohicans."

"Who's that?"

"Muggle actor. Must I teach you everything?"

"I hope you do."

-----

Fleur cursed under her breath--in French. The polyjuice potion, even with the acceleration charm, would take two more days to be ready. She carefully stored Norman McNeely's hair in a glass vial. Impersonating the short second-year Gryffindor, she would easily be able to get into McGonagall's office. She practiced speaking without a French accent. "It's Norman McNeely," she said to herself several times, pleased with the nice Scottish sound of her voice. She would have dropped the French accent years ago if she hadn't known how seductive British men found it. Drawing McGonagall's name had required a very definite change in tactics, but this little French witch was up to anything.